“And I, infinitesima­l being,

drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.”
 

– Pablo Neruda

2023 is Easy to Write

Have you ever moved, and after looking at your new address you can remember the postal code (or I suppose zip code for some of you) immediately? This is how I feel on writing 2023. The 20s had a rough start to them, now didn’t they? Worldwide union in sickly experience. I feel guilty loving the Plague Inc. game for many years now. I first found it about 12 years ago I believe. It literally has not changed aside from adding different levels like zombie take over, planet of the apes, and so on. Anyways, we are not here to talk about those last couple of years.

What is there to say then? A lot of domestic thoughts. I am in bliss, aside from an ear pain that has decided to rule my week and oh have I ever let it rule. I don’t remember having ear pain like this before. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, and of all the weeks! I had such plans for this week. Such is life. I think often how many years people have survived without the aide of medicine or internet searching. It truly is remarkable how long we have survived, who has survived, and what they experienced. Perhaps we are soft now, or perhaps we just have more time to focus on other things that advance us even further I suppose. Being in pain really is tiresome, and takes up a lot of time and focus. It really isn’t surprising the average life expectancy was around 30-40 for a lot of human history. I don’t think I would have survived that long. Perhaps that is why some people still believe you are so OLD at 30 because, frankly, before you were near your deathbed. A very outdated, but once accurate thought. It takes people a long time to adjust to updated cultural shifts, or so I once learned in a cultural psychology class.

Moving on, Mr. baby is sick, again. I have come to assume he will be attending daycare 50% of the time, due to them sending him home/him being sick. That’s fun. Anytime I coo to others about Mr. baby, I slip in the predicaments and frustrations of the day care situation. They nod, and have a resounding, YES. They understand, going through it as well. A pharmacist, a dental hygienist, a grocery clerk, my family doctor (which is rare to have here in Canada). I complain to everyone about it just to see how many others experience it, frankly. It’s like this well known piece of information I was very ignorant to, until I was in the parental circle of daycare attendees. I was homeschooled until high school, never experienced daycare either. I am learning as I go, oh I am learning deeply, very much so. I have a lot more to say on the whole social construct of this, but this isn’t intended to be a ranting post.

Next, being able to attend the gym finally after four years. FOUR years. Not intentional, circumstantial. How is it time flies faster than the little hummingbird. Sans the ear ache, I have been going regularly, enjoying the faux social interactions, and being forced out of my home. It is way too easy for me to stay home, forget I did not leave, and still find more tasks to do at home. It is a domestic hell level I am very comfy in. With the gym I can fuss over what resistance levels I should do on the bicycle for best efficiency. The best fit exercises for a mesomorph, ponder over my water intake, and track my progress of various statistics. When I became pregnant a few years ago my biggest goal was to make my life as benign, “boring”, and as domestic as possible. So far, so good. The opposite of what my life had been for many years.

I have not written my goals, ideals, and so on yet for the year. There is no rush, but am feeling the hunger to get something down on paper. Before, you know, it’s December again. I looked over a post I made last year and was pleasantly surprised, much of what I had forgotten I intended to do, I actually did do. Because January and February are so mind-numbingly slow in this industry, I suppose it is a good time to do it now. My assumption is everyone got their Christmas credit card bill in January. Then the hot reminder of taxes is fast approaching. Ah, but then, Spring skirts and dresses erase all memories of those worries. I was never a big Christmas person until this last Christmas. Now I am already looking forward to Christmas again. I shoved my fake snow frosted pink Christmas tree into Mr. Baby’s room. Perhaps it will stay there all year. Why not? I told a close friend of mine this and she said she had done the same with her son when he was younger. Then, as Christmas approached, out dragged the Christmas tree from his room. Ta-Dah! I am starting to think you can only get away with this for so many years before the kid polices you on properly letting them decorate a fresh tree or something yearly. I shall let you know.

This is where I leave you today as my ear is hurting a lot and I am going to have a bath.

Xoxo
Chloe

Happy Easter! Abundance of Love & Positivity to You


Update: January 2023, apparently all it took was Elon Musk taking over Twitter to magically POOF remove shadowban for us lovely hoe ladies. My SFW account is fine now. The End.

Happy Easter! Abundance of Love & Positivity to You

Search suggestion ban on twitter for SFW accounts (IG appropriate pictures), is it possible to remove suggestion ban? So far, yes, sort of

Hello, because the algorithms are constantly changing, I have been trying to gather info between my own anecdotal trials, discussions with others, observations of others, reddit posts, and googled articles. I used to have an account that had organic growth on twitter while still advertising but the pictures were safe for work IG style. A NSFW account will automatically be search and suggestion banned, that’s fine. Over time my growing SFW account became search suggestion banned.

I gained 11,000 people organically in three months when it was growing. Which you can then link your NSFW profile from the bio of your SFW profile (mine was with no issues). I think talking about breaking my ankle tanked my account to be honest. As when I look at my analytics that is when it tanked and break/broke/broken are negative words in sentimental analysis. Go figure being a genuine, real person is actually a horrible idea.

Right now I have 3 accounts, one is search suggestion available + search available. One is search available and am trying to remove the suggestion ban, one is fully NSFW, and a fourth was permanently suspended during the war purge last month (I used that account maybe once a day with no groups, I do strongly feel it got purged because the negative sentiment was too high as it was a more domme account which is considered twitter negative).

  • A newer account will be on search ban and search suggestion ban for a few days to 2 weeks
  • An account less than one year has the most fragility in terms of becoming
  • Accounts not search banned and not search suggested banned either did not chat at all or follow many/any people OR they had an EXTREMELY positive chat relation with very low links, and would post very positively on non shadow banned girl accounts in addition to dropping that profile in groups sometimes. OR they were mainly a chatty account with very few to no pictures and linked maybe once to their work stuff.
  • You can be search banned but NOT search suggestion banned (organic growth) which is much better than being suggestion banned yet search available (no organic growth)
  • Negative sentiment seems to be a huge factor in shadowbanning. Here is a list of over 4,700 negative words twitter considers. https://github.com/jeffreybreen/twitter-sentiment-analysis-tutorial-201107/blob/master/data/opinion-lexicon-English/negative-words.txt (two of my favourite negative words I found on here were allergies and jam)
  • I successfully had one account search + search suggestion banned and removed -both-, but this was on my newer account, it was lifted instantly for search ban, and about a day for search suggestion banned.

