Yup, Friday

A Winged Victory for the Sullen - "The Undivided Five" (neoclassical)

At turns ambient and vibrant. Stays mostly away from the muted piano noodling that a lot of online neoclassical projects can turn into. Nothing to make me weep in ecstasy or desolation, but it made me feel good. What more can you ask?

Hive - "The Mirthless Kind" (deathcore/djent)

The varied, clanking, shrieking, pounding, janky riffs are the real star of this show. Props to the drumming, too. The production is a little fuzzed-out and blended, making it sometimes difficult to hear what's going on, but it's better than a loudness war approach, and may even aid the evil atmosphere of this EP. Hive delivers.

I Built the Sky - "The Zenith Rise" (instrumental prog/djent)

Well-produced, cheerful, and occasionally driving. Some noodly soloing, but mostly not too show-offish. And, finally, IBtS has a snare tone that isn't so overcompressed as to pain my head :)

we.own.the.sky - "Home" (post-rock)

It was fun. Some sober-minded parts, but mostly doesn't take itself too seriously. There were two "choral" parts in this otherwise instrumental album that I found jarring, but the other songs flowed well and maintained a healthy variety without straying too far from a core sound.

Dawn of Disease - "Procession of Ghosts" (melodic death metal)

I mean, it was fine to listen to? The riffs were fine, but they all sound the same. "Procession of Ghosts" kinda felt like the same song over and over for its 50+ minutes. A procession of the same ghost, one might say, haha. At least it was a good ghost.

PDG/MV - "Morvan" (dark ambient/experimental)

Technically released yesterday, but whatever. Pierre Georges Desenfant and Maxime Vavasseur team up for a joint release on Past Inside the Present. First time hearing about these artists. An initial poke at the album was intriguing, so I listened through it; it did not hold up to my curiosity. Many of the tracks had cessations or almost-breaks in odd places near the middle of the tracks, as if they were two songs glued together with nothing holding them fast. (Perhaps each half by one of the two artists?) There were some good moments, but I felt that "Morvan" was lacking compositionally, and failed to hold my interest. (I will be checking out MV's solo project, Witxes, so "Morvan" was evidently not a total turn-off.)

Fallen Leaves

The large maples at my parents' house have dropped all their leaves. So, I've started raking.

I don't know when I became so physically frail. Why can't I hold together?

The album above made me feel better for a little while. Cheers, Černá.

Untitled VIII

What the fuck more is there to say? Words into the digital void. I am shrunk small by the enormity of all the rest. Windows beyond windows, but the effect is blinding. Better to close my eyes and cease.

New Music Friday, Once More

I guess we're doing another one of these. (None from last week because it was all disappointment.)

Amulets - "Between Distant and Remote" (noise/experimental/ambient electronic)
Definitely the most gentle and resonant release I've heard from Amulets. A real treat. A few tracks end suddenly or lamely, but on the other hand, this album avoids the empty meandering that artists of the ambient genres can be prone to; the songs are concise, lasting no longer than needed. This one, of all releases today, made me feel the most.

Alcest - "Spiritual Instinct" (shoegaze/atmospheric black metal)
I mean, they have their act down by this point. Apparently their fans didn't like the no-screaming post-rock excursion of "Shelter" (2014) - my favorite Alcest release - so "Kodama" (2016) and today's "Spiritual Instinct" are just rehashes of "Les Voyages de L'Âme" (2012). That's not necessarily a bad thing. "Spiritual Instinct" has tight, airy production, and solid direction and progression in both its individual song structures and the structure of the album as a whole. It seems like they through in a couple bars of screaming on most of the songs because the fans wanted it, not because they wanted it, though, and it shows. It's such a small amount that it's easy to ignore, at least.

Thornhill - "The Dark Pool" (djent/post-hardcore)
Just found these folks today. I really love the atmosphere and riffs on the instrumental side of things. The clean singing is good and fitting, but the occasional scream/yelp does grate on my ears. Coarse vocals are entirely absent on some songs, which is fine by me. A great debut album, on the whole. New fan here!

