Empress of Mars: Undisputed @zebratron2084@awoo.space

Current headcanon:

Alba (Read: "Lawful Good Glow-In-The-Dark Mooncat Technocrat sona") has gone Full Native during her disastrous sojourn to 21st-century Terra -- but she hasn't gone native human, she's gone native feline. She's turned her back on soy products, has started menacing birds and squirrels, and found herself a cushy gig as a crazy black dragon's familiar.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF866xp-tag #moodsnapshot #dysphoria #hemidemisemigirl #trannisattva #MaVieEnBeige

Presenting: the all-new Hamilton-Beach Mixmaster Paleo Edition

"Chirp! It's a living!"

https://awoo.space/media/n0jgwdAp6d-zS9pbgQI

Oh, but I did finally manage to feed myself. I had pho for dinner. My hands still reek of limes and basil, from the garnishes.

So at least I got that goin' for me.</bill_murray>

It's like the awful inhabitants stroke my cheek and confess to me, "No, darling... THIS is what a world where nobody cares about anybody but themselves, and there is absolutely no forgiveness for your mistakes, looks like. Remember? Now, hurry on back to YOUR reality and do not return here soon, let you become one of us. I know you keep toying with it."

And then ten seconds later they shake their heads and mumble, "What a wanker. I thought he'd never leave."

I'm double-fisting the series run of Chris Morris's ultra-break sketch comedy "Jam" as a spiritual emetic. As usual, it seems to be working. Been thinking about why.

The thing about black comedy is, like all horror, it's a fantasy genre. It's set in an alternate universe where all the normal niceties between nature, humans, and social morality have been suspended.

In other words: it's exactly like the nightmare world *I* go to. It's good to be able to leave it.

(note that this model is pudgy in all the right places to have a transgender starter kit installed -- the owner was a depressive lumpbag who only drove his dysphoria on Sundays and never had any work done, so you can start in immediately!)

Still. One (1) human body available for lease or rent to clean, professional imaginary persona. Highly motivated owner seeks to leave dimension ASAP.

4.2 foot³ capacity, functional digestion and excretion facilities, four standard human limbs, no tail. 1975-model high-end brain, 130 IQ capacity*. Good enamel, bad gums. Very nice hair-- Italian.

No deposit necessary. Available immediately. Inquire here.

* theoretical, actual performance may vary with intoxication damage

I don't presume to swap stories of hardship with people. I know that's a bidding game I'd lose. Nothing worse is wrong with me than bad neurochemistry, alienation, guilt, self-loathing, and an all-around lack of faith in the human prospect.

Just suffice it to add me to the list of casualties. I've gotten to the point where everything on the self-care checklist gets a "yes, I know, but I don't WANT to."

I would not say that I'm suicidal today. Somebody with a good knowledge of the human body could easily get another 15-20 years out of this old beater, and it would be such a shame to waste it on such unseemly decadence as a self-murder.

However, if any of you happens to have a persona who needs their own space, or who has become too annoying, burnt-out, and burdensome to shelter (god, do I sympathize, happens to the best of us apparently), put 'em on a thumbdrive and come on over.

@green Hey, still up for tomorrow? When would you like to meet up?

It's a good aaaaugh, it's the aaaaugh of a mind well-exercised. Work turned into a glorious clusterfuck of hairsplitting research, and I think I expended every last molecule of glucose in my brain getting to the bottom of it, but I feel really useful and clever again, and I needed that real bad! ^__^

I think I'm mostly recuperated, all known social connections currently not on fire, headfriends still out merrily doing International Plushie Of Mystery stuff.

MOOD ALERT LEVEL:
SEÑOR COCONUT [ALL CLEAR]
BENTLEY RHYTHM ACE
B-52s
PIZZICATO FIVE [V. GOOD]
-->STEREOLAB
THE BUGGLES
LOVE TRACTOR
TALKING HEADS [FACTORY PRESET]
CAMPER VAN BEETHOVEN
MICACHU AND THE SHAPES
DINOSAUR JR
MODEST MOUSE
VELVET UNDERGROUND
PINK FLOYD [V. POOR]
ALAN PARSONS PROJECT
RADIOHEAD
TAYLOR SWIFT [PLEASE NOTIFY 911]

Or from the opposite end, "I know this is crazy, but I swear to god, something on the topmost floor of my brain is determined it needs to tell you this For Both Our Own Good and I'm so sorry. If I don't do this, it will never, ever stop chattering at us both."

Or best of all, "I apologize for the behavior of those other two ninnies in here, and to be honest, at this point I'm quite willing to muzzle them both and send them to bed with no dessert just to go back to having fun with you."

You know what I would give my left front eyetooth for right now?

A language where the speech from your Id, Ego, and Superego are separately delineated from each other, so there would be a simple and clear way to say "I'm feeling this but not necessarily thinking nor believing it. I just want you to know what the Big Well-Meaning But Confused Beastie at the basement floor of my brain is trying to tell me."

Your friendly, low-key social contacts and small assurances are the most precious and therapeutic thing for me right now.

They ARE noticed, you DO have my gratitude, and they ARE being reciprocated as best as my woefully miscalibrated brain can right now. Thank you. <3

I can't promise I'll be repaired any time soon, but I can assure you the best persona architects I could find are hard at work on redevelopment projects.

This time for sure, eh? *weak smile*