pretty sleepy; but now-me has a few moments of lucidity

 
         I've struggled with behinding-me from the personas and personalities of those who met the past beforing-me.  Some felt-expect there must-exist an [un-felt by always-me] emotion-obligation that they were the superior-queen and could-will-would treat me as a subordinate-serf.  Those people (mostly family) expected beforeing-me to pass this paradigm along to my spawn and they to theirs (with a wink to Z; the judge of that successful-failure?).
 
        Others chose to become friends with an introverted-nerd, which did not always mean that they recognized something of themselves in beforeing-me.  Introverted-nerd "friends" rarely remain lifelong-close in my book (outside of fictional stories and overlapping common interests).
 
        An inordinate number utilized the "subterfuge cloak" of their covert narcissistic persona (or that of their partner) to "become friends".  Those emotional bullies had already taught themselves (or were taught by their own superior-queen) that the persona most useful for a superior-princesses is a subordinate-serf who grew up under a superior-queen. 

        The one last persona, who struggles to come to terms with now-me, are those who struggle with using imagination.  I almost wrote 'their imagination' but that would imply they have constant and easy access to the ability to run their own mind-movies for entertainment and self-instruction.  The name for that trait is [insert sciency word none remember after reading].  People with [word] do not know what it means to "use your imagination" any more than a colorblind golfer 'knows' how to see an orange Titleist in the fairway.  What the imagination-less can understand is blunt directness.
 
        [pause for effect]  But here is the rub:  They were taught by someone to interpret blunt directness as rudeness.  Which it is—to those who understand metaphor.  Since analogies are "lost on them" and bluntness has always been "taken the wrong way," today-me finds itself between a proverbial rock and hard place.
 
        On The One Hand:  I tell no-imagination-nation that the persona you once interacted with has left the building.   My intend interpretation is for those few people who think the before-me and the today-me are the same-me (because I look the same and my voice is similar) to think about the original clichΓ©, "Elvis has left the building!" (Which was said to every Elvis concert-audience so they'd stop ovation-ing and go home) and interpret it as the most harmless communication available to today-me.  My previous experience expects that they will just negative emotion-obligation interpret it as me, condescendingly, going no contact.
 
        On The Other Hand:  Is it possible "going no contact" is only difficult (for always-you) because of your own emotion-obligation interpretation?  Recognize, if you can, the impulse steering/driving you away from even the appearance of thinking of yourself, as superior?  YOU?  You Are A Serf!  Behave like you were programmed!

        Do do do da da da is all I want to say to today-you . . . it's meaningless . . . and all that's true.
 
        Always-you doesn't need to always make yourself feel the impulse of negative emotion when your behavior might cause someone else to—maybe—blame you for making them feel a negative emotion.  This emotion is only a safeguard.  You can (from-now-on-and-forevermore) recognize the safeguard as related to 'behaving condescendingly' and choose to sometimes allow it.  There are going to be more and more future times (as today-me improves itself to become a better tomorrow-me) when your future-selves possess a superior state of awareness compared to your today-self.  Allow always-you to grow beyond any and all wrongfully instilled safeguards.  
 
        On The Third Hand:  Today-you has every responsibility to think of your today-me, and all potential future-me's, as superior to every-all of your before-me's.  When today-you avoids actions (and decisions leading to future actions) which would be rationalizations-of, or excuses-for, future actions that tomorrow-me would definitely consider hypocritical—you are remaining aware of your self-drive to be better.  For yourself.  Every instance where you prove, to yourself-in-the-moment, that you aren't a hypocrite is one more reason to feel superior to the you that you might have become if you weren't able to remain aware of your self-drive guiding today-you toward a better future-you.

       Your 'creative persona' (which seizes control whenever it is allowed) directs your attention to focus on the quantity of positive qualia present, as well as it's (your) ever-constant self-goal-challenge of striving toward a noticeable improvement in quality until satisfaction eventually becomes contentment.  [A prerequisite of this self-goal:  Possessing the capability to imagine what satisfied-and-contented would feel like; recognizing the satisfied-contented experience while it is happening; and evaluating satisfactory-contentment as a memory (which is what recalling what it felt-like feels like).]

        Future-present-past would feel-feels-felt is an invaluable measuring tool to teach yourself.  If there is one thing to take away from these paragraphs, this is it.  Pick a thing that you imagine you would feel if that thing were to occur in your presence.  Orchestrate events so it happens.  Pay close attention to how your emotions react in the moment.  Reflect on those emotions.  Rinse and repeat (with refinement in expectations, reactions, and reflections as needed and desired).




