Empress of Mars: Undisputed @zebratron2084@awoo.space

I call Ohio Amnesty on anything I've written in the last 48 hours, BTW. I will probably feel quite differently once back in Seattle and in the grace of everybody's presence.

Or not, dunno, but I will try to be nice. Ohio just doesn't feel like the real world to me, and in the lack of any real stimulus -- haven't gone outside since Wed 9 am because THERE IS NOWHERE TO GO BECAUSE OHIO IS NOT A PLACE -- turns it, as predicted, to kind of a Total Perspective Vortex where it's just me and my angst.

Listening to the Velvet Underground. Any conclusions you draw re: my mood from that fact are entirely correct.

"See the bells up in the sky, somebody's cut their string in two."

"There's always someone around you who will call: it's nothing at all."

"She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door."

"Right through the center of Waldo Jeffers's head, which split slightly and caused Iittle rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun."

There is only one class of sapient beings that it is all right to be arbitrarily, casually abusive towards. And that's Tutorial Fairies.

#Solitairica #FuckYouKismet

It's not anger. It's not hate. There's no aggression behind it. It's a very *cat* sort of feeling, just a sense of being very jaded and difficult to impress right now. Even the people I love most would be at about a -10 to Charm rolls right now, but the worst I really want to do is flick my tailtip in people's faces and make it very clear I am not feeling real pettable, nor am I much interested at the moment in being a good kitty by anyone else's standard.

'Cause man, having four days to sit here and ponder everything has not exactly done wonders for my sense of peace and quiet acceptance towards the greater world, nor the one I'm returning to.

I'm sure it will improve upon returning to cooler, hipper climes. And you know I will put the best effect my divoted brain will allow into treating everybody fairly and gently. But, man, there's some uncharitable shit going through the back of my brain today.

There's some alternate universe where humans have bred and domesticated giant Cymothoa exigua.

There, people like me have replaced their tongues with friendly little trained parasitic isopods. They function normally for the purposes of eating and speech, but can be gently coaxed out and put in a glass in times like this, when it would really be for the best if I were incapable of speech.

Then we'd just need tarantula-mittens to prevent me from typing.

What the fuck do you do with a "friend" who posts "$your_demographic is hereby cancelled" other than walk away quietly and give them exactly what they want?

Millennial activists who think of everything in terms of demographic membership first and foremost are hereby... nah, not worth it. :p

Well, I impressed my *least* strident critic! :D My 66-year-old mom like the Parallax script -- not that she'd tell me otherwise but I can read the lady like a book -- and she followed all the crazy transhuman sci-fi cartoon nonsense pretty well!

behold the fierce and terrible ancient spirit hidden at the core of my being

https://twitter.com/shedka/status/888621518615457792

#lynxops

Heh. What's the maximum number of times *you've* posted and redacted the same post on social media?

Found some lyrics that resonate with my current situation a little too well, and keep getting torn between the need to confess and purge, and the need to keep my friends from sustaining any more collateral damage from all this.

But, man, do I have a good song to quietly work out the last of my frustrations to.

Appropos of the previous thread about immortality vs. shapeshifting, and why I think shapeshifting would be a wasteful choice for me even though it would be perfect for so many of my friends, this old quote comes to mind:

"There is no me, I do not exist. There used to be a me... but I had it surgically removed." -- Peter Sellers, Muppet Show, Season 2

I'm a literary beast. Peggy and I joke that my eyes and brain basically function like a VT-100 terminal -- when I look around, all I see is "[prettydragon.jpg]" or "[twelvebunnies.png]" or "[lovely-pnw-sunrise.gif]" anyhow.

My ideal form is "brain in a jar," preferably with enough endocrinology intact that I still feel pleasure. If I want wings, shit, I can just write 'em. :D

But while philosophically I'm kinda GLAD I'll be recycled out eventually... 1000s of years to process data? Ok, sure!

(OTOH, on the grand scheme of things, I just don't give enough of a shit about my physical form on a daily basis. As noted earlier, I'm just not that *physically* dysphoric-- I just want my feminine/feline/equine/whatever personality traits acknowledged socially.

For someone who feels more seriously misembodied than I do, I don't think choosing shapeshifting over immortality is necessarily "self-indulgent" in the slightest. *I* just don't need it or know what to do with it personally, yanno?)

I picked "immortality" over "shapeshifting" on that poll I just boosted. I'm surprised by this, given my usual "meh" attitude towards my own demise.

Guess it's a matter of which I could be of more practical help with? I'm not that attached to existence for its own sake, but I have that sense of obligation to see friends through.

And I could do a LOT more good with 100s of years of preserved knowledge than, I dunno, having cool wings and a tail. No judgement, but for me, a bit self-indulgent?

Meanwhile, my so very wonderful, so very Midwestern mom is stirring up a big crockpot full of gyro meat for dinner.

Now, let's go over this again. She is stirring up a *crockpot* full of "gyro" meat. Now, if you are not a food person, take a moment to ponder the etymology of the term "gyro" and what it might imply about the preparation of this dish...

I love my family so much. I can not wait to get back to Seattle, where GYROS ARE GODDAMN VERTICAL LIKE HESTIA INTENDED. XD

Also, I got to give my aunt and uncle WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION about Arabic culture than they wanted (my awesome nephew is stationed at Camp Arifjan as a civilian engineering contractor), AND about why Seattle's progressive new income tax is not an Affront To American Prosperity And Know-How. That was intensely amusing. :)

My aunt and uncle are visiting and they're talking family history with my mom. I am absolutely riveted. :O

For one thing, um... okay, you know what a stickler I am for standards of evidence, and how hard I am to sell an urban legend?

They just offered excellent evidence that my great-aunt may have been the bootlegging partner of Dean Martin Yes That Dean Martin for a brief period in Steubenville, OH.

Ba da bing? o_O

Off comes the three weeks of Mountain Man beard growth, and with it, about 20 years off my appearance, 10 years off my emotional age, and ~3.5 Standard Measuring Pancakes worth of depression.

I really should have done this much sooner. I'm coming to the conclusion I really *am* not all that dysphoric... but I apparently have to rank epicene-or-better in order to be fully happy with myself.

Also, when cleanshaven, it brings out this fey Byronesque cruelty to my lips which I rather like. >:)

I found a British pop song so catchy and so utterly execrable, it killed a FIVE DAY LONG earworm of Pat Benatar's "We Belong."

I'm not sharing it. It's too dangerous. All other music may become extinct if it is released to the public.

But I'll give you hints: it's based on the Moroccan's children's game "A Ram Sam Sam." The video involves a lot of brightly colored vinyl. And it's really... just not very good at all. It's just the musical equivalent of 20 mL ivermectin. :O