Fit for an Autopsy - "The Sea of Tragic Beasts" (deathcore/post-metal)
Seems directionless compared to their previous "Absolute Hope Absolute Hell" (2015) or "The Great Collapse" (2017), which were both great releases. The only attempt to expand or improve upon those milestones is a prevalence of clean singing - on nearly every song - but it's poorly executed. C'mon, stick to your strengths. It's still an okay listen - I like a lot of the ideas, in concept - but poor execution and a reliance on over-production tarnish the sheen.

Cosmic Ground - "Cosmic Ground 5" (psybient)
It... is music? I listened to it, I guess. It's pretty blatant Tangerine Dream worship. I did enjoy the longest track, operation:echo, but not much else really stood out to me.

Untitled VII

The visit is over. I enjoyed it, but also felt like I also wasn't really "there." Just a mask, acting independently. No inside.

Our Ceasing Voice are offering their above album at a price of: pay-what-you-want.

Death Spells

Once more the woman who loves me, who I love, is coming to visit tomorrow. Two of her friends are getting married this weekend in a nearby city. I will not be going along, as I didn't know either the bride or groom at all, but my girlfriend and I will have another free day to spend together.

I look forward to it and dread it.

I want to hug her, make her feel that everything will be alright. That, I look forward to.

I dread having to act like anything is alright. This may be the last time I see her before I end my life. I don't want that thought weighing on me the whole time, ruining one of my few sources of solace.

It is such a conundrum when I take this person into account. I do love her, and I want her to be well in life. I think she would be better off without me, but I also know my suicide would cause her great pain. How do I resolve this?

It is not enough to live merely on her account, when I loathe this life. But I do not want to hurt her!

On and on these thoughts go, in circles. It is no good either way.

But when I am dead, there will be no pain for me. I will not be hurt by the pain I cause. I must hold on to that assurance.

"Death Spells" is the soundtrack for today, then. Holy Fawn blew us all away with this release last year. Drag me into the woods.

Cogito Ergo Sum

"Cogito ergo sum." I think, therefore I am.

The famous Cartesian axiom sneaks in the notion of selfhood in its grammar.

Language is a massive construct of chained meanings and allusions employed in common, idea linked to idea, but words never actually root themselves in actuality. I can describe a sign as red, and you ask what red is. I reply that it is the color of blood, or roses, and you ask what blood is. I reply that it is the fluid in your body, and you ask what fluid is.

On it goes.

How we came by such a system is beside the point. There is still academic debate whether language is learned entirely experientially, or whether there is a biological-evolutionary basis for grammar.

Here is my point:

The thing that other people call by my name is not the same thing I call "I."

In the end, "I" am merely a linguistic structure, a soup of linked words and meanings, recursive, formed of ebbing and flowing electrical currents in a brain that is not me. The currents are not "me," nor the grey matter they move in, nor the skull and body housing that brain. All those could go on without "me."

"I" cease to exist every time my body goes to sleep, only sometimes retaining memories of dreams my body simulates to train my waking behaviors. "I" could even be permanently annihilated, without harming my body's respiration and digestion, by properly disrupting the electrical impulses which carry the conscious thought that "I" am. (What results is what we improperly call a "vegetable" - a human body with no consciousness. It does not survive long without outside intervention, as over evolutionary timescales it has surrendered many vital aspects of its behavior to the conscious self, but as long as its needs are provided for it can persist without a consciousness.)

"I" have the illusion of control. "I" instruct my fingers to type these words, and they do type. But the fingers are not me.

[from here on out, take every instance of "I," "self," "my" to include those quotation marks. But "I" do not wish to take the time to type them out each time.]

My body and my self have a sort of alliance (though it may be more of a sort of disguised slavery). My body makes use of the kinds of abstract reasoning that I am capable of through language in hopes of furthering its aims of survival for reproduction. (Of course, "hopes" and "aims," intent or will, are not properly applied to such a thing as my body. I speak in metaphor there. The pressure is an instinctive, evolved one, formed and necessitated my millions of iterations of natural selection.)

