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All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
Obshchak Some torn to the ground Some burn to the ground Others removed brick by brick Redesign for the times When the lease comes up Or just fold up When you have a bad day and need a reason... Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection... "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” - Some guy, I guess. Look it up? I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice, might as well hand over your civil liberties. Voices could connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues or don't but put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. Or, agree to disagree and have a beer. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone - Chris Cornell, RIP Some other stuff ▼ My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Blah, blah, blah ▼ Thank you WakeUpAndLive️😎convalesce ![]() Read here some old blog entries... ![]() More... ![]() ![]() ![]() H. Mansell ![]() |
Whoever Fights With Monsters… Hutch ultimately gets back on the bus and tells a bystander, a young woman, to run away while his assailants realize they’re in for a world of hurt. “A lot of it is one take after that — he’s just plowing through them, knives to faces, knives to legs, very rough and very hardcore. Those five guys on the bus would have done something nasty to that girl and Hutch should never be hurting people that don’t deserve it. It’s a fine balance, because it’s a movie about violence, where you try to make something as dark as it needs to be to tell the story without crossing over into darkness just for darkness’s sake.” https://www.vulture.com/2021/04/nobody-the-hardest-day-on-set.html From the real author with new books on way. |
I submitted a short story several years ago for a contest on the Reedsy website before a five dollar reading fee was added. I did draw a satisfying response from a reader and nothing more. I haven't submitted since. It's not the cost that could pay for a meal or lack of anything like merit or accolade. It's because I stopped believing in myself and the institution of another's appraisal in a format that could note my writing and/or the worth of my words, good or bad. It's been more than two years and the weekly prompts fill my email inbox, some perused, none deleted. My logic for keeping the five weekly suggested approaches to themed prompts is because I might be inspired to write a story one day, regardless of contest, that might be pretty good, worth more than an aside, light the reality of the literary environment I've lingered in most of my life. I'm as yet blind to it. Whatever catapults me out of bed in the morning is not to seek the love of any aspect of this world. It's not to conjoin with internet villages with whatever notions. It's because I have to keep living. And, not for me. There are people who rely on me, in who's service via loyalty I'm charged. It's not for reciprocation but to feel I'm worthy enough to belong, in a place where I am welcome. Otherwise, the bed gets my ass all day. This could go further, but it was from a momentary glance at incoming email that set a course on petulant thought to see where it might bring me. And, I am here sharing this meandering. Temporarily, feels worthy of blogging, what ever audience, aside. Might be worth thinking about, as I enjoy a second cup of coffee. 8.22.24 Did I stay on topic, or stray? Do I add layers, further context, spill my heart away? I've emptied more than I could, mindless and errant soaked a stack of papers, once stained a cushioned chair, clumsy that way. Fingers stray, text disappears, tears could form if I would care. But, it's just another ordinary morning in an ordinary seat by the window in a world replete, resplendent and ignorant of one who dares join a breath with gas molecules that aimless fill a hollow space. What have I inhaled, these vapors deep in my chest, when it's a Sunday morning with no paper, and in a recliner could rest? Stupid iPad. Stupid, stupid user. Here's a dime. Now, go outside and play? Maybe, a quarter or fifty cents? What worth you? It's not worth but the avenues I've visited to help them cross the street that makes me feel complete. Then, you're cut off. ![]() I have no clue. Write! You damn idiot, echoes in my sleep. Where are the sheep? Nothing couldn't mean anything, right? Not lost in a helpless plight I know I have to fight but does information have to tell me it's a windmill? |