What will get you search banned or suggestion banned?

  1. Having too high of a negative sentiment score (the threshold seems to be extremely low depending on age of account)
  2. Social media links too frequently (what is frequently?)
  3. Mentioning obvious terms such as hump day, despite the actual content being OK. I posted a butt picture I have on instagram (okay), and posted it on two of the twitter accounts. I said hump day on one and it was automatically censored if you aren’t logged in. The other one I did not mention hump day and the photo was not censored. I then posted a big boobs cleavage picture and wrote hump day (despite it obviously not being a butt pic) and it was automatically censored.
  4. Aside from words, tie strength is the other biggest factor in getting you hidden. Interacting with accounts that are suggestion and/or search banned will put negative marks on your account.
  5. There is an interests list that twitter gathers on you, if possible, uncheck all of those.
  6. You can layer shadowbans, so if you have a shadowban for a week but do a violation, you just extended it. My original big growth account I had abandoned for a month and it exploded in growth. I’ve noticed this same trend on IG and Tik Tok. So right now am going to abandon my older suggested banned account while checking its search status to see when/if it will become unbanned that way or whether I need to increase stronger tie strengths.
  7. I have a suspicion that if you post pictures often, even if they aren’t links, that you are going to get censored more easily for chatting. On the flip side, if you chit chat more and post less pictures, I think you can say more negative sentiment words.
  8. Replying to comments may have effect to boost an account but they should be extremely positive and upbeat. There are sentimental analysis calculators you can find. Cute but not sexual emojis seem to be fine for captions on pictures
  9. Using groups for SFW pictures in NSFW groups seems to be fine but as long as infrequently (how often is infrequently?)

Check your shadowban status here https://hisubway.online/shadowban/ (I posted this on twitter as a test and my account was IMMEDIATELY locked which I found hilarious).

  • You should also go into a private tab and search word for word your account.
  • If it is not search suggested banned: while typing yournamehere it will begin to show up around yournam
  • If you are search suggested banned: you will have to go to people and spell the name out entirely
  • If you not search banned: your posts will show up that people have replied to
  • If you are search banned: you have to literally type in the actual URL to go to that profile to even find the posts

How did I remove the search ban on that newer account?

  • I deleted posts that the algorithm considered negative and had censored (seeing from a private tab). Immediately it was lifted.
  • What does it censor? Words with negative sentiment or very obviously sexy links
  • What is negative? Anything serious, even remotely serious, of course obvious negative words with like a don’t or dis- et cetera, and curse words

How did I remove the search suggested ban on the newer account?

  • I un-liked all the other girl posts I had liked, about 5 (ironically suggested by twitter but I hadn’t searched to see if they were search banned, but obviously their suggestion ban was okay). My suggestion ban was removed the next day. I had made positive comments on all the other girls’ accounts which stayed. I am also not following many people as it matters a lot if your following ratio is very skewed to follower ratio. I think this is why I see some successful accounts have 0 people they follow.

With all this said, my main goal is to try to remove the search suggestion ban on my older, previously organically growing account. Having a blue check gives you apparent immunity, but is not realistic for all of us to receive. My second goal is to grow my fresh account while monitoring very closely to see what shadow bans it, what doesn’t, unlike before.

So far I am thinking best advice is to have no personality (no really) or an extremely enthusiastic personality for a SFW IG picture style profile. OR have more personality with very few to no pictures on that profile. You can then link your NSFW profile from the bio or have a pinned tab you never retweet. NSFW doesn’t have to be necessarily naked either, it can be lewd, or maybe you just are more outspoken on it, link more et cetera.

Why do I think this is important to have a SFW profile growing organically?

Because platforms are becoming worse and worse. I know some girls who have grown profiles with all or a lot of organic growth 500k – million, it is ideal if you can sustain a social media and organic on at least one platform! Even if it isn’t that large, it is a safe spot.

Actions I am trying to remove the suggestion ban on my older account

  • Not using it for one week (currently at this step)
  • Removed 90% of my posts, all of them considered negative in twitter’s eyes (currently at this step)
  • I left about 10% negative and then the rest positive (currently at this step)
  • Removed my likes from majority stuff
  • Removed my retweets (currently at this step)
  • Unchecked all my interests (currently at this step)
  • Funneling tik tok traffic to twitter (linked in bio, currently on this step but also wondering if that is what increased my bots so much)
  • I also have a higher bot following than I would like, so if all above doesn’t work am going to tediously remove and block those. Right now it is at 32%. I have noticed well performing accounts at 20%, even as low as 1% (with a 2 million account) which leads me to believe that may be a heavy factor
  • Will unfollow every single person
  • Will delete every single tweet
  • Will delete every single like
  • Will remove profile entirely and re-do
  • Will not use it for one month
  • Will comment every couple days with positive comments only on non shadow banned accounts only
  • Will drop pictures in groups here and there
    If none of this works then I will give up as I am not sure what else could be done to “fix” an account.

Also, also. After my main NSFW account was permanently suspended, it says you can’t make any new twitters. Well.

That isn’t true. Haha. I did, so I made two new accounts (1 NSFW, 1 new SFW, and have my already older SFW account). I did this on the same phone, shared phone number, same IP address as well.
I think ideally you could have a chatty SFW account or a picture SFW account that has organic growth hitting the demographic you want, and then the link to your heavy advertisement/nsfw account can be in the bio for those interested can find your information. Because twitter collects so much information on your interests, it can and does hit the local demographics you want IF you want it to you can train the algorithm further by liking and following interests within that goal.

Having at least one strong social media account can also help you verify on certain platforms as well. Like sextpanther you require a certain amount of followers to be accepted.

