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one in a billion's LiveJournal:
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| Sunday, May 27th, 2012 | | 3:13 pm |
| | Sunday, May 20th, 2012 | | 1:08 pm |
| | 10:13 am |
Dear Indiana GOP
Please pull your ads from my YouTube viewing. You're complaining about the stuff YOU fought to get into the President's health care law. Your argument is invalid, and I find myself more and more strongly inclined to vote FOR the guy you're campaigning AGAINST. | | Wednesday, May 16th, 2012 | | 4:27 pm |
Across the borders
The hardest part of facing down zealots spiritually is that they often feel justified in demanding the conversion of others to their own beliefs and state of being; whereas I would rather be the person I am meant to be, as defined by mutual agreement with myself and the gods, which occasionally contradicts such things. And it is by fighting such battles that angels fall from grace. | | Tuesday, May 15th, 2012 | | 5:57 pm |
| | Monday, May 7th, 2012 | | 5:23 pm |
On forgetting
So. I used to be a decent programmer. I never really learned C, and I hated Java (still do), but what I did do, I did reasonably well. If I'd been a professional, I'd have made money at it, and learned from my peers a lot more, and maybe had a fun and wonderful career. I can't do it anymore. I can no more program a computer these days than I can generate iron from air. That is to say, I can't go in-depth on anything programmatically. I'm still an excellent designer, and with very simple modular languages where the whole thing is just barely pseudocode (like Scratch) I can still do occasionally useful things. I can go pretty in-depth with that. I just can't write serious code anymore. And I keep asking, what the hell did I make room for with losing all that? Why does one facility exist (design) but not the other (programming)? There are really only two answers I can give those questions. First, brain damage may or may not have occurred. I think I'd like to know; it would have to be progressive, because it's taken two years to lose all that. But if that exists, there are questions about what would have caused it -- questions that then lead to some very interesting paths. Second, other skills must have been much more important. Something else must be there, taking up space in my mind. I'm not even 40! What grew so much that I don't have room for programming computers, the thing that made my whole childhood happier? Magic, of course. Not surprisingly, I'd suppose, since I'd devoted myself to the practice as a way to restore my sense of self and get some prosperity going for me. It's funny, but what I'm seeing is that I am as good at design (particularly systems design) as ever only because I've been using that master skill in a new area. (A "master skill" is not necessarily a skill possessed by a master, but rather a skill that connects and dominates multiple areas of expertise. Systems design works very well for both computer programming and magical workings, and can form the basis for whole disciplines within these areas of human endeavor.) But there's more to this. I'm in a sort of transition right now, and I'm not sure exactly to what. But I'll write more on that later. The real question is, why am I in such a fog over something that used to come so easily? And ultimately, the only answers I have come back to the questions I've asked. All I can say is, my future had better include some vocational re-training. It obviously isn't focused on data processing anymore. | | Saturday, May 5th, 2012 | | 9:08 am |
A Dream of Starlight Flight
Once on a time, In a place where horses rule, There was a creature among them Very like a horse, Very like a pony, Very unlike. That one began powerful, but short of strength, Exploded on the scene and solved troubles with force, Gave the world a breath of surprise. That one had power untold, waiting to explode outward. But very little at one time. The journeyman came back from travel, And proved great mastery, Saving them all from a monstrous invader And in the act, changing to another form. This was the same, and not. Where one was white as day, with mane and tail like the stars, This form was dark, quiet, not so raging. The power of the deep river's bed, drawing whole nations along. Invisible, but always moving. The power of prophecy, A gift from the land, Became her strength. Her words were, for a time, the words of the Council that rules. But even that faded. There was a flaw. It had been there from the start. Her essence, her body, they did not meet where they should. And yet she resisted. There was illness, And she recovered. She rose, high, higher, highest possible. A time of battle came, and she ended it in moments. A great champion, using magic almost unknown, But with secret beauty at its heart. She should have been immortal, Forever alive, Forever embodied, Embodying the champion: Champion Eternal Champion Perpetual Hero of even the queens, Of even the least of the Commons. Leader above all, beneath all. But even the Goddess Epona Whose word invited that one to appear And make herself known, Even she, who learned new things, Whose