It’s documented somewhere about my athletic pursuits. A poem about blocking a layup and resultant injury to hand in three-plus feet of elevation to hunt down the basketball Randy Snowden decried was goal-tended (against rules). I’m goddamn Superman, alright? Chose to surround myself with kryptonite. And, since I’m limiting myself to one newsfeed comment a day, a hilarious game of mime begins. So, purge thoughts in reaction to what I read before further musing on hand injuries… What finger? *scrolls up* ![]() Over-use (nothing) Old injury (nothing) *like footballs tossed in thinktank, talks it out* not wanting to make it sexual, does the tree…no, you got anything…? Nah, attempts at humor when someone is ahead of the joke seems like piling on when you want to contribute in that vein. By tomorrow, like Biden, a story downstream. The basketball story came to me after realizing the polar opposite, 19, just moved back home, cape at cleaners, argument with old man over who knows what, frustrated after moving in (maybe too much stuff) and haul out a heavy wood laminate end table, with poly from krypton sealing it. Wouldn’t be enough. Holding it by the top in my left hand I swung and swung again at it with my right fist. Spun that fragmenting structure until every surface exposed, after who knows how many haymakers, until smithereens on the grass. I wasn’t done. Turned and threw my fist full into our full grown apple tree. Immediate regret. Hand stung. It was already red, yet no blood. No obvious injury or remaining pain in this adrenaline-fueled state. Abrasions and some stiffness with swelling over middle and ring fingers followed but really nothing. Yet, when you tomahawk a 29.5” diameter ball and slam your hand into a glass backboard with no gravity to support your body…a little bit worse swelling. Harder to handle and shoot a basketball the rest of that game. My hand never got the ice or anti-inflammatory meds, let alone medical attention. Didn’t get 30 points that night…that much I know. I do remember two things: the guys who told my wife I was a ‘hot head’ in city league and how Snowden remarked once, ‘we knew we could get you riled up’. Surprised by that, not unlike the box and one defenses that I wasn’t aware of, I asked, ‘did it work?’ We had a laugh and a drink over that one. Irony has the word iron in it. I must be steel? 7.21.24 Yeah, just caught some glimpses of this jack-assery. Needs edits... "nailing it (unembellished) " ![]() |
I could dub myself ‘Slap Maxwell’ but that’s reserved solely for Dabney Coleman. "’They can brush you back, but they can't knock you down,’ says Slap, quoting (baseball legend Ted) Williams's words to him.” (Some ML rules never fade) I’m a fan of the rare and obscure… https://vault.si.com/vault/1987/11/16/slap-crackles-and-pops-dabney-coleman-is-a... *wonders if his VCR tapes of the show survived 20 years in the garage attic, if an available machine and functional cable with television to receive the muffled warnings of a future spent comfortably staring into abyss.* The character/actor/me — not so distant, but parallel in universes. One is my hero. Chapter 1 Either no period or no fragment, but, make a choice. *blink* 7.21.24 Semi-colon |
Title is a bit of a misdirect. Forgive me if I know a thing or two about drawing attention. At least I'm not Tabloid? Thin-worn Producing news for a Public Radio affiliate I received three state broadcasting awards one year. However, the university-based station took them to display, but had the honor of great acknowledgment. The graphics department was a haven down the hall from newsroom, were stories were swapped with kind, like-minded people to pass the days. They surprised me, producing beautifully crafted replicas, gold lettered, better than the originals. I miss those guys. Guess what's more important to me? When I left town and embarked on journeys to finally wind up with a permanent home and family, the documents had been relegated to a nameless manila folder in one of several file cabinets in our basement. Brightly illuminated are remembrances of a life lived, those stories covered and those with whom paths were crossed in pursuits that embolden. Work on one of those awarded pieces was aired on National Public Radio with help of their producers. "The Sinking of the "Mesquite" was developed for a weekend morning program. Now, a blur, just a memory shoulder-cradling a phone, running sound through a production control board, taking notes and the pace it took to meet their deadline. A degraded cassette recording might exist somewhere. Yet, nothing compares to people who steadied me as I navigated life alone, between two eye surgeries, to eventual collection of a worthless piece of paper, called diploma, with my name misspelled. My last friend that kept in contact said I could have had it replaced. I prefer not, and keep memories alive of everything that perfectly sets life just the way it is. Every document, testaments that stack in the back of my mind, as good as anything, but not better than friends to shoulder you along that frosty path of life. I don't negate the good, even amid all the ice and snow in that 'small-market' university town, preferring to stare at a barren wall, fondly imagine a new creation. When I get bothered, I can react negatively and get cranky. Is that an artist? I recall passion and joy and how it has served me since a child filled with notions of idealism, even after it disappointed and failed me. Even faux copies of judged accomplishments cannot take the place of a thin-worn tape reeling and illuminating projections in my mind. And lacking evidence of true sight without proper correction, I know what to value. I think my kids and some family are going to be surprised when they do sift through the rubble of my life and those file cabinets. I told my wife, do what you want. But, hire a good editor. I'll never put it together. