Worm Butthole

Worm Butthole. These haunting words have been haunting my mind for the past haunting weeks. Their confounding portentousness have bedevilled my very soul. I am awash with flabbergast.

The words came to me in a vision. An electronic vision. As I was attending to my duty of worshipping the Great Television Overlord (praise thee!), the images on the screen formed a 'vision' (which they frequently do), and the vision spoke to/at me. Amongst the snowy whirr of cluttered chattering, one of the characters mumbled something seemingly incoherent, but in the interstices of this ranting drivel, my ears did elucidate a wondrous revelation: worm butthole.

It is, of course, possible that 'worm butthole' is actually what the character was meant to say, and thus not a message from another dimension (or even from the beyond!). But it was quite random and completely unrelated to anything else going on with the narrative at the time, AND it was worm butthole! And it wasn't one of those wibbly-wobbly, avant garde type productions where kooky-ass randomness is often par for the course. Nor was it a nature documentary (a place where the words 'worm butthole' might not be entirely out of place).

Also, I thoroughly reject any suggestion that I might have imagined these words. The notion that I have a silly and puerile mind which, of its own volition, conjured the aural worm butthole, is completely abhorrent to me.

So now I face the daunting task of discerning and deconstructing these powerful words. Are they an urgent environmental sustainability call to planet earth to make more use of worms for composting? Or is there a deeper, metaphysical message contained within - are these words, perhaps, referencing the time-space continuum, signalling the existence of multidimensional worm-holes, which connect to each other via 'butts'?

I also face the existential question: was I the only one? Were these words meant only for me? Or did they travel haphazardly into the ears of anyone who happened to be in front of the television at the time. There may be other worm butthole ponderers. Maybe I am not alone! I shall make it my life's work to seek out these (possible) others and we can ponder together. And there will be cake. And we may even become a cult.

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!

Primal Scream

Why am I yelling?
What am I yelling?
Should I try to stop?
I yell at the living and at the dead.
I yell at innocent objects.
Do they need to be yelled at?
None of them yell back.
Will anything be achieved?
Maybe it isn't proper yelling. Maybe it's more of a generalized, outwardly directed, raspy, high-pitched vocal exuberance?
I think it's therapeutic, if not a little noisy.
My throat is sore but my mind is calm.

Like Feathers in the Wind

I wonder if I should tell the person whose clothes are hanging on the left clothesline (and strewn across the yard) about the fantastic 'new' clothes drying aid known as The Clothes Peg:

Also, what's with the creepy, colour matched clothes baskets? Isn't pale blue a portent of doom?? And why do I never see these people who apparently live in my block of flats and hang out their clothes to dry and make noise when they do, but who seem to vanish when I look out the window to spy on them??? Are they even real???? Is the backyard haunted?!?!?

Have You Got Yourself an Occupation???

Not really, though I am sufficiently adept at procuring for myself daily endeavours for which my being can entangle itself, such that I am 'occupied'. But, alas, these undertakings are not, in the traditional sense, considered to be An Occupation. Also, nobody's paying me. (Capitalism hates me).

So, to summarize the previous paragraph: I have no job..I am not employed..I have not got myself an occupation. But I am significantly happier and healthier than when I did have an occupation. It seems to me, at this point in time, that the thing that was giving me the biggest headache/heartache/lifeache was the workplace. Retirement is the drug I've been looking for. (Sorry, meth dealers).

There are many things I love about being retired from the workplace. Here are some examples:
* Minimal responsibilities
* Having autonomy over my days
* Not being judged and assessed all day long
* Not having to answer to my 'superiors'
* Being allowed to feel unwell until I get better - with no pressure to 'soldier on'
* Not having to interact with people who I either don't want to interact with or don't know how to interact with
* Not having to get (coerce) my brain into a work-headspace configuration
* Not having to keep my brain in a work-headspace configuration for many hours of the day
* Engaging with whatever meaningful or non-meaningful things as my daily moods decree (usually via the internet or the library or the video store or the windmills of my mind)
* Wearing whatever clothes as my daily moods decree
* Wearing whatever mood as my daily moods decree
* Not being around toxic chemicals (specific to laboratory-based workplaces)
* Not being bored
* Drinking as much tea/coffee as I like
* Using the bathroom as often as I like
* Hanging out with Willow all day

Of course, being in my mid-forties means that society thinks I should have an occupation. Retirement isn't really culturally acceptable until a person reaches mid-sixties. Social gatherings are tricky for the non-retirement age not employed; people avert their gaze when informed that the person they are conversationing with is 'unoccupied'. I live in terror of being called up for jury duty and not knowing what to write in the occupation section - is it perjury to say I'm unemployed when I have worked as a scientist (ie is this the kind of information that would entice a defendant's lawyer to challenge me as a jurist)? Also, there is the not insubstantial issue of requiring a livable income. (I will not, however, be using my knowledge of science, and specifically organic chemistry, to undertake a career in meth cooking, even as exciting as it may seem - I've watched Breaking Bad!).

But I think it is not beyond the realm of possibility that, one day, and after actually starting to search, I will find myself a proper occupation (maybe even one that pays). Perhaps by the time I reach my mid-sixties I will have encountered an occupation (maybe even more than one) which not only doesn't suck, but which is not entirely unenjoyable to do. (Capitalism will love me - but it will not be some kind of namby-pamby-touchy-feely love, it will be a wild unrestrained triple X-rated kind of love).