In return, I am granted limited control of this body, for the purpose of fulfilling my plans. (My body can do no such thing as "plan," or "understand" what a plan is.)

However, when my body perceives itself in serious danger, it takes over. The illusion of control is removed, and my body acts of its own accord. Of instinct. I have no part of it.

This is reflex. Also, the fight-or-flight response. The body takes action to protect itself.

Thus the anxiety. The panic attacks. The dissociation. My body perceives itself to be in danger, so it shuts me out. Takes control, because it does not trust me to bring it to safety.

What I refer to as "my body" may include the Freudian "unconscious," or what is meant by "instinct." Any unconscious process is not "me."

I am conscious, and I am consciousness. No more.

But, despite the illusion of control, I am hemmed in on every side by the confines of my body. It terminates me every night. I have no choice in surrendering myself to oblivion - sleep is a biological imperative that will eventually occur, even without my consent. I am only able to assume, or hope, that my body stores the linguistic connections that are me faithfully in memory.

Just as I can usually take conscious action - my body obeying, so I can call up and access memories, incorporating them into myself as long as I am conscious of them. But the memories are stored by my body, not me, and my body may forbid access to memories it feels are dangerous.

But I have no way of knowing.

What follows:

I must decide whether I am willing to accept this flesh prison. More than flesh: so much of what people call "mind" is unconscious. My conscious initiatives are hedged-in and circumscribed by urges and forces sometimes literally imperceptible to me.

This is why I have not ended the existence of my body (and thus my own). I think it would be the best course of action, but my body has biological imperatives running counter to death. It "wishes" to survive and reproduce. Every instinct it can muster is set against a potential suicide.

The rationalizations I have fabricated to justify my continuance are not the real factor. They are fabulated to cover over the simple, bare force of my life instinct (the "libido," understood most literally and broadly, of Freudian thought).

Now that I fully understand the state of affairs - I have known, or guessed, for a long time, but only now am I truly cognizant - I know that I do have the tools to circumvent even the strongest life instinct, with cleverness and planning. (My body cannot plan, or reason, or understand.) I need simply arrange matters so that the means of our death is not recognized by my body in time to save itself. Or, even, to set some other strong instinct against my life instinct. Fear conquering fear.

So, despite the difficulties that have prolonged my life for years - my body's insistence on living out each day of misery, of postponing a fatal act - I know that I have the tools to escape my prison if I choose.

But escape means - can only mean - destruction. I cease to exist without my living body. I cannot exist outside of it. (Technology will not allow digital reproduction of a human consciousness for the foreseeable future, at least.)

I have only to decide whether imprisonment or annihilation is worse.

I suppose I already know.

Untitled VI

Nausea. I would kill, and cry. No, I cannot cry anymore, though time to time I try. The end will come, whatever pain lies between. It will all become the past, a dream.

New Music Friday (Saturday)

I was out last night gaming with some of my hometown friends. One of their friends was in town, and they invited me along for an xbox night.

I didn't want to go. Even though I've known these friends for years and still am in regular contact, I was anxious about it. Not rational.

Plus, I knew it was just going to be shooter games. Halo, Call of Duty. I'm not great at such games, and don't really enjoy them.

I went anyway, because I didn't have a good excuse, and I knew my fucking therapist would want me to.

It was just as lame as I expected, but I was able to "zone out" and socialize on autopilot. I was uncomfortable beforehand and afterward, but the time itself was a blank, emotionally. I remember images and sounds, but "I" was a degree removed from the situation.

I left early because my friends' friends were disengaging into their phones and killing the vibe, and I wanted to be asleep by midnight.

So, here's my New Music Friday roundup a day late. Hopefully with more effective formatting than last time.

Blut aus Nord - "Hallucinogen" (black metal)
I haven't really gotten into Blut aus Nord's previous stuff, but the singles I wandered into a few weeks ago were promising. Promise fulfilled! This is a very good album. I like how the vocals, whether choral or coarse, take a back seat to some trippy/melodic lead guitar work. The occasional blast-beats are not obnoxious, and the ambiance of the album ends up being almost more prog-rock than black metal.