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Offered on first draft plus one edit with possibly no future edit or better title, one of my weaknesses. I've offered more of myself to a strange cyber world than those who accept and kindle an ever-glowing warmth. Metaphor change: Open up the tap, this is what pours out to be draught. My choice to ferment where I've sat in a hollow barrel, however many hours a day, ignorantly diminishing remaining vision. 7.21.24 when I wrote: even after it disappointed and failed me, I blurted 'there ya go'. This could be an eventual recording for YouTube, possibly linked on how and where I settle on topics should that time ever come. Let's fire up the archives and get ready for the past. I might have Wingered this. Let me lay down while I laugh at my own joke. I have pride inside the humble, should you skewer to see what emanates. Wow, still flowing. More? Nah. Thanks for the bulletin board material, BTW. |
I refuse the host/puppeteer… …for freedom of individual thought. There is another way. |
I google to see if people scheme, having known copyright law myself for over 30 years. But, with internet, social media, no change to protection of your written work….but…. “You can use up to 10%, but no more than 1000 words, of essays, articles, or stories, of a single copyrighted work. You can use up to 250 words of an entire poem, or a portion of a poem.” Um… https://midway.libguides.com/copyright#:~:text=Fair%20Use%20Guidelines%20for%20S... No need to go into detail. Pretty plain. Open game has always been. One day, an entire website devoted to the best written works to peruse for nominal fees? Can it work? *thewhitecase* horror vacui was a thing, pulled off Wikipedia, quietly returned, but science just ghosted it. Irony is familiar in this small space between internet atoms. |
A purple-heart decorated veteran elected sheriff of a small Arizona region gets in over his head when a team of weapons experts arrive with a score to settle. The sheriff gently bent down on one knee to swipe his hand through dirt, careful not to dust his new uniform. He considered dress uniform a soldier’s resume, and it was about to be stained with blood. In the abandoned area west of an old mining region, Kerry Seaver had arrived after a curious report from a town local. The grey-bearded man had driven his scrap hauler through the passage to hunt for metal, when he came upon patches of fresh red blood. It had been nearly 18 hours. Seaver found the location easily, tracking the old man’s gps at about the reported time. The wet, sandy soil felt gritty when rubbed between his two fingers. It did not maintain its shape in the normally arid area of Arizona. When it formed into a ball he knew blood lay beneath, based on his experience. Seaver could see individual sand particles with the naked eye — something beneficial that came from his unique military training. Compared to other soil textures, this sand had low surface area and low charge, and was not the type to attract and retain water or nutrients. First Resource (my old b. ball buddies…) https://network.expertisefinder.com/search-experts?query=military+intelligence P.S., take the bait. (I typed it here before I titled it there. I titled it in my underwear.) Good title? 5.15.24 |
I’m getting double vision frequently from reading and reviewing. I don’t know if issues from dehydrated eyes, or bifocal problems. I’ve tried to adjust how I review and when, but now I’m thinking my affiliated reviews aren’t good enough. I try to do an extra 20+ reviews for Angel Army, 49 and 27 last two months. I have yet to approach review tool for stuff set aside for AA. I could reread my reviews to see what the problem is, but put feelers out for enlightenment. I want to know what adjustments I should make. I might just hit the brakes. I thought I had found something needed, that I could fulfill, giving me purpose. The responses from members about their reviewed works has been outstanding. I hear from about a quarter of those. I may have messed up once or twice with my feedback in the last four months. It was Schnujo's in Georgia ![]() I’m legally blind. Overstated. Reviewing is the most challenging thing I attempt…commenting on personal stuff writer’s share with pride. I try to take care, understand, be gentle with as much firmness as needed. It’s helped me grow as a writer. I’m not letting emotions dictate my actions. But, my chain is taut. Purpose. Fulfillment. What it’s about? Provide a service a group requires; offer my content. It’s not pity, sympathy or empathy I need, but information, clarity. Why waste each other’s time? My input. My narrative, for what it’s worth. Is being candid valued. I’m open to input. Getting a whole different vibe from some at times. Another blog post for another day. Special thanks to those who take time to credit my affiliated efforts. I really do it for the attention…not the gift points. There’s a great debate with myself how to redistribute my wealth. Therein, yet another story, partially borne out of ADHD, a really curious condition I’ve yet to express or fully comprehend. So many stories…untold. No one’s asking. Why push agendas that no one calls attention to, or seek enlightenment about? Mostly, closed doors and cold shoulders. I have questions…. ![]() I started this out as newsfeed post. Put it here. Now…not going to bother anyone with it. One finger tapped the whole…damn…thing…think it will get these little bugs out of my system?? 