heart was moved Whose spirit had become greater in the presence of greatness: Even our goddess could not hold her with us. There was no means To halt the loss. Where we gathered the moss, The ether, the flowing wind, The power of flesh and the hope of all, and formed the body our loving leader made: We had given of ourselves, and the flaw... Inevitable. It was not we, It was not her, It was not us. But it came, and shortened her time, From aeons... To three swift years, short- Inevitable. She felt her time, Her power coming forth in ways untenable, Unacceptable. Her bounds were breaking. And she was sent forth for rebellion. In that separate time, She knew her end. Knew it would come. And walked the road of the land, Seeking. She asked the Land, Guide me. It did. She asked the Land, Help me. It did. And when at last her steps made halt And lie down she must, There came one whose purpose unfulfilled had been. And in him was invested the confidence of the Land. Epona's Land. Free Running Land. She died, her body fading into spirit Her spirit falling away from it. We recovered her remains, always faithful. We understood. Sometimes the pain we feel Drives us apart. Already disintegrating, Her flesh was fragile, And we understood: She was starving from the first, For we had not what would sustain. The error was in what was taken, Not what was given. And in that, we could not know. Inevitable. Our hero, our Champion, Destroyed from within. The last words her spirit gave Before departing: Dream well, beloved. Dream well. | | Thursday, May 3rd, 2012 | | 8:06 pm |
Experimentat Moratorio
Yay, it's Bad Latin time again. Basically, I'm going to perform an experiment and avoid posting about certain things for a while, and see if certain situations improve. I have a few guesses which just need some confirmation... and I think I know how to confirm them. I'm also going to post about certain other things, with the same set of observations in mind. I think it's pretty clear what's going to happen. And I believe that it doesn't matter if my audience knows what I'm doing, too, which is why I'm posting about it. I'm sure some of you understand. For the rest, well, too bad. This post is done. | | Tuesday, May 1st, 2012 | | 9:00 am |
Post-channeling evaluation
Wow! Over 80 comments on this last one. I guess I'm becoming popular now -- this is well in line with the comment numbers I see on other divination and spiritual-work type posts, and maybe a bit more than on some. This being a free service, gifted to the world, I don't expect hundreds in the way of donations, but some did come in! Paypal was difficult about one or two, but other than that, I did receive enough to help pay for a larger expense this time around, which is good news. The Hero's Deck is apparently forming a sort of personality around it: forthright, active, and willing to give a clear answer when asked, but with a hint of Trickster here and there. Not every hero works in broad daylight, after all. I really ought to consider making copies to sell. In fact, making copies of the Hero's Deck for everyone to share and work with might be exactly the thing I should do. I'll think about what I can write in the way of a booklet for it, and consider in what form to market the thing (and whether to seek a publisher; I know a few people I could ask about that). Anyway, this spring session is officially closed, but if you'd like to ask Theresa something, she and I are available most of the time. Payment is negotiable, especially for longer sessions, but I prefer at least a workman's compensation of $10/hr. Thank you all, and may your lives have happiness and peace always within reach. | | Sunday, April 29th, 2012 | | 3:58 pm |
| | Saturday, April 28th, 2012 | | 7:54 pm |
Channeling for spring
Welcome to another edition of this semi-popular service! Teresa and I will be answering questions for you all weekend long, until noon Eastern time on Monday (and possibly after, if we're not too busy). Anyone who asks may have one question answered by Teresa, and anyone who wants a draw from the Hero's Deck may have it. A donation of $5 or more allows you to ask another question of Teresa, if you wish it. You are welcome to ask anything you like, so feel free. If you would prefer asking privately, it's all right to post anonymously or ask via PM. I accept donations via PayPal (despite the problems they have, it's still the mainstream go-to service for micropayments), but if you'd like to offer via other means, please feel free to contact me to discuss it. Thank you! Prior channeling sessionsPrior Hero's Deck posts(EDIT, Sun 4:30pm: If you donate, and it isn't clear from your Paypal info which LJ account you have, I don't know to whom I should offer the bonus questions. Please, let me know if you've donated!) Federal law doesn't believe in psychics (though many politicians do), so I am required to say that this is for entertainment purposes only. If you need legal or medical advice, please see the relevant professional; I am not licensed by the government for such services. All that said, if you wish to ask about a situation, any subject is open for discussion as I mentioned above. May blessings and healing love be with you. | | Thursday, April 26th, 2012 | | 8:46 pm |