Extra info you may or may not know already: NO BIKINIS OR LINGERIE IN YOUR BANNER PICTURE EVER, AND DO NOT PUT IN YOUR PROFILE PICTURE. There is a regular purge every several months, even if it is fine now, it may tank and it is a lot more painful losing a bigger account than smaller. I would also avoid booty, even if in yoga pants, as butt triggers majority social media platforms. Half butt, and if you have a big butt, well that is obviously more butt and is harder to cover haha.

Yes, I could make a new account anytime something is shadow banned, but I do feel there is more value if you can maintain a strong account with good engagement for the long term. Finding out how to get out of a shadowban, finding out how to avoid shadowbans in first place is a lot less stressful, especially when the yearly bi-yearly purges happen.

Blossoming collection of banned accounts:

Twitter: 38K High negative sentiment due to domme words, war purge, and largest purge of sex workers we’ve ever seen on twitter.

Tik Tok: 103k Huge cleavage related, white shirt. Irony how anti nipples tik tok is, so you wear a bra, but then wearing a bra makes your boobs look HUGE, and well that is a big no no too. Related to live, I believe lives are most sensitive?

IG: 33k Talking in DMs and maybe half butt on profile? Captions? Still a mystery there. DMs are monitored so I would not suggest even if you are talking to a boyfriend or something anything flirty.

Happy Easter

The Neighbour

For as long as I can remember, when I think of someone, they either walk past me immediately, message me within one to three days, or I run into them that same day. It has been heightened the last few weeks. It ranges from thinking of someone, with no other thought related to them, or it has a specific tie to them. I’ve always been super interested in synchronicity or meaningful coincidences because of this. Apparently synchronicity happens when we are in flow with the universe, that tapping into the collective unconscious, rather than insisting the universe flow our way. I think about it like a radio station you tune into, except, the other person has to be on same frequency, else the connection is lost. Some people I have very strong connections to, and those are the more detailed thoughts or immediate encounters. It makes sense to me, with someone like a best friend. My bestest best friend soul mate friend, my other soul half of a bestie type bestie. It doesn’t make as much sense to me when it is a stranger, especially a stranger with no previous contact.

Maybe it is like a beckoning, I beckon them, some resist. Some tune in. Some resist, but tune in sooner than they would have liked. A couple of days ago I was thinking about my best friend, how I wished she was out on a walk with me. I began walking with my mini me to try to exhaust him better for evenings, I was about to go home then he actually wanted to keep going. We began a different path home than I had intended. You see, this always happens when my path is changed, an unintentional change of direction, then the run in happens with whom I am thinking. I was wishing my best friend would be on walks with us, just to give me some fucking sanity as Mr. baby was fighting me about safety. I wish I was in a more residential area, there are cars everywhere here, it stresses me out. I can only hope his stubbornness and diamond will power does him well one day in something. Right now, it sucks. It fucking sucks so much to be around. Then, there she is. My bestest best friend, I didn’t recognize her at first, I was almost looking through her. I exclaimed I had just been thinking of her and wishing she was on a walk with us. She said that was so funny because she was just thinking of me too and a walk. She and I hadn’t talked about going on walks together, but apparently we had both thought it. We walked more together, she got me an energy drink while I struggled with Mr. baby to wait for her outside the gas station. I told her I would message her when we go on walks as we both need to reclaim sanity. I need to be around someone that won’t flicker a moment of me feeling immensely sour. She can be the same way towards me and I am happy we have been friends for so long.

Yesterday we walked again, we happened to both be out again, a much different time and day than the last run in. She found me with my screaming toddler because I didn’t want him to throw a rock into the highway. We walked together, she bought me liquor and frankly, I get it why there are so many wine mom memes. Oh I fucking get it. I rarely drink, but at this point, I think it might be something to take up more often for the time being. I’ve probably thrown out or given away more alcohol than I have drank in my life, most of it tastes gross, but I get it.

Anyways, there is this guy. There is this guy in my building that I first noticed several months ago, maybe a year now since my broken ankle and recovery sliced a nice half of the year up. I used to frequent the park near daily to exhaust Mr. baby of course and is a nice little community hub of all the local parents. I actually can’t remember…why…or when, I just remember gushing uncontrollably to my best friend about this guy. This guy I had seen in my building, I thought he was hot. I don’t even want to scroll back to the messages to see what I wrote. I don’t want to feel that. I don’t want to feel how I felt. I saw him a couple times, and we noticed each other. It is interesting with the masks to see what people look like, just the eyes or what type of mask/scarf they wear. He isn’t a mask guy, he is a scarf guy. He has a son, I think eight or nine? I thought of him, I thought about him a lot. Then I am at the park. There he is. I think of him again, we walk by mere moments of probably should have missed each other, running into each other with fast walking speed on the way out, towards the mail. We are almost always passing each other. Opposites. Opposite directions. One time at the park Mr. baby ran up to him, he is very athletic and sporty, Mr. baby was interested in the ball that time. I apologized.

I hadn’t seen him in months, mostly because I have been the most house bond I ever have in my life. While injured I didn’t leave my place for three weeks, then two weeks, and frankly got so used to not leaving my place, even after I got better I would sometimes not leave for a week at a time. Even though I love going for walks, I don’t love screaming toddler walks though, and those are the only walks I have. Sometimes screaming, sometimes not. Unpredictable at the very least. I used to walk two or three times a day before I got injured, now I am back to once sometimes twice a day. I have a set routine for a lot of things, but for stuff I hate doing like taking out the garbage, no there is definitely not a certain time I do it. Yet, I almost always see the neighbour, I see that neighbour when I am taking out the trash, taking out the recycling, going to the mail. An impulsive, fuck I should really do this or I won’t, type action. I’ll think of him, I’ll think about how I need to do this stupid chore, and then poof. There he is, going the opposite direction. I have said hi to him sometimes, he doesn’t respond. I feel like he was happier before. Happier when I used to pass him.