Response to Well-Wishers

 

        When wishing someone a pleasant weekend it is "taken as a given" that they (like everyone, the well-wisher wrongfully assumes) must look-forward-to and enjoy experiencing the days of not laboring or of working to earn their living more than they enjoy their workweek.  Those who are comfortably retired—or that rare-someone who greatly enjoys the passion of their labors more than the the painful days spent away from their work—are still capable of understanding the glad-tidings as they were intended; and replying with a perfunctory 'thank you, you-too'.
 
        However, my autism gets rattled when receiving a "Happy Thanksgiving!" demand, or a query of "What are your plans for Turkey Day?"  
 
        Because of a difficult to explain state-of-mind (ever-present in always-me) I find it extremely difficult to accept these glad tidings in the same manner.  
 
        Before-me replied, years-ago, with words of this nature:
        "We don't celebrate the fourth Thursday of November.  My partner is Native American.  My ancestors tried really-hard to genocidally-murder all of her ancestors.  Then, after my ancestors didn't completely succeed, they forcefully subjugated, second-class citizen-ed, and supported many institutional prejudices, all of which were inflicted upon every single one of her surviving ancestors (up-to and including her and her immediate family).  Celebrating Thanksgiving Day was created by, and for, the sons and daughters of former colonizers and slave owners.  It's an entrenched institutionalized prejudice. 

        So...it seems...?...that this would be a hypocritical thing for anyone to turn a blind-eye toward.  For me.  For her.  For you.  And for you to indoctrinate your kids into.  Or, do you 'choose not to think' of the holiday in this manner?  Because that intentional choice is you behaving intentionally as a hypocrite.  Full disclosure: I didn't celebrate it before I met my partner; just one of many reasons we're simpatico."
        Now-me, this year, replied, "We don't celebrate" full stop.  I now understand that elaborating (with intentionally spiky "reasons") was pushing buttons and stirring the pot, but was mostly something I had once said in order to make then-me feel superior.   That former behavior of mine was ineffectual, conflict-causing, and behavior which in-itself was a hypocritical way of behaving.  I didn't know then what I know about myself now.  
 
        By writing this here, in my journal, it's up to you.  All of it.  I have no designed-ability to feel superior and don't have any way to know who—if anyone—reads this and then makes a lasting decision to find a reasonable restaurant owned/operated by fellow non-celebrants (at time of writing, it's mostly Asian food) which is willing to remain open on the last fourth Thursday of November, and reply with a 'we don't celebrate' of your own.


past beatings of a dead horse:
 

The Blessings and Curses of Tim "Meanie" O'tae

|  Open a new tab  |
|  U-Tube Simple Math by Manchester Orchestra  |
|  Come back to this tab  |
|  Read this creative non-fiction essay  |
|  As the words of this allegorical allegory flow  |
|  The sounds selected by the algo-rhythmical algorithm form  |
|  A combination of uniquely new experiential mental information  |
|  Which algorithmically aggregates into your each unfolding moment  |
|  Accept  |
 
 
        Meanie's mother divorced his dad before he could form any memories (of him).  Depending on who you asked, it was:
  • Occasionally referred-to as "both a blessin'-an'-a-curse".
  • Would never even be contemplateable to ever think of those circumstances in that manner.
  • The foundation upon which Meanie learned how to become who he would and would-not become as an adult.
        Meanie's mother's performance of June Cleaver (at Marble Meadow's Centerfield Playhouse) was how she convinced Meanie's future stepdad (who played Ward Cleaver) to marry her.  Depending on what year you happened to talk to any of them, it was either:  The role she was born-an'-raised to play; A convenient lifeboat (of sorts); Much better than her earlier role as the clumsy, baby-trapping, waitress (at The Inn's Mainhouse on the Hill); Or, it was "just another port in the storm (for all involved)".
 
        After taking their renditions of June and Ward Cleaver on-the-road—and dragging Meanie along—Meanie's mother's new husband's character encouraged/caused/magnified Meanie's mother to develop/create/accelerate her increasingly authoritarian retinue in order to (punish Meanie for being an O'Tae) find a reason to keep Meanie in a constant state of uncertainty.  Consequently, some oddly vague things were referred-to as sins and Meanie was beaten-down for some random (other) oddly specific things.
 
        Even though those vague-specifics changed as Meanie grew, their absolute-forbidden nature was something of which Meanie's mother was always 100% certain.  Her highlight-reel included various levels of physical and mental punishments for:  riding bicycles; playing with dolls or action figures; not talking and just staring when being scolded; always asking 'why' (called talking-back); crying for any reason; accusing any grownup of deception or of being wrong; playing with 'unapproved-of' neighbors or schoolmates (within her vicinity) or (on the rare occasion Meanie was permitted to leave the yard) playing with any 'unapproved-of' toys belonging to others.  ["Hey Timmy, wanna come over an' shoot at GI-Joe's with my BB-gun?" . . . "Can't. I'm not allowed."]

