a significant bullet

It wasn’t significant in the least...

It’s been four years since Anthony Bourdain committed suicide. The same for Kate Spade. Spade died on June 5th, 2018. Just three days later, Bourdain followed her. Tragedy is not the right word. Suicide is not tragic. It is filled with sadness, hopelessness, self-hatred, and love. Love for the people who are cared for, holding the belief that the pain being caused to them through your existence will stop once you are gone.

Anthony Bourdain smiling

This is not tragic. This is the result of corrupted thoughts. Thoughts that you believe are true, that are real. Instead, these thoughts are lying to you. They are indeed true in that they exist. But only because they exist. What the thoughts mean is wrong, completely wrong. They bubble up from uncontrollable depression and continually repeat their poison to you:

“You’re worthless

You only hurt people

You’ll always be hopeless and sad

Nothing will change. This is forever

Those you love need you to not exist; you do nothing but hurt them.

This is out of love, not anger or spite. But love.”


I was in the hospital for six days. I just got out today and I'm exhausted. You never sleep in the hospital.

You also never get chocolate mousse. For dinner, I ordered chocolate mousse for dessert. When my meal came, I got the lazy version of mousse. Just staring at me.

Chocolate pudding trying to sneak its way into being chocolate mousse.

It was good though


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Last week, I decided To just say “fuck anxiety” and start writing my novel again. It's already been published, but right now, it exists as a short story.

I want a novel. 1,000 words or more, my story fully told and not sidelined by goddamn anxiety.

So I wrote. I wrote more onto the beginning and I'm quite pleased with it. It doesn't jump right into the action of the story but does tell more about the darkness within the main character.

One of my major literary influences is Thomas Pynchon, especially his usage of paranoia and unexplained groups in his works. I'm specifically thinking of the muted posthorn in “The Crying of Lot 49”. The posthorn comes to symbolize an anarchic group called W.A.S.T.E which is an underground postal service.

Or it could symbolize The Trystero (sometimes spelled Tristero), a shadowy group of mail carriers bent on overthrowing the US Postal Service.

I thought, “Neat! I have the μ in my story; Pynchon influence!

I want the μ (mu) to be more integrated into the story. It’s supposed to represent the main character’s spiraling paranoia, him believing a dark, secret group is after him. Watching him through the tv frequencies. Or following him.

He escapes into holographic fantasies where he murders holographic women (it has a deeper meaning, I swear). Kind of like the show Westworld but published 4 years before Westworld premiered.

So my novel is a combination of Thomas Pynchon, William Gibson, Lisa Joy, and Johnathan Nolan. Except not.

The cover to my novel The Art of Self-Destruction.

I'd like to think it's just me.

Every story has already been told. There's nothing new under the sun. The purpose of telling a story, or doing art in general, is the execution. How you tell the story, how you spin the pot. How you paint a masterpiece.

So back to writing. I hope I can create some good.

Let me know what you think on Remark.as


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I really don't know what happened. I've never been much of a sports fan. I never watched football (unless to hang out with my dad), baseball, basketball, or any of the sportsballs where they hit things and go “oof!”

But the Avalanche made it to the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. For the first time in 20 years. 20 years! I was in grad school then, smoking tons of cigarettes and acting like I knew everything in the world. I remember when the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup and people in my small college town rioted (though not as bad as when the Broncos took the Super Bowl). I remember being extremely disgusted and annoyed with the rabble who cared more about sports than their town.


So, I sat down at my computer to just complete one task, and now I'm busy combing through iCloud Drive, moving images and videos to iCloud Photos, and documents to my OneDrive account (I use OneDrive as my main cloud storage service; it just integrates really well with Windows), and deleting duplicates.

And there are a lot of duplicates. I don't know what happened, but the scanner app I use on my phone somehow created 12+ copies of one document I scanned. And this happened to almost all of my scanned documents, which are many.

I spent a good 30 minutes dusting and cleaning out those duplicates.

Perhaps after I'm done with iCloud Drive, I'll move on to OneDrive. I cleaned it a year or so ago, so I don't expect much in the way of digital clutter, but who knows ¯_(ツ)_/¯.

I am not touching Dropbox until I'm properly under the influence of some chemicals or drink (and I don't drink). Since its inception, I've had Dropbox, and it's FULL of years and years and years of just digital crap. I had more until Dropbox instituted storage size limits. That made me quit the service in the first place (all except for my Scriviner projects, which only sync with Dropbox) and now EVERYONE has storage limits.

Maybe I'll switch over to iCloud permanently. But I don't have a Mac and the Windows integration sucks.

Sigh, back to sweeping.

...more later


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Woman with her horse on a snowy day in 1899. Photo by Félix Thiollier

I love photographs from the 19th century. The sepia tint, the wild experimentation with a new technology, the unsettling feel of the photos. Even the creepiness is great.

BBC article on photos of the dead

It’s baffling that we went from huge cameras that required a long exposure time to having a camera in our pocket.

I actually wanted to be a professional photographer in high school. I even looked at several colleges that had a photography program. I was talked out of it though.

Anyway, I think the first photo is great.


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I’m debating making a link shortner. Kutt.it looks promising and I can either spin up my own version on a VPS or simply point my domain to the main page and use it that way.

I don’t know though. Link shortners are usually considered bad and for scammers, but I think it’d be a fun, short project. I already have a short domain to use.

Another thing, I don’t know if I’d ever use it. Twitter shortens links automatically. So does Facebook. Some Mastodon apps shorten them automatically as well. So I’m not sure if I want to pay for VPS just to have something sit.

What’s your opinion on link shortners? They’re usually maligned but I’d like to try out Kutt.


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I write too much political crap. And it's bad political crap. Which made me decide that I'd rather take a new direction with this blog. Make it softer and more welcoming.

I'm going to leave the previous posts up as they took quite a deal to write. But I don't think I'm going to write in the same space as they exist anymore.

My academic training had me forcing an argument into everything—creating controversial topics simply for the sake of controversy. And it was what I was interested in, but mainly it was for controversy. Which seems a little fake, devious, manipulative.

So no more of that crap. I would like a balance between the breezy self-updates of TMO and the meaning created by a NYTimes article. But even the NYTimes has humor and light stuff.

So there. My blog was also down a day due to a payment issue. Worked it out and now everything is back.


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I've lived with you so long I don't know life without being afraid. Because of you, I've missed out on so many good things in life I want to experience.

I want to go to concerts and music festivals. You keep me at home, making me feel ashamed and isolated. My iTunes account is so full of movies I've randomly bought to try to forget the panic and what I'm missing.

You randomly appear out of nowhere and paralyze me. I'm somewhere safe, somewhere comfortable surrounded by people who love me. And you decide to force me into bed, trying to make you go away with the breathing exercises I've learned along the way and failing.

You got me addicted to benzos. You made my mental health professionals distrust me with medication.

There are so many people I could've met, so many friends I could've made. But you show up and make me a fool, cause me to make excuses and run home to be alone. And even then, you're my constant companion.

I am so afraid of the world. This comes from the panic attacks you've caused throughout my entire life that I've learned that the only way I can go out is to force myself. To make sure I have the proper medication with me at all times. And to always be aware of the escape routes in case things get bad.

You ruined my marriage with your friend depression. You scare my parents. You make the one friend I have constantly worry about me.

Anxiety, I don't know life without you. You are fully a part of me like my teeth or my hands. Always buzzing in the background, always reminding me that no matter what skills I learn, the amount of help I get, you will be there, ready to ruin my dreams.


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