The Blog In Yellow

Its hard to know what part of you complaining is the autism side or the human side. If the autism complains, you have to listen or you crash out. If it's the human side you can likely push through. And I'm good at complaining so I have to push myself a little harder to get through things. Autism is a perpetual child sitting on your shoulders screaming "no" as you climb a mountain without equipment. It's already difficult but you can't seem to unstrap the child. If you could, you would, and let that brat go splat on the ground.  Anyway. I'm taking time off to heal so I hope I get better soon. 

I'm finally doing a little better. I know because I want to do my hobbies, writing, reading, etc. I'm not out of the woods yet and theres a lot of work left to do but I am better. Its like the anxiety has converted from fear to energy.

Today it was better, writing felt like pulling teeth rather than vomiting. I just dont care anymore. I've tried medicine, I've tried prayer, I've tried therapy, and nothing helps. I feel like I'm being punished. I dont think I want to do anything anymore. I just want to stop.

After talking with my friend, I had 30 minutes before I had to go to work. So I figured I'd use them to do something I haven't done in a while: write. The best metaphor I can think of is how I regurgitated my medicine after trying to dry swallow them. I had to pull my pills out of my own vomit and reswallow them. T hat's how writing felt today. I thought I had books in me, instead I have paragraphs. I knew what I wanted when I was writing but I lack the skill to pull it off. Thank God there's no such thing as talent when it comes to writing. Because I dont have it. I couldn't describe the scene, what my character was feeling or anything of value to draw in a reader. It felt like I was describing the scene from afar, not experiencing it. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. But it's better to have it down than have a blank page. I can't fix a blank page.

I almost quit my job two days ago. My supervisor decided to tack on another task before I could leave. I would have been fine with it but she added it on at the last moment. She already watches me like a hawk but to move the goal post at the last minute is especially cruel. Its only cemented the fact to me that I can't stay here any more. Writing will have to come at another time, I need another job before I get fired.

 I wonder what it would take to satisfy me when it comes to writing? Do I want to be remembered, rich, or another one of those writers who gets lost in the flurry of written tales published every day? What does it take to get attention? As someone on the spectrum I'm always craving attention while shunning other people in a weird conundrum that is my brain. I've been reaching out to smaller authors in hopes of getting feedback or making some friends but I forget that they have lives too. I wonder if that interferes with writing because I don't have much of a life. I have my parents, maybe two friends, and no lover. I guess that makes me a loner. I remember reading about Chuck Palahniuk's rise to fame with his first story "Fight Club." Most people remember the movie but the book is excellent and a great thriller. Is that the kind of success I want or do I want to be like my favorite Stephen King and live in the clouds above the rest of the flock? That kind of f...

I came in today to the usual "glad you're back"s after being sick only to find out if was being praised. You see a rumor had started that I was protesting against the mistreatment at work by not coming in. The thought never crossed my mind. I'm easy to placate although I try to avoid rocking the boat. I'm still feeling som anxiety but being back at work is helping to stabilize me. I know with a few medical adjustments I'll be back to my normal, happy self.

I've made contact with another writer. I've been sick and blue lately and my folks took me out to Chili's for fun. I wish I could take care of myself. This autism makes me wish I could work full time so I could feel good snd contribute to society. Is that an urge average people have?

I wanted to write my thoughts about this story before I started reading it in full. I've only read the oneshot of this manga and im already hooked. Its strange because it's listed as BL or Boy's Love. What we Americans, strangely called Yaoi. In simple terms, its gay. I tend to avoid such manga. Not that I have a particular hatred for that genre but I just dont care for it. But this one intrigued me with a premise about a high schoolers who realizes his best friend who disappeared for a week in the woods is replaced with an eldritch doppelganger.  It asks the reader what should be done if your best friend was replaced. Do you report it? Keep it a secret? A very interesting concept that I can't wait to dive into.

A writer friend of mine lost her step daughter to cancer. That's a blow I can't imagine. No parent should bury their child. When we met today, I told her about my own experience losing a friend and how Henry Darger's "method" helped me. I say "method" because its just a theory of mine. Henry Darger was an unknown writer who went unpublished until his death. He worked as a janitor in a hospital but during his free time he would paint and write stories. A few of his characters were based off of girls who disappeared he'd read about in the paper. That's where my theory comes in: I think he was giving them life. Darger loved children and despite his financial and mental state, he tried adoption several times to no avail. But he gave those lost children life in his stories and I think my friend can do the same with her step daughter. Words give life to the things we've lost and its important to remember that words have power.

 I've had three events shake me out of my funk this week. Wouldn't you know it, at the same time, I have a cold. I don't want to write right now but I will to keep the flow going.  First, I went to a book event in Columbus and talked to almost all the indie writers. I was like a politician: shaking hands and taking names. I've got a mini bag filled with colorful business cards of people I could contact. I can finally get some help on my plot. I stood in the hot summer sun and endured flies and sweat but I talked until I couldn't talk no more. It was a great day and I learned a lot. I think waht really changed in me was my attitude towards indie writers. I live in black and white mindset, either you're Stephen King or you're nothing to me. Now, Stephen King had to start somewhere but his stuff is excpetional. At first I didn't think I could get anything from these writers but I reallized they were like me too, people who had a dream of getting published. ...