Now, when I think of him I wonder, why are we interconnected? Why do we have synchronicity. As my connections have previously happened with people I had interacted with more prior. With him, we haven’t even had a conversation. I don’t have a crush on him anymore, and I dislike when I see him now. I dislike it because I don’t understand why we are in sync, yet I feel he does not seem open to it or is not aware of it. He seems like a single dad, which is fine, and whether he is or was dating someone is also fine, I just like to get to the bottom of why I am connected to someone. The more connected to someone I am, the faster and more specific the happenings are surrounding them, like with my best friend. With the neighbour, it certainly is not delayed. Which, again, is bizarre for someone I do not know.

I understand there are the particular types that will focus on coincidences, and I think unless this sort of thing has happened to you enough times through your life. You can’t not…believe in some sort of frequency connection between people. I’ve had a lot of weird shit happen to me in my life. Whether I stumble into someone’s life and I unmeaning to shove…something, usually good, thankfully, but a catalyst for something big in their life. It happened with my sister because of my injury, a couple of things, she said were my fault but in a good way. With others, often I have arrived shortly after someone has died, like it has happened so many times it kind of pisses me off. When I worked in a hospice palliative care, even weirder stuff happened. But the people who work there know this and experience it too.

I am chaos. I am the whirlwind energy. Burning bright.

At this point I think the neighbour and I are in sync on both being miserable. Which isn’t much of anything, as many people are miserable. What I have experienced before is I think of a person, and they think of me back, it isn’t a one sided thing. I wonder what he is thinking then. When I had more zest left in my cup a couple years ago, I likely would have walked up to him and said I’d been thinking of him, and obviously he had been too which is why we kept running into each other. Except, now a days, surviving each day is the maximum goal. I don’t think my zesty cup is gone, but it certainly is on hiatus.

Actually, last time I saw the neighbour I had brown hair. Now I have ginger, maybe he doesn’t recognize me, but people locally always recognize Mr. baby everywhere I go. I am incognito, behind the mask, but him, nope. I’ve ran into the neighbour three times this week, twice in a couple hours actually. Always opposites, he is leaving, I am arriving or I am leaving, and he is arriving. Both with our mini me.

Two sailing ships passing by. Always opposite. So close, yet so far away.

Perhaps that is a lot of it. I have suffocated the entirety of my chaos, my impulsivity. I have always loved and been amazing at organizing, planning, but felt stabilized planning a day for free impulsivity. Now I have zero. I have fucking zero and have for what seems to be an eternity of a couple years. Within all that chaos my luck had lived and thrived. Within that chaos, my happiness had blossomed. Controlled and measured, but not suffocated like it has been. I thrive in chaos, I thrive in uncertainty. Always moving, fast. Fast, like the hummingbird. And I have a whole thing with hummingbirds, too, haha. They have been a signal for me, showing up in places they have no fucking business showing up in. A very in your face check point, reminder. Including quite literally being inside my god damn place last year. I came home and a fucking hummingbird was in my place. It took me an hour and a half to help the little one get out. It stuck with me even more that day as I had been listening to Leonard Cohen’s, Listen to the Hummingbird all day that day, after discovering it for the first time. Then there they were, my little buddy. I have pictures of them, on top of my fridge I shall find for another day. I fed them a raspberry. I love these little enigma birdies.

Edit: I wasn’t going to post this, not unless I saw him again when I impulsively went to my storage to grab some stuff for my desk in separating it. I don’t think of him each time I leave my place, but this made sense to me today. I rarely leave my place at this time. As I was coming back, someone entered the building and was talking to another. Who was he talking to?

The neighbour.

The neighbour I always see. And this time we were both going up.

Except, he takes the stairs. I assume he lives on a lower floor then. I often take the stairs too, when alone or if I don’t have the stroller, Mr. baby and I take the stairs many floors up. Not today though, not with the heavy items I was carrying. Instead, I shared the elevator with another neighbour, he was talking to.

So in saying all of this, he is my signal, he is my reminder how important my impulsivity is to me in thriving or experiencing luck. Whether we ever talk or not. He is meaningful in my life. Meaningful without realizing his importance. Fleeting importance I am assuming, none the less just as important.

The mere moments between missing another person and not I find fascinating. One more second, one less second. It can change everything and nothing. I’ve passed him four times in the last couple of days. Hence, I will take these meaningful coincidences. These things can cause you to stop and pay attention, cozy up to the present. What is happening and the feelings surrounding that. The fears and doubts holding one back from desires. Although I find Jung’s research close, I came across Gibbs A. Williams. I am going to buy his book and below is a quote about it I find appealing.

“His naturalistic perspective is in marked contrast to the findings of Jung and his followers, who view these odd events as “channeled” messages from a transcendent realm of spiritual reality. Instead, Williams concludes that meaningful coincidences are the surface manifestations of an individual’s unique creative process, accommodating the “best” available resolution of a problem for a person initially feeling “stuck” in a seemingly intractable dilemma.

While his analysis robs the magic associated with only reacting to the “numinous uncanny aura” associated with synchronicities, it nevertheless affirms a wondrous appreciation for the creative capacities of each person to order his or her own chaos. Readers are treated to a rich mine of historical data, novel concepts, and theoretical insights drawn from speculative philosophy, depth psychology, and esoteric occult and spiritual traditions, and they are shown how to decode their own synchronicities in order to be able to use their embedded “messages” for increased self-awareness, cohesiveness, and expanding consciousness”

The Midnight Cowboy

The Swing, 1767, Jean-Honore Fragonard

There are times, a person comes unsolicited into your mind, capturing a part in your brain you never asked them to navigate freely. Right now, I find my thoughts going to the Biomedical Engineer. Which, is truly bizarre. Then again, I felt such synchronicity and a catalyzed result from crossing paths with him I truly needed. I listen to this song I love, although there are many, certain ones loop on repeat certain hours, certain days. Tonight, is the Midnight Cowboy’s time to loop, by John Barry. I highly recommend you look it up, right now. Actually, go here. If John Barry sounds familiar, he did a bunch of songs for James Bond movies between the 1960s to 1980s. Oh how I love James Bond movies. I have added in “Far From Any Road” from the True Detective theme song (god what a good show) by the Handsome Family here. There, that is how I feel. That is how he makes me feel. Albeit, nobody can make you feel anything, but I think you know what I mean. Now, I want you to feel the way I do right now. Unbeknownst to him.