| | Tuesday, April 24th, 2012 | | 12:57 pm |
On CISPA
CISPA is evil. That's all there is to say. A simple browsing of what it is and does should make that very, very clear. It might as well be named Bill For Giving Your Information To Everyone And Making You Criminal For Having It Yourself Especially If You Won't Share With Grabby People Who Want To Control You. And it's being voted on in the House of Representatives this week -- tomorrow or Thursday. Go make a fuss, dammit. I'm tired of spending all my energy on someone else's grab-ass politics! | | 12:47 pm |
Cultures and subcultures
(First verse was originally posted here.) As berries on a branch may cluster, And branches on a limb may gather, So our spirits hold together; Alveolae breathe together, Each its path and cap-ill-airy Holding its own flows. When we fight against each other, Saying "they" are truly "other," So our spirits fall away; Vac-u-um empties itself out, Each its surface tearing open Empty of its glow. Whither shall we go? | | Sunday, April 22nd, 2012 | | 1:28 pm |
Taste of metal
(Written for participation in the monthly Crowdfunding Creative Jam! This month's theme is blood, in honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day. Topic prompt adapted from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1) ankewehner's suggestions.) Topic: The smell of blood, and reactions to it.I think I'd rather write about the taste of blood. You see as Otherkin, and someone whose spirit was being regularly attacked (that's over now, and hopefully for good), I sometimes wound up tasting blood from the non-human species that are part of my spirit. Also, I've bitten my human lip and tongue before. So I feel qualified to describe these flavors. Human blood doesn't taste coppery to me, it tastes like iron. The metallic bit, yes, that comes through; but I've tasted copper before. Human blood is more like someone put warm, salty ink in my mouth. It doesn't taste bad, or good; there's none of the bitter pigment in it that ink would have. No carbon black, or anything like that. But I try not to get hurt badly enough to taste it. Draconic blood uses a hemo-chromate (iron/chromium) compound. It's a shiny pink, almost like liquid pearl. It tastes little or nothing like the plant we call "dragon's blood". Instead, it's sharp and slightly bitter, with a lingering tang. When there's enough flowing for me to taste, I don't dislike it intensely, but the presence bothers me greatly; draconic anatomy is different enough from human that the taste of chrome could suggest either bleeding from the gums or severe damage. (The windpipe and esophagus are positionally reverse that of a human, meaning dragons could breathe and swallow simultaneously, because these pathways don't cross. Instead, they intersect at a glottis positioned slightly down in the throat, allowing for oral speech and not just nose-singing. The vocal cords are in the windpipe, of course.) Metheow blood is based on a cuprate molecule (copper-based ionic material). The copper taste is particularly strong, and lingers. I consider it somewhat distasteful, and if there's too much I can become nauseated. For that reason,I try not to swallow it; my belly rejects the material. Also, metheow blood has compounds which can act as poisons to both of the other species, so if it's spilling out then the problem has to be handled quickly. Dragon blood is also very alien, but not quite so harmful. This is due to the way the spiritual connections have been balanced, and it's something I'm in the process of correcting (to reduce harm from metheow blood, rather than make them all harmful). Metheow have three-letter DNA codons, while dragons have four-letter codons, so some draconic chemicals are basically inert or just unable to operate within a human system, while metheow chemicals are inherently more able to connect and do damage to human chemicals. The fortunate thing is that this is all spiritual structures rather than material chemicals, and thus take time and effort to influence my living body. Moving outside the body, the smell from wet socks where the feet in them have been sweating and bleeding is one of the most repugnant scents I can sense, especially if those socks have been worn for more than a couple of days. It appears to be a universally disgusting smell for humans. Nobody wants to smell that, it indicates an inability to care for oneself that will lead to rot, and then lameness. But that smell is part of everyday life among the homeless when it rains. Not everyone is able to go home and change their socks after a hard day on their feet in public. The smell of coagulating blood is... unpleasant, but not horrifying to me in the same way. Once things start decomposing, the many smells of rotting meat wrap around each other and bury individual smells in a horrible morass that I don't really want to be near. Getting back to human blood on its own, well, I have little against it, but I'd rather not drink any, thanks. | | 12:44 pm |
Minecraft mottos (in bad Latin)