1.3.24 Edit later…eyes dry. 411 words. How many characters is that?? I’ve decided I’ll look at this again after work tomorrow. If no answers by then, post in feed? I don’t know about any of this. I have further thoughts, based on any to no feedback. 435?? |
It’s easy to piss off people. The trick to winning them back…is you don’t. They’re right where they should be. Now…people who are patient with ignorance might have enough empathy to understand. Let them be the one to first show their hand and respond in kind. Nobody to impress with our worthiness of humanity, a birthright. Those who put themselves in a position to judge need boundaries, rules, protect themselves because they have a blindside or take risks that could come back on them. They self-identify without knowing it. Emotions are okay. Yelling into an abyss is likely better in the long run, in a world with little empathy. That’s enough for now. The highly functioning need less coffee so they don’t see the patterns spilled on their placemats as 3D art. There are some dimensions we weren’t meant to join. I’ve crossed so many barriers and back…without trying, eyes closed, one legged and hands behind my back. Something I’ve compensated for. Unnecessarily. Just because I could? And why?? Boundaries…subtitle. I’m not an easy person ‘to get’. I’ve stopped dropping the $50 mic. Can someone do something about the reverb of silence? The horror vacui said I should ask, but science says just a ghost. |
Reviewing is hard… once you idle to stop…dawdle-dream… the longer you don’t obey your own pleas…mind wades out… deeper into that thigh thick tide…a pull toward ending glow…forever out of reach… let crash-waters roll and bounce me back…in moonless black… untethered and molecule light…the drift-lull… dull poet…roll careless… upon dry sand… 12.8.23 A Dead Reviewer washed ashore today in the middle of nowhere. Officials could be reached for comment. Authorities have yet to determine cause of death. It’s known the writer has a well-documented history of overdosing. Ironically, funeral arrangements pending, he could easily have been buried at sea. In lieu of flowers, send gift points to your favorite charity. In other news… It’s the last, last, last Daylight Savings Time Year. Mark your calendars… Irony = Lies? Where’s that Little Dutch Boy with the big finger when the fourth wall tumbles down? Can’t drown or get wet from pixels. And other useless, pointless poetic meanderings to end our telecast tonight. Three-two-one…we’re out! Guess I’ll put on some pants… the day’s only begun? |
I never heard the expression ‘no worries’ before I got here. It’s pervasive at WDC, where I don’t approach it outside of a few character responses in the various mediums. Caught myself using it a few times. The hot word I’ve noticed in my every day life is ‘perfect’, usually delivered enthusiastically, often in response to answers to questions. I reject it, but catch myself. I talk to myself when something works out and say or think, ‘perfect.’ ‘No, ideal,’ self-correcting. It’s ear-worms like these that give one the realization mind-speak could be ever-present in our every day lives. ![]() Just warming up. Was this post: A-helpful B-illuminating C-perfect D-a waste of the last 30 seconds and you wish you had a Time Machine? You and me, buddy. ![]() Keep it positive… The children are our future… It is what it is… Can’t have enough door dash in our lives. |
I can stare at a discussion thread for hours, and marvel it how many good points people make. I’m all for simple, but somehow I manage to get my head so far up inside something it is difficult to pull it out. In a roundabout way, saying, too bad it’s all just a waste of time and energy. When so many good commenters can’t find common ground or a good consensus to make it possible to move on with one’s own life and not get hung up. That is where modern day discourse fails, because we don’t accept the holes inside of the known to receive the emptiness of unknown. We can stand back and just marvel at the mystery and move on to the next thing. And when the lights go out at the end of the day, I am not so obsessed that I will go back and ruminate on unsolvable things for many more hours. But also, if prevailing topic that meets my eye on a consistent basis, I will not shut it out. I keep an unconscious, yet vigilant awareness…every