I can always tell what part of my life I was in by certain songs I come across in a playlist of mine. Certain songs stay long term. I’m talking about you, Coma White. I never listened to The Midnight Cowboy until the last several months, and Far from Any Road was a few years ago, back in my hardcore pole dance training days. I miss that. I miss them. Hence, I am not quite sure why this reminds me of him. Neroche is undoubtedly tied to him, as I have mentioned before, he introduced me to them and they have been tied to my soul ever since. When I listen to it, I don’t think of him though. I think of myself. I think about listening to it while giving a guy a blow job in my friend’s place while she was out with her boyfriend, and spat his cum into a cup on her coffee table. I might be a horrible guest at times. Or, well used to be. She’s a horrible cat owner in my failing attempt at excusing this. Her place was also when I got obsessively introduced to Casefiles and, in my opinion, the best true crime podcast. I love that the host is anonymous and I am low key entranced by his voice. Anyways, we’re here to talk about Mr. Biomedical Engineer, not the random guy. I can’t even remember his name. I just know he had a cool jeep and brought me to the ferry once, or was it he picked me up? I can’t remember.

In this moment I can only think that thinking about the Biomedical Engineer is nothing, in fact, to do with him, but more so what he represents or represented to me. A part about me, that is needed to transcend something…right now. He was handsome, and there are many handsome nerdy guys out there. He was strong, there are many strong men out there. He was weird. Lots of those, absolutely. Hiding a secret, yeah, no thanks. He had a tattoo, love that, but again, not that. Music was a thing, between us, random songs that were his favourite, that happened to be completely tied to my soul as well. Ahh, Wicked Game came on once, it was this remix, he thought I had snuck it onto his music. No, I hadn’t. Perhaps you notice by now I love my sad, sad girl songs. Sad makes me happy. There are people you come across you know nothing about, and perhaps should know nothing about, yet are forever entangled by some sort of essence. Some people you know a lot about, and are bonded by trauma or shared interests. Others you thought you knew inside and out, yet, they never existed. I think he is the first one, and it is quite alright by me if it is one sided, as we had enough weirdness between us in the brief moments we flashed upon one another. It just makes me so fucking sad, not the good kind of sad, not the thoughtful moments, philosophical kind of sad. I wish I knew what it was that made me sad. Because it isn’t him inherently. If I figure it out, I will let you know. For now, it is a mystery for me.

It has been six years, I think, I am trying to remember my hair colour. It has changed so frequently, that is generally my gauge as to what I was doing or whom. Yes, I am capricious, fickle, a flight risk, impulsive, gun shy. Although, none of that matters as I am content being house bond most of the time, quarantined, babying, working. Whatever may be. I was blonde, honey blonde in a long transition from ginger to become platinum. Sigh, that didn’t last long. Living in my most beloved 1940s house with two roommates, the ones who fell in love there, got married later and now live down the street from me. Six years, yes, it was then. Mr. Biomedical Engineer was really into women’s rights. Love. That. Something on the University campus about women and he had a pin he wore. God, he had horrible fashion. So many men here seem to wear plaid. The Canadian way is plaid. Plaid. Plaid. Plaid. Redneck plaid. I don’t mind it actually.

He loved flowers, as I do, too. He brought me to the most beautiful park I would ever dreamt even existed in our city. He did weird impulsive romantic things, the only other person to do that sort of thing was the first sociopath I ever dated ten years ago. Story for another day. He looked like Johnny Depp in many ways from the Secret Window. Mr. Biomedical Engineer and him both have glasses. For whatever reason, 80% of my boyfriends or lovers, or something have had glasses. Is this a requirement? Apparently without meaning to. You can be smart with contacts, you know. I don’t even have a glasses fetish and I find them a bit annoying to work around. Loved his voice, I do have a heavy voice fetish. That is a make or break for basically everyone I go near. Perhaps too much weight is given on the voice fetish, but regardless, it’s my thing. I will say, very rarely do people get into my head. I shake them out before I ever thought of inviting them in. I shake them out before they even realize there was a chair for them, perhaps, in the first place. But again, it isn’t specifically him, something symbolic about him or something I am forgetting about myself my brain is trying to remind me of. I LOVE film-noir and neo-noir, he introduced me to his favourite movie, Brick with Joseph Gordon Levitt. Going back to The Midnight Cowboy, I probably should watch the movie, and I do love anything from the 1960s or about prostitution.

I hope I find a path from these intrusive thoughts around Mr. Biomedical Engineer, and find the part of myself calling out. Pika had used to say to me she could taste my sadness when I was melancholy. Taste my sadness.

I wish you could have seen the way she looked at me when she would say that.

Well hello there, Tumblr

A Water Baby, (1895). (Details). By Herbert James Draper.

Tonight I made the quick decision to save some of my sanity and rejoin Tumblr. I miss it. I could overdose on GIFs and little pictures all day long. I have so many fond memories of blogs, always had a blog, even as a kid. Love writing, memes, and art. I’ve decided to rotate Pinterest, Tumblr, and Houzz in-between all the work. Social media and pages to save my own misery and dread I have for how much I have to be on the computer. How much dread and disdain I have even looking at my computer, which once used to bring so much pleasure for many, many years prior.

I am not sure why this didn’t occur to me before. Work hard, play hard. Something something something. No, I am not sharing my Pinterest, Houzz or Tumblr with you all. It is my sacred space!

I will, share the tags I follow though. Some of them, haha.

Vintage, pin-up, celebrities, asethetic, romance, sculpture, hollywood regency, art deco, museums, movies, puppies, runway, hollywood, library, pets, painting, health & fitness, home decor, antiques, glamour, gifs, DIY, history, Italy, Rococo, macabre, gothic, Midcentury, 1960s, art history

“Dante And Virgil In Hell” by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. (1850)

How is it already September?