Steve: (Minecraft's default avatar; registered players can upload a new skin for the character, giving "him" an entirely new look if they want) Veni Constructor Togam (I came, I build, I clothe) Creeper: (Explosive monster that's become the mascot) Veni Vedi Annihilum te!(I came, I saw, I destroy you!) | | Saturday, April 21st, 2012 | | 1:32 pm |
Oh, here we go again
Just like last year, I now have a developing sore throat. This is yet another reason I hate cold temperatures. | | Wednesday, April 18th, 2012 | | 10:01 am |
Resolved
In 1999, I think it was? Anyway, back when I was 23 years old and just starting to explore my spirituality outside of strict Christianity, I had an interesting experience that I chalked up to psychic empathy coming awake, because it seems fairly common among empaths: I felt someone else's body, as if it were mine. Or at least, at the time I chalked it up to someone else's body. I thought it was the Goddess manifesting through physical sensation. But over the past three and a half months, in between assaults on my spirit (foo on people who pray for someone's destruction! Faugh, I say! Fie! -- and yes, those are all variations of the same word), things continued to quietly settle down as my greater spirit and Self healed. I've mentioned it maybe two or three times? I'm not sure. Most of this blog is about dragons, and me being a dragon. But there's other stuff I am as well, as many of you surely remember. Here's one: female. More and more I am experiencing breasts as part of my spirit body. I have an idea of the size and shape. They're part of me. So, too, are other parts. Now, "penis panic" is a known psychological phenomenon. It's the sensation or belief that men are losing their penises, and it causes paranoia and intense fearful reactions, that sometimes lead to witch-hunts in the belief that an evil sorceror or witch is stealing penises. I've even felt it (for the duration of an hour or two, total) and chased it off. I like my body. I just wonder if it could be improved. For now, I'm going to do what someone on my budget can do, and -- here's the important part -- see if it improves my overall condition. Physical health is pretty good; what about mental health? What will happen when I start seeking out ways to boost my estrogen? (I'm pretty sure my testosterone is just fine. There are... indications of it, when I have the spare energy to pay attention.) Tofu/soybean products, herbal supplements, precursor chemicals and hormone boosters... Consider this a coming-out. I might be a woman, or just needing a new balance. I don't entirely know what's going to happen. But I'm going to do my best to try this and see what happens. Every good mad scientist experiments on themselves now and then, right? | | Sunday, April 15th, 2012 | | 5:01 pm |
| | Friday, April 13th, 2012 | | 6:48 pm |
Wrestling with ambition
(or lack thereof) So I'm sitting. This is a major thing with me. I'm sitting. I'm waiting. Why waiting? Well, having few or no resources kind of limits what I can do. So why don't I just get some menial job and get some moneys to have the resources (that blah blah blah the house that Jack built)? Honestly? I don't feel called. Pushed, maybe, by unwise beings, but not called. And by pushed, I mean grabbed by the bones and torn to pieces, then beaten over the remains of my head with the pieces, because I'm not being a good little Victorian beggar and Having A Job No Matter What Even If It Kills Me. Dickens would smile a little, I think. He knew what that was like. Then again, you could always just get yourself arrested for some crime that would get you deported to Australia, where there wasn't just work, there was at least a little bit of self-government after a while. And lots and lots and LOTS of open space you could walk off and spend the rest of your life building a home in. Kind of like Minecraft, really, except you had to get your initial sack of seeds and bundle of tools from someone else, and they'd come looking for you if you didn't pay it all back with ten years' worth of interest come harvest time. Just like any other indentured servitude, really. But that's not possible anymore. These days, Australia would just send me back and expect me to pay for the ticket. But I digress, as usual. So what do I do while waiting for the call, now that all other calls have gone quiet? I sit. I entertain myself. I look at what places might be hiring as I walk here or there (very few). And I complain. Since there are few people I could complain to, I mostly complain to gods and other spirit beings. Something or someone, apparently, has taken my ambition. More accurately, my ambition is part of my whole and healthy self, and is waiting for me to finish healing up enough to get to it. And part of that is getting the garbage out of the way so I can hear the call again, and this time answer it. I have one possibility for extra work this coming week, but I don't know that it will actually turn into anything until I hear back on it. In the meantime, boo for me. I want my ambition back, and not someone else's. That's really what I'm wrestling with beneath the surface, I believe. |
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