I can't imagine that punishing the Democrats is worth this price.
What was gained?
Does the pleasure of clean hands endure?
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I find myself really uncomfortable when I encounter people who say, "that's not what I was expecting," as if that itself had concretely relevant information in it.
If you imagine a relationship or a conversation to be like a shared room being co-created, experienced from two+ distinct vantages, an expectation (to me) is at best a wall color, a way that light bounces. It's not a glass table in the center of the room that everyone has to maneuver around and protect.
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The arguments for withholding a Harris vote are indistinguishable to me from how my trauma responses argue.
I detach from the present moment and say, WHAT PRAXIS IS THIS. Trauma doesn't have a plan. Trauma is a shitty driver. Trauma ruminates but it does not contextualize.
Trauma watches new trauma approaching and says only I EXIST.
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[#]TrumpIsACunt
My heart is big with Ashley Storrie today.
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This is what a chunk of soul reclaiming my body sounds like:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aWDlaxvEZo
I sit here, astonished.
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‼️ UNFUCK GOOGLE SEARCH ‼️
add udm=14 to the end of your search query
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Chemotherapy will fuck your shit up and won't do shit to help your diabetes or asthma or back pain. It will make your fatigue worse. It's not a healthy process.
When cancer is the other option, tho...
Fucking vote.
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My whole brain is a game of exquisite corpse right now and I do not like it.
[#]AutisticBurnout
[#]Haunted
[#]DemandDemandDemand
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I think choreographically rather than concretely.
Things (nouns and verbs) form according to how they BEHAVE rather than how they ARE (which would seem a silly thing to imagine I have any real insight on).
So, there are some working metaphors that placehold certain concepts for easier reference and communication.
[Imagine watching a dance performance and then talking about it with someone who was or was not there. In either case, metaphor and placeholders are going to be necessary because precise communication of the lived experience is next to impossible, and also still coloured by emotional subjectivity]
The image of a human body, naked under the clothes, as they tend to be.
The body is the BEING.
The clothing is the BEHAVING, but also the habits, the biases, all the accumulated culture and context.
Saying to someone, "there is a problem with your body," hits differently than "there is a problem with your clothing." Even as it is a mundane thing to accept that clothing serves a material function tied to survival and comfort, while also being a social communication and, often, an encoded expression of one's own SELF, known beneath even the body.
Changing one's clothes is simpler than changing one's body, but still subject to limitations of resources, purpose, and the shape of the body.
"Human nature" is as fascinating and vast a topic as "Nature." It's body stuff, value-neutral.
"Human behaviour/culture" are clothing stuff. Talking about these critically is very often productive (but occasionally reveals you to be an asshole).
I don't think we make these distinctions clearly enough or often enough.
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Guys and dude are, at times, ungendered, and anyone who doesn't like it can tell me and I will note/respect their personal preference.
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If I ever do get an autism tattoo, it'll be an analemma rather than infinity.
Within the subjectivity of my experience, given no evidence to doubt the verity of the analemma phenomenon, its existence matching up perfectly with my own amalgamated historical experiences, it is just as true to me as a singular bright shiny sky dot is to the people around me.
Even as it's not a thing that can be "shown" to them using their senses in the moment, even as trying to do that would probably make them uncomfortable.
Seeing the sun as this moment's occupant in a broader pattern is a good feeling for me.
It feels good to have my subjective perceptions tied to an accurate view, even a very uncommon one that requires the 4th dimension of time.
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Uncharacteristically productive morning.
I was in line to vote half-hour after the polls opened. I didn't make coffee beforehand, but I did pick up my prescription at the pharmacy. After waiting in line for 45 minutes, unable to bring myself to talk to anyone, I brought out my handwritten list from the day before and cast m'votes.
THEN I went into a grocery store and bought a tiny fully cooked chicken (because I'm irrationally intimidated by raw chicken in my house) and a loaf of crusty bread and that fucked up coffee whitener powder that doesn't need to be refrigerated, came home and made an appointment for covid/flu shots for tomorrow.
And coffee.
The water in the house is not yet potable, but I have one gallon for today.
100% can NOT tell if I am handling a confluence of crises very well or if I am failing at life.
It's been over a year now that I have been living in a different continent than my husband and what I've learned about myself is that there is a recurring intense suffering in me that can only be soothed by either living with a person who says, "here's food for you," or working in food service.
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My house, my house for sale, my house that flooded in 2021 so I dug trenches and replaced gutters and graded the whole side yard, that house, in Asheville, for sale, right now, so that I can join my husband living in Glasgow, is without cell service and internet and water but fuckin hell
not a drop of water came inside.
It all rolled in exactly the lanes we steered it toward, around the house and down the hill. Any ol' normal rain, it would seem
except
I think this might not be a fortuitous time to be trying to join my husband in Glasgow
by way of a house for sale
in Asheville.
[Friday, 27 Sept, 11:55am, 20 minutes before the fiber communication cables gave way to displaced trees, in some other near but far place]
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“HONEY: (Apologetically, holding up her brandy bottle) I peel labels.
GEORGE: We all peel labels, sweetie; and when you get through the skin, all three layers, through the muscle, slosh aside the organs (An aside to NICK) them which is still sloshable--(Back to HONEY) and get down to bone...you know what you do then?
HONEY: (Terribly interested) No!
GEORGE: When you get down to bone, you haven't got all the way, yet. There's something inside the bone...the marrow...and that's what you gotta get at. (A strange smile at MARTHA)”
-- Edward Albee, Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolff?
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The more I learn about it, the more I am relating to pre-1919 traditional Scottish architecture.
It's brilliant and longstanding but fundamentally incompatible with the modern brute force of desire. It "works" differently. It needs to breathe. Refusing to work with it on its terms while continuing to extract value from it IS NOT GOING WELL.
I think I understand what my next phase of educational/professional pursuit is going to be, once this house I remade in the US sells.
I want to be one of the people fluent in the language of stone homes, and helping to bring them into relevance with a future.
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I am only safe where I am trusted.
To those who remind me the world doesn't work like that, I say, "don't you think I've noticed?"
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This is the memorial garden for my mother. Pictured facing West, the garden is oriented to the North. From that view, the upper half of the giant circle is a rainbow shaped raised bed (yes it's planted in color bands), with a cinderblock base, that I recently secured by facing it with cement and paver stones. The lower half (pictured here on the right side) is paths and perennial garden beds. The paths spell out LOVE in 10' letters. The center circle is a hand-hammered pebble mosaic.
12 years and it's very nearly finished.
The photographer was here today to create materials for the sale listing.
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Hahaha I love this article. No surprises.
https://www.indy100.com/viral/horses-are-a-lot-smarter-than-previously-thought-researchers-believe
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I was naively excited about the debut of breaking as an Olympic sport but
no
in retrospect, duh
but
omg no
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I'm seeing "Ope" thrown around a lot in articles trying to be clever about Tim Walz' Midwesternness.
The way they are using it grammatically is jarring to me, so I'll tell you what it means to me.
I understand it as a Midwestern ώπα, the utterance directly in between the realization that something non-ideal has happened, and the moving right along with increased awareness.
The plates have broken and what we have left is the ground-sourced joy of being alive.
It flies out of my face as punctuation to myself, an end to momentum. The tiniest recalibration from a path of error, an acknowledgement of it, with definite, "but it'll be fine or is fine already" vibes.
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