2021 already seems a blur, doesn’t it? Amongst the litters of random masks along street sides, joining crushed cigarette butts in holy matrimony. Mr. Baby is 26 months old. It is like yesterday we were stuck in a fucking bible camp after a most religious city in Alberta. I began watching Lucifer last night, finishing off season five. In great delight, season six is out. When I was staying with a friend’s mom during my third trimester of pregnancy, she caught me watching the devilish show downstairs once and was horrified. I got a sound Christian disturbance lecture and had to sneak my Lucifer viewings, else be cast out quite likely. If only people within the bible camp later knew a raped whore was cradling her newborn baby amongst them. Baby daddy has been blocked from any of his shenanigans after not wishing Mr. baby a happy birthday two years in a row. Good job, deadbeat. Plastering pictures of #daddyslittleprincess across Instagram and Facebook with his fourth child 6 weeks younger than my Mr. baby. He finally decided to introduce her to the world when she is nearing two years old. Some people value images more than what’s ethical. He has followed the exact trajectory of gross predictability I had assumed upon him and am ever more confident in how I have protected Mr. Baby from him.

Upon lighter news, I can walk in shoes as of two days ago. Well, I am allowed to be in shoes. Six weeks ago, tomorrow, I had my surgery. Stuck in my mind is the anesthesiologist had told me she had broken her ankle, too when her child was 16 months old. She had just moved from South Africa to the UK. Have you ever felt that with someone, a stranger, with such small exchanges, you both just see and understand it from one another? She understood, which goes a long way. She understood the nightmare first hand. And there she was, many, many, many years later, talking to me. I suppose I will make a longer post about all that ankle recovery stuff, as I did find some random blog posts on broken ankles did bring me great comfort. However, the ones I found did NOT have quick recovery, and mine certainly has been. I want to show some light for another version of recovery. It is weird to still feel disconnected from my body, I’ve practiced dance for over 18 years, which is all about walking and connection to your body. Of all the things. I waddle and limp at the moment, but I practice a lot each day to strengthen the left side. I have been very lucky my pain has been little to none throughout this experience.

Unfortunately breaking my ankle was one of the best things that has happened to me in the last couple years after Mr. Baby of courseeeee. My sister has been staying with me and helping, I think of her as a sister hubby. Like damn life is easier when you have someone helping with a kid. Like holy CRAP this is easy, comparatively. I’m feeling this way being busted up, looking forward to when I am fully able to reap the glory of an easier work load FINALLY. She helps with the morning, brings him to my parents in afternoon, does all the laundry, dishes, pet stuff, and various other little things. She has my back against my parents and I forgot how she always was that when I was growing up too. She is ten years older, but people used to always think she was my mother when I was a child. I vividly remember that. I do cooking for all of us most of the time, I love the deep cleaning, and she has my card to do the grocery shopping. Definitely don’t miss dishes, laundry or various other things. She has felt more accomplished and empowered instead of laying around at home all day. And when I am better, she is going to continue on as like a nanny and I will keep sharing all my food and sending her money. I truly enjoy that such a horrible traumatic event has been an amazing thing for both of us, and not out of some deranged optimism, it is shining in our faces how it was the only way to really create this opportunity. Go figure.

My sister is “disabled” with a brain injury and autism, she struggles holding down a regular job. Not from any slight of capability, she just needs more breaks because of her health. It is so fucking stupid how cookie cutter society tends to be in the detriment of so many brilliant minds and powers in the world. Yet, ironically, we are obsessed with progress. Being my nanny she can take as many freaking breaks as she needs, and someone won’t be barking down the pipe at her. She gets everything done every single day, she gets things done quickly after I ask or even mention something. She is a better worker than most people I’ve worked around. I just wish our mother wasn’t a narcissist, as matching us together would have made sense. Not telling my sister my life was so easy LOL LOL OLOLOFLOSLFOSFKDESOFKDOFK LOLLLLLLLL and things were great at home LOLLLLL. Thanks mother dearest. The second my sister found out about my ankle she came powering over and saw me stranded, surrounded with meats, almond milk, and various food from the fridge on the floor, the shelves. Mr. Baby had cultivated what he wanted to eat, and I was helpless in child mining. My parents had left me and I was struggling. I told her how things have been even before the ankle and she was horrified. I had thought my sister was working full-time, thanks to mommy dearest. She wasn’t, she was broke and working 2 hours a week thanks to Covid. Now, here we are. I am less of a slave to motherly life/work/household chores and she, has an abundance of food, more money and a purpose. I also, finally, can date as before I had no coverage and my precious babysitting hours from my parents I dedicated to work and a bit of Pilates. Gosh, like she can do an evening which I haven’t had. Now, where will Mr. Boyfriend be? haha. I am the happiest I’ve been in a long, long while, even with the broken ankle I have been just so happy.

I’ve been homebound more than I have in any part of my life, even with earlier bits of Covid I was going for a walk every single day for the baby to fall asleep, have fresh air or grab some small groceries. Since the injury, I didn’t leave my apartment for two weeks, then another three weeks. Now it has been two days and I have little to no interest leaving at the moment again. I look forward to when I am well enough to be in my beloved reformer Pilates and a really cool team training gym I had joined the pre-signup for prior to being hurt. I can’t waittttt to be there all the time and surrounded in a community. I miss the insanity of my pole dance community, I miss aerial hoop, I miss the crazy glory of how much pain you endured or executing a cool trick. The same crew predictably every day. I doubt the team training will be as nuts as a dance crew is, but regardless will finally be satisfying my thirst for athletics. Maybe that is where Mr. Boyfriend will be as it will be a regular routine for both. Although it has been worth the sacrifice not doing what I have wanted to in taking care of Mr. Baby, the first couple years are so crucial. I see my surgeon again in late, late October. Will see when I am cleared for harder exercise, and gosh, the retraining in stilettos? My precious, beautiful, beloved shoe collection, how I miss you.