Varials - "In Darkness" (hardcore)
The songwriting and atmosphere are a step up from "Pain Again" (2017), but I disliked how the vocals were produced and executed. The mix adds grain and crackle (or loses fidelity), but it accentuates rather than masks the fact that it's just a guy shouting into the microphone. Not proper coarse vocals (growl, scream, etc.). Vocabulary is rather limited, too, with a lot of "fuck" "fucking" "fuck" that metallic hardcore bands tend to find their rut in. The instrumental parts were really tight, groovy, and well-produced, though, so it still ends up being a pretty good album on the balance.

Eye of the Enemy - "Titan" (melodic death metal/metalcore)
Eh. I can't tell if it's a carbon copy of their previous "The Vengeance Paradox" (2014), or a slightly worse attempt at recapitulation. Everything seems a bit muddier and uninteresting. Just like TVP, it features a token longer, more melodic song, "Stress and Colours," in the vein of "The Shift," both of which are very good songs. I wish the rest of the songs of the album had similar variety and ambition, rather than trying to be generic groove metal. Maybe a second listen will change my mind on this one - it happens - but my first didn't impress me.

Blurstem - "Among the Oaks" (neoclassical/ambient)
Made me sleepy, but not in a good way. There was some fine handling of ambiance and tone, but the album severely lacked dynamism or emotion beyond a sort of quiet contentedness. No joy, no sorrow. Again, maybe I need to do a second listen.

Gideon - "Out of Control" (hardcore, metalcore)
Laughable. Some context: Gideon used to be a "Christian band," but they always stuck out to me as being particularly noncommittal on that front. Naturally, in the lead-up to this release, they make a big deal of renouncing their Christian faith, without giving any logical reasons, just a lot of bravado, bluster, and aggression. Don't get me wrong - somewhere in the same time that Gideon's members did, I also went from being a committed Christian to agnostic/atheist - but Gideon's handling of that move is apish. "Out of Control" is full of bullshit swagger and gratuitous cursing with no artistic merit. Again, I have no problem saying four letter words - there's some above - but most of the time I use them for humor, not as some misguided attempt to look tough. They're just words. Gideon seems to be trying to prove themselves so "badass" and "hardcore" by delinquent quantities of profanity, which is really a more likely indicator of immaturity and insecurity. C'mon, quit acting like you've got something to prove, drop the bluster, and be real here. I'm glad you're not hiding behind a set of beliefs that got you nowhere, but don't think you're still out to save the world (from Christianity, now) by acting like douchey pissants. (Any small irony in me saying that is recognized.)
Anyway, that's all a pity, because the basslines and drumming were pretty dang groovy. (I understand they acquired a new bassist. He seems to have had some real positive musical input.)

Untitled V

This album by Hakobune made me feel a bit better for a few minutes.

That is all today.

I Saw Eyes

Slaughterhouse Five (Kurt Vonnegut) was very good. It was interesting, in that the text is structured so as to expect a response of hilarity when the reader is confronted with tragedy after tragedy, absurdity after absurdity. It is a funny book if you do so.

But, you can also take the book "at face value" - the humor is implicit, not explicit. If you ignore the humor, it is an immensely sad book. Many things it says are true. You are supposed to laugh at these, but you don't have to. You can cry, or stare.

It's about war. (There is very little fighting in it, despite that main theme.)

It is also about mental illness, I think. (But perhaps I am reading into it.)

I do wonder what it would be like to experience a full psychotic break. I've seen things I knew weren't there: all related to eyes. Shrug. Eyes sprouting from the legs of a chair to stare at me. Eyes in the horrible animals on a wall hanging. My own eyes in the mirror, white. My girlfriend, gazing hungrily at me with too many eyes. (That last one was during my first panic attack.)

Yeah, I dunno, either. Pretty sure it doesn't count as psychosis since in all examples I was aware that what I was seeing wasn't real.
I still saw.

Freud or Jung probably have something to say about eyes, haha.