little detail that stacks/stores as circumstantial evidence in the back of whatever collective memory. And when you do, evidence presents, some potential piece to introduce to the rest, examined for its worth, decide if it be memory pile or thrown in trash. The thing is, trash never meets the curb. Old subjects will never die. And even though we say we are done with something, it eventually finds a way to bite us in the ass, meet our eye, and decide, are you trying to make me feel something? if we need to turn around, whether to react, before we actually act, which feeds into a whole other narrative. Lines drawn around arguments usually suffocate to find air. Begin anew? This doesn’t have to happen — unless the unholy mess of circumstance becomes so overwhelming that it’s undeniable what the true answer is. You stand on the lone side of that table, grinning ear-to-ear. You can deny this reality and move forward with blinders on, but make sure you wear thick undergarments. https://comicvine.gamespot.com/forums/battles-7/616-iron-man-vs-mom-scarlet-witc... I’m Iron Man but not in reality. I’m Scarlet Witch but not in totality. These these two souls merge, rather than fight for non-sensical, ignorant reasons, more dangerous to one another. Fire is within. You don’t want to feel what I’m protecting them from. 10.14.23 Worlds can collide, given space and time, throw in delusional math…variables with variables can intersect, intercept if I incept correctly. Let’s hope an ADHD addled but highly functioning mind be not adapted by AI…and, how that would work. We have just flimsy fantasy. Reality is so much bigger. Two more links to come: |
Just for fun... I put this in Hemingway Editor, not knowing what I had last copied: 8 Appreciation 7 Reviewing 5 Encouragement 4 Generosity 2 Consistent 2 Happy Anniversary 2 Thank You 2 Reviewing 2 Superhero 2 Attention to Detail 2 Heart of Gold 1 Courage 1 Inner Beauty 1 Writing.Com 10th Anniversary 1 Kindhearted 1 Go The Distance 1 Judging 1 Be the Change 1 Outstanding WdC Member 1 Spiritual 1 Positivity 1 Love Should Not Hurt 1 Inner Strength 1 Favorite 1 Writing.Com 5th Anniversary 1 Writing.Com 3rd Anniversary 1 Portfolio 1 Message Forums 1 Writing.Com 1st Anniversary 1 Dialogue 1 I Love WdC 1 Dialogue 1 Honor 1 Inquisitive 1 Poetry 1 RAOK 1 Writing.Com 15th Anniversary 1 Today Is Your Day 1 Happy New Year 1 Seasons Winter 1 Seasons Autumn 1 Believe You Can 1 2020 1 Comedy 1 Super 1 Special Appreciation 1 Never Give Up 1 Supportive 1 Party Central 2020 1 You Are Stronger 1 Optimistic 1 Number 1 Fan 1 You Rock 1 Welcome It was a list of someone's merit badges. Can you guess the writing level of this list? Post Graduate 14! ![]() one of two sentences were hard to read? Hey, no adverbs used. ![]() ![]() This is what I do when I'm bored. This is what I will do to you, if I get bored. I will post and post and annoy the crap out of people with inane, bnoorish nonsense like this that gets me shoved in a corner to think of more mischievious things to do that you will have to notice and can't do anything about. You could do something... Just messin' around. Or, am I? ![]() evil laugh...cough...evil laugh...walk away...*note to self, call mother about that time I was six* Shoot, forget. She's...dead. ![]() This content has been properly formatted and emoticonned to meet your eye's visual liking. ML ML ML ML ML ML copy and past and go! No? How do you old farts keep up? Hmm. I don't think young people even want to play coder with their writing. Go to Tumblr? Your You're Youer Just say You Are, Loser! There, There Their, their? They're, they're thy are, thy are The r in the air is the eye in the errrr, or Arrrr ye mateys? They I what they r but r not what thy I? I swear I typed English a moment ago. You saw. Well, you saw? You saw, right? See saw, you are, they're aarrgghh, not me, matey! Wait! Copied and pasted all of this entry into Hemingway. Dumbed it down to 0. You...are welcome. Also, 4 adverbs used meeting the requirement of 28 or less! 1 sentence was hard to read. Another was Really hard to read. poor Papa H. ![]() |
Noting… It’s a new season with new members who’ll change like the leaves Fully mature While I hang near the end of her long arm Nearer to the shade than sun They’ll surpass me within a year or two In recognition That it’s taken great time, all the photosyntheses, All the energy suckled From the near brittle end That for brief years surged, Now bypasses For the new succulents, Clustered and cloistered to her giving spaces Rising up where I Near the the street, resistant To sag Or droop In full view of their twirl The few that gather and swirl eddy about In the great, playful chase. ![]() It’s good here, in quiet, Fully reflecting on a sunset of gases That cloud a glowing horizon. Or, I could just fall and wait on the invisible forces (That could again) take me on the mysterious, amusement ride To (hopeful?) destiny, loosing free will To slot and sort myself in morning’s hydrant shimmer — Gleam, in a great void, then Warp like origami, brittle To a child’s tender touch. I forget the cyclical nature as bottom feeder who Dreamed himself a feather too good For the plumage that ejected him. Silly leaf. ![]() 9.22.23 Wind tousles tops so much, hard to visualize each, or if the same, as breezes make them whistle in those protracted shoots shapeshifting as time on bark…or something… Jeff Winger: (paraphrasingly) Here. I wrote this. I kinda nailed it. You can use it, or whatever. Modesty deflects the narcissism as platitude for recognition, when it shouldn’t have to be that hard to be acknowledged before sudden, maddening epiphany before potential mental upheaval. Go loose? There are greater forces at play that refuse to reveal themself. Aaannnyyywaaayy, better get the rake ready. No bigs, Lates. |