I finished the rest of my counselling and it always leaves me with clashed realities, she has been impressed by my intelligence, as was my last counsellor. I miss being in school with the gliding possibilities and shared minds alike. The reality of whatever Miss Chloe and the reality of my passions have slept an early grave for many years. I had mapped out the exacting plans to have my Ph.D in Psychology by now, little unaware of long depression and a circadian rhythm sleep disorder to wreck destruction on it all. I quit my antidepressants for the first time in several years in the midst of an abusive relationship, an infant, and the waking of Covid. How fun is that? And I’ve been okay. I’ve been great. Go figure. Sometimes I wonder if I hold onto something not in the cards, instead of letting it go. I finally was doing okay, back to Miss UBC. Then, pregnant. Haha. Next, pandemic unravelling what work I had known for so long. I think it would be nice to forget it all. Because, what is the point, really? And I don’t mean that in a melodramatic melancholy way. I mean, practically. Except if only the limbic system recognized logic.

I always did think I would be a dominatrix. Like a Psychologist/Sexologist/Health Psychologist and then also a Dominatrix. That is something, too, I miss the BDSM community. I will go to the shibari training when it is open again and learn how to tie people up, artfully, haha. I suppose, perhaps I have had it a bit backwards all along. It might just be full-time Dominatrix first, then something else later. Another, for years people have thought I was in burlesque or asked me why I am not. Haha, I spent so much time around burlesque dancers and strippers, too, training around them. I just thought work was the path back to school. I miss volunteering, I worked at the hospice palliative care for a few years as a clinical volunteer, helping alongside nurses. It would be nice to do what I truly want to do, instead of what is necessary to navigate the world. I think it’s possible though, I had an insatiable ennui and anguish before Mr. Baby, despite the unfortunate how to be circumstances, I think it is possible now as that emptiness is gone. Guess we shall see.

Infinitesimal

There is much to say, 11 days post surgery on my ankle now. See the surgeon for check up in 2 days. Not looking forward to it as crutches are just bloody exhausting. Things have been fine, and good, more so because I actually have help for once and because my pain is next to none. Else, I would be a bundle of nerves and tears. I got a bunch of vitamins, I do little exercises each day. I work a tiny bit, and I rest often. I found a ballet rehab program online and another little rehab thing to do in air cast once I am back in that. I miss having baths quite dearly.

Tonight I have thought much about a favourite song of mine, and a favourite poem. Both have been favourites of mine for several years. At one point, the song was infectious to me, married clearly to my brain and emotions. I can remember many of scenarios and people I was around when I listened to it or introduced it. It isn’t quite as stuck to me, but the word infinitesimal still gets to me. I’ve always wanted to have it tattooed on the side of my hand. I think it should happen sooner than I originally planned. Before, I never got tattoos as it was better value of myself in my offline job. Now, that is no more and no matter. This word means so much to me.

I will say, also, I enjoy the reference to Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk in the song. As he is my favourite author. I met him once. I was too star struck to mutter anything sensible. He signed my book and took a picture with me.

There is another word I would like tattooed on my other hand, ineffable. I do not have any songs or poems to reference to. It just feels proper and right in harmony with infinitesimal. Here are some descriptions of each if you like.

Infinitesimal

Extremely small.

Ineffable

Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words.

Here is the poem:

“And I, infinitesima­l being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.”

Pablo Neruda 


Here is the song and I highly recommend you give it a listen:

Zelda by the Antlers

Zelda
You asked me to wake you
If I woke up before you
And you were still stuck inside

I’m here to tell you, “We’re not awake yet”

Zelda
We live between two worlds
A tunnel with two lights
Pitch black in the middle
[Like a dream’s dream (a copy’s copy)]

Zelda
It’s just not important
The small things we suffer
They’re infinitesimal

We swim in an ocean
It swims between us

Becoming 2% Cyborg | Part I

A few people asked me to write about my ankle chronicles. Writing is what I enjoy anyways, didn’t take much convincing. I have more time now or an illusion of more time. Appropriately re-arranged time commitments. Anyways.

Monday, August 2nd

It’s 8 PM and my two year old went to bed relatively fast which is always a lottery win regardless of how much I work him out at playground. Some nights are just yeesh. Today was not a playground day as I had asked my parents to babysit 1-3 while I got my vaccine and grocery shopped. I didn’t want to exhaust myself further bringing baby to the playground. It’s surprising he went to bed from us just hanging out and playing inside for five hours. I’m about to get ready to do some work, as after babying it is time for salacious work. I take half hour reprieve. Fifteen minutes in I impulsively decide my stupid bunny statue needs to go on the balcony beside my tropical plants. A small task I kept meaning to do. My body says to me, this is enough.

My left ankle buckles and I go down. Harder than I ever have. Doing any dance trick, falling on ice, tripping over baby toys. I crash down with a thud on my balcony in completion and I hear cracking. I begin wailing in frustration, panic, anger. I hear another crack and I knew something was broken. My ankle had buckled, given out a few times before just walking. Nothing interesting. Mundane routines with a spark. I catch myself when I trip to not bail, I fall gracefully or strong onto proper form. Not today.

I had gotten my second covid shot that same day, 8 hours earlier and I am even more glad now given the vulnerability I am now and I am not freaking leaving my place aside from doctor appointments.

I dragged myself on my right side sobbing hysterically, across my apartment to my kitchen. I got up on my right knee enough to open freezer, whacked out a bag of delicious dragonfruit melody to sacrifice.