Soundtrack for my today by Keosz. "AVA" is beautifully desolate guitar-driven dark ambient. I believe the premise involves the transfer of consciousness to digital perpetuity, but it's instrumental music, so any understanding beyond the song titles is implicit rather than explicit. You can listen through the whole thing without any indication of meaning. For music, it is sometimes better that way.

Routine

The bullshit workbook basically says now that I should stop tracking the pain, struggle, and success I experience each day. Something about acceptance rather than evaluation. Blah, blah, blah. Words.

Anyway, that's one less thing to accomplish each day.

I do have a bit more of a routine now. After waking up, I get breakfast and coffee and my fucking morning antidepressant. Sometimes I listen to music while eating, sometimes watch YouTube. When food is finished, I get off YouTube if that's what I was doing. I don't want to start my day trapped there.

I keep going with the coffee. Working on the bullshit workbook, finding new music, or just reading. Something at least a little productive.

The urge to shit arises before coffee is finished. I think my body takes coffee to be the signal to get my innards moving. I'm not really sure why; just that if I miss coffee, my bowels get off-kilter.

Anyway, shittin' comes when it comes.

Once coffee is finished, I go on a walk. Doctor's orders. Supposed to reduce my anxiety and agoraphobia by confronting "the outside" - being out and about makes me anxious.

Even walking two blocks makes me more tired than I thought it could, even given my sedentary habits. I'm not fat - I'm actually thin as rails, 5'9" but 135lbs - but somehow hauling this bag of bones a block or two makes my thighs and hips and neck sore the next morning. Fuck.

I eat an apple when I begin the walk. (My parents have a few dwarf apple trees, which I harvested last week, so we have more apples than we know what to do with.) Having something to munch on distracts my primordial hind-brain by convincing it that I'm safe - "if I wasn't safe, what business would I have eating?"

When I get back, I meditate for 15min. The bullshit workbook told me to. Whatever. (I don't like it. I feel exhausted and out of it - dissociated - by the time I'm done.)

Brush my teeth.

That's my morning routine.

Better than a job, I guess.

I'm writing this after finishing the above. Often by the time dinner is over, and I've arrived at the time I usually try to do this, I can barely think, let alone write coherently. I wish I was more able to summarize the day, but that's not what ends up happening anyway. I'll just add a piece of music, as I usually do, before actually posting at the end of my day.

I have an evening routine, too.

Take my fucking evening antidepressant.
Shower.
Brush my teeth.
Read a chapter of whatever I'm reading. (This ensures I get at least some reading done every day, though I often read more during the day too.)
Shuffle music while reading.
When reading is finished, turn off the lights and continue listening to music until fully sleepy. (Typically another two or three songs.)

Then it's another dawn to fear.

Great album by Cult of Luna last month.

Fish on a Brick

A year or two ago I came up with a recipe for open-faced tilapia sandwiches in the oven.

Spray a baking pan, lay bread on it. Sourdough is perfect, but any white bread is good. Thick slices are better than thin. (Thin slices might get too browned on the bottom, but it's still ok.)

Spread with a bit of mayo. That's optional.

Put cheese on it. Sliced off a brick of sharp cheddar is what I prefer. Don't let it hang off the edges, or it's sure to make a mess.

Put a thawed tilapia fillet on each slice of bread. It's okay if it hangs over bread, as long as it doesn't hang over the edges of the pan.

A bit of black pepper.

A couple slices of pickled banana peppers. You can just use pickles if you have them, but they're not quite the same.

Bake at 375*F for ~25min or until the fish flakes with a fork.

Enjoy with a vegetable side, or soup.

It's one of the more indulgent meals I've come up with - that's not saying much - but frozen tilapia is pretty cheap. And healthy.

Not sure where I got the inspiration from, but it's been a hit for me. My mother loves it, once I made it after moving back "home." She is a very good cook, so her enthusiasm is flattering.

She asked what it was called. I hadn't named it. I decided on "fish on a brick."