I've been playing all the Lovecraftian games I can find and this one popped up on my radar. Its a simple game where you take over the night shift for a broadcast station set in the 50s or 60s. After a broadcast about a gas planet with an eye, you receive messages that the planet is under attack and the citizens are transforming into monsters. In the final moments of the game you are given the choice to broadcast messages to save lives by revealing bunker locations before getting to your own. Whether you stay, go, or complete the quest, your fate is sealed. You will die to one of those smiling monsters. And as the night flashes with lights in the sky, you realize why the universe is so quiet. This thing came for them.  I managed to collect all the achievements and had a nice time playing the game. Its not bad for the developers first game and leaves plenty to the imagination. Eduardo Scarpato, the developer, has managed to do a lot with a little. It keeps the Lovecraftian mystery al...

 In any cycle of stories, there's an unspoken set of rules that the writer usually keeps in their head. These rules are never written on paper or if they are they are used as exposition material in the stories. The same can be said for Lovecraft's works such as his monsters causing insanity or death to any that seek them out. One such rule is that his characters are usually naive about the existence of the gods. Many are seeking scientific pursuits, not religion. Instead, the pantheon of gods seem to slap the protagonist's face with their existence. That which should and could not be is real and the world they thought they knew was a mirage.  A rule I stumbled across while reading online posts about Eldritch horrors was the mortality of the Great Old Gods. A prevailing theory about Cthulhu is that modern technology could defeat him, such as a nuclear bomb. Such weapons didn't weren't even imagined in Lovecraft's time, and going back further, the fear of affectin...

My birthday was on the 8th but since I worked that day my folks decided to celebrate it on the 9th when I was off. Is it wrong to say I felt little to nothing? My parents obviously love me, but I feel nothing. I felt out of place among my family, like I was a stranger. I kept thinking "what's wrong with you?" I pushed through with a fake smile. Even though I didn't ask for anything, my family still got me presents. This was the most non-electrical birthday I've had. No games, no electronics, nothing that was more complicated than a mop. And I was fine with that which also scared me. Am I numb to emotions? I can't remember if I was happy yesterday. I felt relief when I went home because the social event was over. A normal person shouldn't feel like this. I shouldn't need a fake smile.

Yesterday was bad, not only was it my birthday, but I had to work. Sometimes I get over the fact that I'm in my late thirties and I haven't accomplished my dreams yet, and sometimes I don't. Today was one of the later days. To add to my stress, my giveadamn was busted. I don't know if you know the song but it's about a woman not giving a crap about anything and singing about it. Somedays I wake up and I don't give a damn. I don't like to cuss, but that's the best way to put it. To add even MORE to my stress, the same day I had to get up early to go to a meeting thirty minutes away from my house, to determine if I was disabled enough to get disability services. It’s like going to a confessional. You have to tell them your worst days when your instinct is to tell them how great you are doing. You can't tell them the strides you've made over the weeks and months. In my family, we jokingly call it "drooling." I have to look bad in front of ...

 After reading Arthur Machen's "The Great God Pan" I think I have a better understanding of Lovecraft and the new character I've been working on. There are plenty of other sources I need to read before I'm ready to proceed so I should get to work on that. In the meantime, I wanted to make a note about the "trolling" Lovecraft does in his works. I noticed a similar approach in Machen's stories that leaves the horror in the imagination of the reader's mind. Anything the mind can imagine will be infinately better than what can be described on paper. My issue is that there doesn't seem to be enough to build a solid image out of the terror. Machen and Lovecraft like to give us hints about their monsters without providing concrete descriptions. Cthulhu, the most iconic creature in Lovecraft's work, is described in the story as "a mountain moved." We've given the size of Cthulhu but not the image. Only Lovecraft's own sketch of...

 I thought I'd try something a little different with this post. I'm going to start by listing what people have said about the story. The story hurt Arthur Machen's reputation when it was released in 1894. While Oscar Wilde praised the short story, many reporters and critics claimed it was a detriment to English society. Feminists often point to the supposed misogynistic undertones while others writhe in disgust at the sexual ideas inserted into the characters. Jump ahead to the 1920s and you have Lovecraft practically worshipping the short novel while today's Stephen King calls it one of the, if not the, greatest horror story written in the English language.  So what is it about? A man named Clarke agrees to bear witness to an experiment by his friend Dr. Raymond which will allow the patient to see "the Great God Pan." A woman named Mary undergoes a minor brain surgery which leaves her "a hopeless idiot." We jump ahead a few years and Clarke has been...

 Today I told a friend about an idea I had about the DND character I'm playing. I'm a half orc who's dumb  as a rock. I yell "Fireball" when I hit with my axe while wearing noble clothes. That's the problem with ideas is that once they get out of your head, they wither up like leaves in the air. Mine dried out in less than a minute after my friend shot me down. I know he means well, but it still hurts whenever I tell him something I think is neat and he dismisses it. It's not all bad, I've learned that whenever he thinks I have a bad idea, it's probably good to listen to him. Here's the story I made up: I wasn't always a noble. Years agao, I was a commoner with only one friend. We slaved under the tyrannical rule of a king. One day, we decided to stage a revolt. It started small but grew like a fire. Soon, half the kingdom was in a revolt. But, no revolution comes without blood. We did bad things to a lot of people. I did bad things. I kill...