         'He raped me' was the foreign-sounding sentence his mother readily unsheathed after Meanie was old enough to wonder, naive enough to expect a logical explanation, and bold enough to ask why she had left his dad before he could remember his face.  Meanie had nobody to request another explanation from.  Step-dad was too comfortably-afraid of losing his ready-made facade-family and Sunday school teacher's, pastor's, and adult neighbor's (murmuring *ask yer parents*) would always report Meanie's queries (resulting in an excuse for more or additional punishments).  And since he was still too young for elementary school, Meanie had no older kids to ask what rape was.
 
        Meanie never actually knew that was his nickname.  He thought what he did with other boys was "teasing" and that it was funny, entertaining (and felt a little exciting).  He had no idea that his behavior was called bullying (or that he was doing it to the other boys).  He did, eventually, realizeonce he was privileged-enough to earn his own personal bully (who's knuckle-rap-punches to Meanie's head were never hard enough to bruise and never witnessed by an adult).
 
        In order for middle-schooler little Timmy O'Tae to avoid his mother's worst emotional-torture, he never informed any adult about the daily assaults and constant fear-of-the-next one . . . *when's he gonna catch me again?*
 
        By the time he reached puberty, Tim Cleaver (never mistakenly called O'tae because the Cleaver's were always moving to a new state, new classmates, new neighbors) was an expert at camoflaged-hiding (in a living room or a classroom) and reading the vibrations in every environment with the goal to fine-tune his 'early warning signal'.  Tim was always refining it—that was automatic-mandatory.  Primary mission (think: Captain Kirk's voice) to better-identify the hidden intent of the sharks in the water before they get within striking range.  And most of the sharks have camouflaged themselves to the point that you forget that everything is one form of shark or another.  Hammerhead to Nurse; Whale to White.     

        Jobs after school and during school-breaks (for under-minimum-wage cash) became Tim Cleaver's only way to spend every possible waking hour away-from the Cleaver home and out-of his mother's vicinity.  She punish-enforced half of Tim's paychecks into a college savings account; the blessing and curse of which (depending on perspective and when you asked whomever) was that:  He never had enough money for socializing or for himself - and - 17-year-old-Tim had compiled the ability to graduate high-school and immediately escape to the cheapest in-state college available at that time.  Thanks Mom, he never said; thanks-to-me, she always said.
 
        Late-teenager-Tim Cleaver's mask began to fit less uncomfortably once he transferred to an out-of-state university.  He could go daze or sometimes almost unmemorable weaks before forgetting to remember that he still had it on.
 
        Because the Art of Presenting a Low Profile was all Tim's every memorable experience in his entire crib-to-college existence had ingrained/trained/practiced, joining a huge faceless organization and becoming just another small knuckle-joint in the machine (disappearing) was The Best-Only Available Option, behaviorally.
Imagine yourself seeing this from Tim's perspective:  He was thinking of a mind other than his own mind.  And this other mind has the ability to run a diagnostics report of it's internal function system and a diagnosis can be made—by Tim about Tim—in a way that Tim *thinks* he is behaving/believing in an objective (switching to subjective) manner of the "good shark".  Everyone is a good shark inside of themselves.  On their own stage.  Of course, for every one of us, some form of internal regulator must be built up from a chosen "baseline" value-system (full disclosure: default-mode is the one instilled/reinforced by adult-guardians).  As awareness of the rational combines with the sometimes-arbitrary emotional—in a chaotic shark-soup of cause-and-effect—the intended-state to remain in a 'remind myself to never forget' frame-of-mind, clashes with the 'I'm now-and-forever anchored to a point of consistent evaluation of itself/myself,' which exists only in this moment.  Evaluate and compare those impressive wavelengths of qualia (in-of a *musical-scratch-sniff postcard*) to all prior un-informed states of previously-held ignorance/naivety . . . drifting . . . forgetting . . . you've lost its leash . . . is it now-feral and should it not-now be thought of as apart from chaos?  It's not simple to imagine Tim's shoes on your feet; or is it?
         All if-of who Tim has experienced to-date was aided/abetted as well as informed-formed by [list the ever-growing spectrum of consciousness disorders] . . . CPTSD/Asperger's/Autism/Personal Logic-Honor System/emotionally programmed by punishment(s) . . .etcetera . . . Tim was (still, unfortunately) perfecting the art of presenting a low profile (even though the reasons to do-so were less-necessary).
 