8:30 PM

As I iced my left ankle I called 911. For a flash second I thought I was overreacting. But I haven’t ever called 911 to be honest. Others have for me each time some nonsense has happened. Like i’m in denial. I sob my information to the clerk and she asks if someone can watch my baby and to put any pets away for the paramedics. I just think “oh fuck, I have to go all the way across the apartment again to shove my dog into my bedroom? urgh”. I hung up and began grabbing diapers, fruit from the fridge, and goldfish crackers for the baby in case I had to bring him. I grabbed a plastic bag, my phone charger, more and more hysterical with the ice on my ankle and dragging myself on my side using my right arm and right leg. My fucking left arm hurts from my vaccine so I feel extra frustrated the whole left side hurts. I drag myself to my dog sleeping in her basket under my computer and begin dragging her now heavy 8lb butt into my bedroom. She poked her head in her blanket as I shoved the basket of dog into my bedroom. I closed the door and began groaning as to hide my porn notes and work binders from my parents. I decide the nearest possibility of a purple canvas box of nespresso pods makes sense and dump what I can reach into the box, dump some random boring vanilla paperwork on top, and shove the box under my desk where the dog originally was. I dragged myself to the baby’s room and he was asleep like an angel. He looked peaceful and I was relieved as I didn’t need him crying and screaming about me being hurt had he known. I dragged myself a foot away then laid down to wait and sob looking at my phone over and over and over.

8:43 PM

I call my mom in hysterics how I fell and broke my ankle. I am relieved she picked up as usually my parents are in bed by 8 PM. They live a five minute walk but they got to my place the same time as the paramedics shortly after 9 PM. I laid by the phone mumbling and crying why it felt like it was taking awhile.


All of this reminds me when I had knee bursitis on new year’s day 2016. I was so stoked I had moved back from Vancouver to the island and was living in a beautiful 1940s house with two close friends. They fell in love in that house, are married, live on same street as me in new apartment, and she just had left ankle surgery yesterday so aren’t we in sync! Sans the marriage. I had gone to bed, drunk, woke up 3 hours in mind numbing pain. I crawled down the cascade of wooden stairs sobbing to the living room for help from two other friends sleeping over from the party. They left without helping me, half drunk, and not understanding. They were freaked out they slept in late from their child being baby sat and left. I was angry and sad, I dragged myself to the freezer, got a bag of frozen blueberries and dragged back to my roommates bedroom. It was empty as he was in the other roommate’s room, his now wife. I laid in his bed, crying, icing my knee waiting for him to wake up. When he did, he helped me up and got me pain killers. I called my boyfriend at the time and he brought me to the hospital. He left me there and I found out I had knee bursitis, leaving with tiny crutches. I don’t remember who picked me up.


After 9 PM

Two really attractive paramedic guys arrive, I find it amusing one is older, I think late 40s and other early 30s. I would take both but stay longer with the older one, honestly. I remember when I fractured my left rib (aha this side sucks) at 18 I collapsed in a grocery store, xmas eve, as a cashier and this fucking turkey a customer was buying was the last straw. I had a handsome firefighter put me on oxygen and I tried to look pretty even in-between my sobbing. I never got coverage for that injury cause I had a small cough at the time. Thanks WCB. Back to current day, my older paramedic had tattoos on his fingers, his forearms, nicely pomaded salt and pepper hair. The younger one doesn’t look like he has tattoos, or if he does, is more discreet. Less liberal about their appearance. I hobble out with their help onto a stretcher and off we go. I was in the back with the older one, I knew he was a dad, it’s like an essence. He told me how his kid was grown up and how he just got a house. When he asked me how my pain was and I said 3-4 he said hmm 4-5 with jolts of 7-8? I replied, no, i’ve had a baby okay. He chuckled and said he was about to say. A dad gets it. Feeling your entire soul and body want to split in half and being in so much pain you barely can move or talk is not something I ever want to experience again. The need or wants of water or food is so beyond surviving the pain. Granted, I was induced. If you are a lady friend, and get induced, get the fucking epidural IMMEDIATELY. Fucking seriously. I recommend to not wait a few hours like me. Morphine does ZERO to help.

Anyways, I get passed from various clerks and nurses, waiting times of ennui and the olympics in the background. I remember being in the hospital once with the olympics once close to ten years ago. For this knife like pain I had in my side while at a club. My friend didn’t want to come but called me an ambulance and while I was squatting in pain outside waiting a malicious ex was there and pretending to be cordial. I was in too much agony and tears to be angry. Today’s “2020” olympics I am glad to not be facing. I like the olympics but not tied again to a hospital memory.

11:54 PM

I call my mom for a ride. I have had an x-ray by this point, met a doctor who said I broke my left ankle and was fitted an air cast boot by a nurse and given tiny crutches. She makes a comment how short they are. I wait for my parents by the very front entrance, I told the nurse my parents are old and want to be visible. She wheels me to where I want to be.

12:54 AM

Finally, my parents arrive. I seriously don’t know how they manage to make a ten minute ride an hour, but this is always how they are even when not bringing a baby and it drives me nuts. My mom calls me and I say…can you..please come…in? She does and asks me to come to car. I get annoyed and say, I need you mommy to come to me. I’m tired and she can’t figure out the fucking wheel chair, i’m getting frustrated and try using my crutches to go instead. I almost get stuck in-between the doors as she doesn’t help me and another patient behind me gasps out, I see her reflection in side of the doors try to catch me, despite further away. My mom doesn’t try to catch me. I catch my balance and don’t fall. I hop backwards onto the wheelchair and a nurse comes around to show my mom how easy the wheel chair is to use. He had been talking to a man who cruised in like bugs bunny on a casual jaunt, blood running down his eye and face. Blaise about being busted up. My mom finally wheels me to the car and I am ecstatic to see my baby and he is stoked to see me too. My dad helps take over, wheels me around carefully, and helps hold the door as I enter in to say hi to my beloved Mr. Baby.

I notice how my parents brought my baby shoes. I had no shoes. I had gone to the hospital with no shoes, nor had my parents brought me shoes. I had managed to stick my phone in my boobs under my jumpsuit and my keys in my pocket, no purse, no ID, nothing else as I had wanted. My older paramedic had chuckled when he realized what I had meant by, “I have my phone”, he had asked me, and he couldn’t figure out where I had put it until I casually took my phone out from my top in the ambulance ride to text a friend.

He exclaimed, “That’s what you meant by you had your phone!”

I replied, “Oh, yeah. Comes in handy.”