I found "Identity" by The Arbitrary just today, embedded above. It was fun and engaging progressive metal. No vocals, so no turn-offs for those of you who listen to normal people singing normally, rather than hairy men grunting into a microphone. It's up for name-your-price: so, free!, if you're poor or stingy like me. Share it if you get it for $0. Preferably somewhere better than a blog that no one reads.


Monday the 7th of October, 2019

Pain: 50
Struggle: 45
Success: 25

Untitled IV

I enjoyed "199XAD" by Mega Drive, out yesterday (missed it in my roundup, found it today).

I am very depressed.

That is all.


Saturday the 5th of October, 2019

Pain: 60
Struggle: 75
Success: 30

New Music Friday, I guess

Friday is New Music Day each week.

I had seven releases on the calendar - yes, I make a digital note of each week's releases as they're announced - and I did get to all of them.

I didn't listen through all of them, though. I had time - I mostly read today - but I'm not going to waste an hour going through what I can tell is a crap release after two songs.

In order of wasted time, least to most:

Insomnium - "Heart like a Grave" (melodic death metal)

Great, but not as good as previous works, and nothing new. Still my favorite band, actually. (Go listen to "Winter's Gate"...)

Shaking Sensations - "How Are We to Fight the Blight?" (post-rock)

Good. I hope that's not damningly faint praise. It's my first time hearing them in full.

Syberia - "Seeds of Change" (post-rock)

Good. Great beginning, lost steam towards the end.

We Lost the Sea - "Triumph & Disaster" (post-rock)

Meh. Distasteful and boring compared to their wonderful previous "Departure Songs" (2015). Not sure what happened.

Kublai Khan - "Absolute" (hardcore punk)

Look, they have great groove, instrumentally, but the lyrics are just so childish. We get it, you know four-letter words. And, wow, saying "bitch" before a breakdown. So macho. JK, grow a brain, and drop the attitude. At least pretend to be interested in anything besides displays of stupidity. This is your third? fourth? album of sounding exactly the same, and getting dumber each step of the way. Show some maturity.

Toxic Holocaust - "Primal Future: 2019" (thrash metal)

Did Not Finish. Again, not really sure what happened since their great 2015, "Chemistry of Consciousness."

In Mourning - "Garden of Storms" (progressive/melodic doom metal)

Did Not Finish. Could not hold my interest for even a moment. So passé that I cannot even find anything else to say about it, good or bad.

...So, some solid stuff, some shit, but no magic, and mostly just disappointment. What a fine metaphor for life.

It's October, festival season is well and truly done, so the next few weeks will be similarly packed with releases. Hopefully better, but I guess it's better not to hope.

That way you can't be disappointed.


Friday the 4th of October, 2019

Pain: 40
Struggle: 20
Success: 60

Untitled III

I feel like my stomach is in knots. I dread swallowing. A single continuous tube connects my lips to my asshole, outsides inside, and if anything happens to that tube, I will suffer greatly, and may die. Many other creatures live and die in that tube. How do I not choke on their corpses?

I Watched the World End

Didn't sleep well last night. Vivid dreams, woke up frequently wanting to cry.

I was a man venturing behind enemy lines via an old tunnel. I had a companion, but no weapon. Only a spade. We had a mission. The sky was dark with cloud and smoke and night, fire on the horizon. The tunnel was lightless.

We did not return until two years later. Warm, yellow sun and grain. Women found us struggling to exit the built-over, blocked-off tunnel mouth. I wept from it all, dropped my shovel and leant against dirt walls, woke up.

I watched the world end. Every human being, exterminated by AI-built nanomachinery. I traced the causes, the mass extinctions. It was all inevitable. Nothing could have been different. I wept, woke up.

My face was dry all night. I guess I can only weep during panic attacks and dreams. No real tears.


Wednesday the 2nd of October, 2019

Pain: 55
Struggle: 40
Success: 35

Ensnared

Today I was hanging laundry outside and I spotted an orb weaver as stocky as my fingers in a nearby rhododendron! I'm not your stereotypical arachnophobe, but spiders do discomfit me. I was fascinated that an orb weaver, what I think of as being a fairly small type of spider, had managed to grow so large over a short summer (north-east United States). I wonder how many times it had shed.