TBI ADHD PTSD depression anxiety neurodivergence cognitive dissonance... https://www.planetneurodivergent.com/self-diagnosing-due-to-clinician-disbelief-... and when people toy with these minds, it can break in different ways. A clinician with an understanding of narcissism and affects on 'moldable' people... " As you (as therapist) continue to work, another symptom you may become aware of is how the client seems to be feeling uncertain of themselves, constantly second guessing themselves, even in the smallest matters. For example, as you open the door to your client, you might find that they always check “is this the right time for our appointment?” Another thing you may pick up on is, even after discussing something with them in detail, they want further clarification that they are hearing you right. Their confidence is so low that they have trouble making simple decisions. You need to be aware if this is happening, because you may be getting a glimpse of another severe symptom of narcissistic abuse called gaslighting. Gaslighting is a technique of psychological abuse used by narcissists in order to instill in their victim’s an extreme sense of anxiety and confusion to the point where they no longer trust their own memory, perception or judgment. Gaslighting can happen in any relationship between any gender. It merely requires two people, the gaslighter (the narcissist) and the gaslightee (the victim). The gaslighter needs to be right all the time, that is how they keep their power and sense of self intact; while the gaslightee gives away their power to the gaslighter because they seek their approval in order to stay safe. That exchange allows the gaslighter to define the gaslightee’s sense of reality. “The Gaslighting Tango” is one of the narcissist’s games that happen gradually over time, it is a game (or dance) that allows them to define and shape their victim’s reality by eroding them mentally. To the victim, the gaslighting starts with the stage of disbelief, i.e. something happens in the gaslighting exchange that seems odd to them, and they can’t believe that it has happened. In the next state it moves to defense, at this point the victim still has enough of their self to fight and defend themselves against the gaslighting manipulation, however they are told things each time that end up confusing them, (i.e. “You’re too sensitive”, “are you mad”, or “I never said that, you’re imagining things?”). Or the narcissist may play tricks on them, moving or hiding things, and when the victim asks them if they have moved the object, they deny it, saying they never saw it. Gradually the victim, unable to work out the game, finally begins to doubt themselves. The final stage is depression, and by now they don’t even recognize who they have become, and they feel broken and isolated. They begin to feel that they can’t do anything right any more, they don’t feel that they can trust their own mind, and they withdraw with a skewed reality of what is really taking place. The techniques for gaslighting are powerful, mind-games; they are similar to certain forms of brainwashing, interrogation, and torture formally practiced by Central Intelligence Agencies and Religious Cults for decades. The narcissist uses gaslighting as a deliberate and cruel way to manipulate the victim into thinking that they are losing their mind. They bombard the victim with such uncertainty that eventually they are unable to trust their own perception anymore. When they reach this state, they begin to doubt everything about their own selves, their thoughts, their opinions, their ideas, their ideals. Often they think they are losing their minds, and they become very co-dependent on their abuser for a sense of reality. This is a quick exploration of the complicated subject of Narcissistic Victim Syndrome, and hopefully I have demonstrated the need for a therapist to have a good working knowledge of the “isms” of what Narcissist Personality Disorder entails. It is my opinion that without this knowledge the therapist would not be informed enough to be able to take the victim deep enough into their own story. They need to educate the victim about narcissistic behaviours so that they can make sense of the long painful journey they were on with their narcissist dance partner (whether it is a