        Preliminarily accepting the uniform-role of follower; Encouraging people to never think about you when you were not in the room; Never blaming anyone besides yourself and your own failings:  These were a slice of Tim's behaviors (depending on who you want to believe).  And, at the same time, Tim's early warning antenna became even more finely tuned (any hint of unrest on any horizon was immediately met with fawning and acquiescent attention toward whomever caused that unrest).  This was still the case even-though he was associating with (or thinking about) his mother and step father less and less-often.  Then death.  Then estrange.
 
        Then.  Eventually, or some later when, Old Timothy O'tae changed who he was.  By legally returning to his preferred name and starting to fulfill the life he was determined to desire.  As Timothy fully embraced the truthful manner of living without hypocrisy, he recognized (for the first time in his relatively long life) that he was:
 
No longer able to fully bully himself
Shamefully shameful
Shy-fully selfish
Willingly holding-to-held himself up
To the standards required of him by himself
Dealing-to-dealt with each of the selvwe's
 And all our my me's
I know that only I kin ken
But only because I allow myself
Certain get-away-with's or -without's
Which side-step all forms
 Of need for self-recriminating behaviors
So, no longer vexing myself with shame
Or allowing any self-blame to ricochet around
And never permitting vitriolic self-effacement
Allows the bliss-happy-neutral to root
And it - then - becomes the dominant
Mood-tone personality theme-song aura
Which Emanates from the baseline level grasp
Of the areas in front of and adjacent the occipital lobe
As longer experiences rest between 8.5 and 10.5
Tempered-to (not-to) all the way to eleven
Forming unobserved-waves which enlighten while
Lengthening love's amplitude  |  Rinse-repeat
As the selves dance in every best-imagined
And the crest of a wave continues floating
Always crossing here
At some point
h e r e

      




It Matters Not The Terrain
Chosen By You Or For You
As Long As The Destination
Reached, Then-Them Valued
 
Step Up, Step Down, Crouch,
As Long As The Next Moment
Falls Within Your Future Grasp
And You Can Understand Why

Control Needs Beyond Reach
Accept Your Own Assistance
Experiment Strengthen-ing
Yourself As Long As You



symbol transliteration

 


         γƒŸ᯾          
                                        Explanations for The Double-Slit Experiment (DSE) can be found where most explanations are commonly located.  Although most would prefer a science communicator to distill the results of these experiments down in a simple TicTok, any level of brevity or synopsis removes most-of (all) the crucial-for-understanding details (e.g. quantum probability, electrons, protons, mass, gravity, particles, waveform interference patterns, and information measurement). 
 
Spend any amount of time studying the DSE's results and their outcomes (of novice and quantum-physicist alike) results in either confusion and/or disbelief.  Because, of course, how else could the phrase, 'The particle—once measuredgoes back in time to its point of origin and subsequently appears as if it was always a wave and never a particle' be thought of?  If you aren't confused, what you don't understand is that it's not just an experiment which appears to reveal particles of light-energy travelling backwards in time, but that those particles are doing-so at faster than the speed of light.  Two impossibilities in physics at the same time is, normally, reason to conclude an huge error in the experiment. 
 
        α―£  α¦’
                                        The neuron cells of everything with a centralized collection of ganglia (or a brain) collects "experiences" which were correlated with an emotion that was "felt" by the body.  Emotions are caused by a mixture of gland-releasing chemicals in the organism's nervous system.  The stronger the emotion, the stronger the memory; strong memories are easily and readily recalled and subsequently reinforced (and re-reinforced).
 
The brain's subconscious (mistakenly referred-to as its right-half because the speech-center is located in most human's left lobe) is capable of making connections, contemplating ideas, weighing options, and making mental, non-verbal "suggestions" (at all times, not just when the conscious-brain is resting).  Most human's conscious-brain can not "recognize" their sub-conscious "at work"; instead, we source those ideas as coming from our intuition.
 
 
          π©˜π‘π©•

                                        Each spermatozoa and every ovum contain one strand (a half-strand of DNA) comprised of a random portion of that individual's DNA.  Consequently, spermatozoa and ovum are each "coded" for a slightly different combination of characteristics.  Every fertilized egg divides exponentially as each of the cells grows according to the combination of that random portion's "coding".

Evolution (mistakenly referred-to as survival of the fittest) can be easily identified when an animal's society (or culture) incentivizes specific characteristics over others.  If a specific eye-color or body-size or strength or wing-span is favored by enough of a species, for multiple generations, those selectively chosen-for traits or characteristics are said to have "evolved" to become dominant.


more or less:

spock-hold mind-meld

you build your personas