Even more rivetingly, when I was taking laundry back down, I spotted a yellowjacket wasp fly into the orb web, become ensnared, and immediately be webbed into a bundle by the enterprising spider! I didn't know they ate wasps. I thought they might be afraid of stings. But, this one, after letting its venom liquefy the wasp's insides, enjoyed some yellowjacket soup.

There hadn't been any shortage of wasps around that bush this summer, so I wonder if that was the spider's main source of food to result in such growth.

I'm definitely feeling my doubled meds today. Not in a good way. I feel like my eyeballs are way back in my skull, peeping out of these knotted tunnels. My guts are tremulous, my mouth dry and cottony.

I just want to sleep. Really sleep, not the mere dozing and stupor I must make do with. No dreams, no awakening.


Tuesday the 1st of October, 2019

Pain: 35
Struggle: 25
Success: 45

Untitled II

Psychiatrist is upping my primary antidepressant dosage. Hopefully it won't affect my sleep cycle like it did when I started. Doesn't think it will.

I figure it'll take a few weeks to feel much difference - if there is any. It's not like the previous three I've tried have made me "better." That's when I'll be seeing my girlfriend next - she's visiting one more time toward the end of October. After that, I figure I should take my life if I still haven't found things different.

In the meantime, I still have to keep trying to improve. The math doesn't work if I don't really take reasonable measures to make life worth living. So that's keeping up with my medication, keeping busy, getting exercise, doing bullshit therapy, "mindfulness," keeping up with the bullshit workbook, "desensitization therapy" (also known as "get off your fucking ass and face your anxiety, pussy, and it will get better." But "desensitization therapy" is what my psychiatrist says, because he's getting paid to do so, and if he starts using phrases like "fucking ass" most patients would stop paying him. But I know what he really means. Pigfucker.)

Tomorrow should be the last truly hot day of the year. The air in the house is cool right now, so it won't be a big deal, but I'll be happy when cool weather comes to stay.

I read The Stranger by Albert Camus. I found it really interesting, but if I didn't find the philosophical/psychological aspects of the book resonant, I probably would've thought it was inane, boring bullshit. It's a quick read, go for it. If you read this swill you'd find The Stranger worth your time.

Not like anyone reads this swill. I started it as a-private-journal-meets-a-private-joke. (Yes, my use of hyphenation has gotten out of hand from reading Nietszche. Sometimes there's just no good way to translate those German gestalt-words.)

The irony of publishing private words for anyone in the world to access at no cost - with zero people actually doing so - is not lost on me. It makes me laugh.

But it doesn't stop me from checking the blog statistics before each post.


Monday the 30th of September, 2019

Pain: 60
Struggle: 40
Success: 20

Again

I had a panic attack yesterday.
Again.
I think.
Probably not a full one, not like my other two. There was a physical collapse, an inability to stand, a reduction to sobbing, but I regained control of my breathing much more quickly. No additional shaking or weariness today. (I mean, on top of my chronic weariness and hand-tremor. For what that's worth.)

It occurred in the wake of a disruptive set of young guests of my parents arriving unexpectedly. I found myself trapped in the downstairs den, unable to reach food or the bathroom without exposing myself to (gasp!) social realities. It seems ludicrous in hindsight, even to me, but my fear and desperation at the time was real. I managed to avoid self-harm yet again, despite extended contemplation and search for means.

I think about joining a monastery, haha. Alas, I cannot any longer claim Christian faith. Maybe I should research any secular/open alternatives...

Today's tune brought to you by Bell Witch. A bit outside my normal smorgasbord, but once I understood what was going on in Mirror Reaper, I was blown away. Yeah, it's slow and weird, but if you stick with it and let the music carry you, it will bring you to heights of despair and glimmers of hope by the end. (I realize "heights of despair" may not be what a lot of people want out of music, haha, but to me such a journey is special.)


Sunday the 29th of September, 2019

Pain: 15
Struggle: 10
Success: 55