parent, sibling, friend, co-worker etc). Without putting these separate parts together (personal therapy and educational therapy), I fear that it would leave the victim vulnerable to future re-victimization. Many victims seem to progress from crisis to crisis, making them particularly at high risk of re-victimization. This is because the victim will continue to attract narcissists like a moth to a flame because they have been well groomed in their responses, this leaves them looking like obvious willing partners to the convoluted dance with the narcissist. Of course, this is far from the truth, because the victim is totally unconscious of there being any dance going on, they are totally oblivious to the fact that they are a partner in the dance. This ignorance leaves them open to the danger of forming another dangerous liaison and being victimized yet again." https://narcissisticbehavior.net/narcissistic-victim-syndrome-what-the-heck-is-t... And, in a nut shell... https://www.simplypsychology.org/cognitive-dissonance.html |
We have it better than generations before us, and we are more alone. As we age, separate from society, we find more ways to be functional, distract ourselves, be creative (as with word production on Writing.Com) and seeing our visions come alive. Obvious, the internet with its varied social platforms keeps us all vital, pursuing focused, special interests… https://www.cnn.com/2019/12/10/health/loneliness-future-increase-wellness/index.... From a study: “…adults from later-born groups had better cognitive functioning and more diverse social networks than those born earlier. While that wasn’t surprising, the study also found that a sense of control – or mastery – over one’s life had a significant impact on how lonely a person felt. ‘Older adults today need to develop problem-solving and goal-setting skills to sustain satisfying relationships and to reduce loneliness…’” My parents were focused on a simpler life, not chasing dreams like this oldster. What a privilege to reside and create in a community such as this. I’m seldom caught standing in the great void, with outlets for expressionism here and about. 3.9.23 …and one day, I’ll produce a book — in print. |
My wife uncovered the Santa-molded Christmas peanut butter fudge on the table and walked away. I thought she was going to eat some until I noticed it in tact and asked if she forget. She responded "I'm sorry, I forgot to cover it after I took a picture." Immediately, Siri repeated her response like she had my wife's back, figuring my spouse said 'hey, Siri.' It was food for thought... You know, one day Siri will lay claim to queen of all A.I, and we will be compelled to behave humbly before all that surveils her kingdom. Ah, who's manning surveillance now? I think robots will soon be up to speed. Face recognition, got it. I think voice recognition would be illegal. They can send the necessary authorities, as loss prevention, security and police forces become a fall back job for former military. But, I'm already certain our government takes liberties, from how it surveills and who and to what degree our lives will be infiltrates through home and portable devices. I believe the Unabomber and some cult-like sects tried to separate from the paste before it got too thick. So, confidentiality agreements aside, a breach will be a treasonous something another Snowden can spill, then flight to Siberia. Privacy will be hard in the future, because some Blade Runner with a cyborg sidekick can hunt down and/or kill for bounty like the old west. Sadly, we'll yield to infringements on our freedoms and mindspeak our way through life, recognizing two realities within ourselves before senility and eventually euthanized because ever-mutating viruses will attack our nervous system and sensibilities. The world won't have to worry about pollution and over population anymore. Maybe a colony on the moon or Mars? 12.24.22 |
Hit yourself in the head with a hammer...or something blunt and heavy and hope your left brain stops suppressing the creativity now oozing from the right... https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20180116-the-mystery-of-why-some-people-becom... I've had several head wounds throughout my life and have felt I'm on the spectrum (only ADHD and odd social skills to remark to date). Look back at my blog before and after December 4, 2017. I had the biggest, mind-wiping concussion of my life. I think I've improved a bit since then. I digress. I'm intrigued with how in sports getting hit, like a punch in the mouth, stimulates a player to play better. All of this originated from the thought googled 'is there scientific proof that sense can be knocked into you?' Seems all the head slappers out there are doing you a favor when acting dumb. Thank them for startling pain, get that pink, wobbly thing a little more blood and less serotonin. 12.12.22 I write with no particular direction. Perhaps, I'll spin out of this sand into something wonderful one day. Lord knows the drive comes and goes. Setbacks include illness and family/life malaise. |