Political Art

Art lovers, rejoice!
I have made a highly artistic and politically charged collage of all the pre-election campaign material I have received for tomorrow's glorious election:

Willow added her own interpretation:

Comfort Creature

A Comfort Creature can only be conjured into existence in the time of a full moon, and will continue such existence at least until the time of the subsequent full moon.

A Comfort Creature should not be confused with a creature comfort, though they are similar in that they both provide extra cosy beyond the basic necessities. But they are quite different in that a Comfort Creature is much less placidly innocuous and inanimate and controllable, and much more actively taloned and tentacled and tenacious. A Comfort Creature offers such solace and protection as could not be obtained from an ordinary creature.

A Comfort Creature's external manifestation will be as the mood takes it, but talons and tentacles will always be apparent. Its size can be enormous or small or minuscule; wide or narrow or infinite.

The internal manifestation of a Comfort Creature, much like its external manifestation, is subject to its mood (though unrestrained whimsy may be more accurate). Its interior convolutions are chaotically complex and untethered from rational logic. It does not seek glory or fame or wealth, but it does strive for harmonious inter-dimensional connection.

The power inhabited by a Comfort Creature is immense; it should never be squandered wastefully or used for corrupt purposes. One should always proceed with caution when creating, and interacting with, such a being. Much responsibility is required when dealing with a Comfort Creature, but it is always a worthwhile, if not transcendent, experience.

Also, I appear to have lost my mind. Perhaps a Comfort Creature will know where I can find it.

Willow Wears the Computer. It Does Not Wear Willow.

Friendly Neighbourhood (Female) Weird Loner

(Caveat: Sometimes the 'friendly' can seep toward the 'grouchy' - so, somewhere between friendly and grouchy, is where the truth lies)

Apparently, according to Aristotle;

"Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god."

As a weird loner, I find this sentiment comforting. My task now is to deduce whither my true nature is that of beast or god. (Hint: it's beast.) Also, as I have never studied philosophy, I don't know how this Aristotelian wisdom is received, either in general or academically. I have minimal enlightenment of what deeper meanings are contained within its scholarship (though, scientifically, I'm a little sceptical that "society is something that precedes the individual"). I'm mainly interested in the weird loner beast/god dichotomy.

On my Twitter profile, I have declared myself a 'friendly neighbourhood weird loner'. I have also used this description as the title of this blog post, but have added 'female' as a way of highlighting societies' differing assessments, judgements and strictures of female loners in comparison to male loners.

All loners are freaks, obviously; popular cultural representations of loners frequently allude to this veracity. But the freakishness of female versus male loners, like women and men in general, is treated and valued differently.

Male loners are allowed to joyously avoid social attachments such as partners or children. Their rejection of traditional expectations often manifests as a reckless, but adventurous, spirit. A male loner is permitted (sometimes encouraged) to obsessively pursue interests or goals at the expense of human contact - even when those pursuits are dangerous. If the male loner has psychopathic tendencies, his psychosis is spectacular; he will generally try to manipulate and/or kill the largest number of people possible - there is a glorification in the presentation of his atrocities.

Female loners tend to be presented in a less exhilarating, if not dour, light. They are mostly confined to the roles of crazy cat lady and/or doting maiden aunt. Often, these tropes sub-textually (or textually) suggest that a single, childless woman compensates for the 'emptiness' of not having a partner or children by doting on cats and/or nieces/nephews. And if a female loner insists on having psychopathic tendencies, it must be under the rubric of bunny boiler (megalomaniac world domination is rarely the dominion of a lady loner - except for me; plus I'm a crazy cat lady, but I am nobody's aunt, doting or otherwise).

Using Aristotle's logic, can these two contrasting cultural milieus be categorized as metaphorical beast or god? And which one is which? (Another Caveat: I'm pretty much excluding speculative fiction type representations of loners, since these frequently turn out to be actual beasts or gods).

Given that men tend to be exalted to varying degrees, much more so than women, I think it's feasible to conclude that the male loner would more likely be seen as a god. Thus, the female loner, especially one who shuns her expected role of nurturing spinster, is more likely to be cast as beast. Paradoxically, however, the role of the most depraved of all the beasts is usually reserved for the male loner.

Dark White Noise

Oxymoronic Challenge: Focus on my inability to focus.

The signal strength to noise ratio of the thought-frequencies in my brain is producing disconcerting static - too many (signals) and too loud (strength), and too jarring (unpleasant thoughts are noisy). Translation: I can't concentrate due to mind-fuzz, but also I don't want to concentrate on my mind-fuzz as it is residing in a cranky and gloomy place. Winter, and its short, cold days, isn't helping. Nor is bereft human connection.

In order to combat such dark white noise, I might need to rethink my recent adherence to a (so-called) healthy diet; whereby I've been attempting to reduce my consumption of non-essential and (seemingly) unhealthy foodstuffs - sweets, alcohol, caffeine, babies. Maybe living healthy is mostly only good for my body, and my struggling mind suffers under such fascist food fanaticism. Perhaps, in this time of dark white noise, it is necessary to forgo some corporeal vitality so that menacing mind-fuzz doesn't collapse into a black hole of doom.

Cats Sitting on Things (mostly clothes)

As has been previously observed (here, here and here) cats (ie Ms Willow) will often be found sitting on things/clothes. I have collected more data (ie photos) proving this conjecture.

Ms Willow sitting on clothes:

Ms Harriet (Ms Willow's predecessor) sitting on...clothes:

Ms Chircky (Ms Harriet's predecessor) sitting on...my high school homework (sitting on clothes was too common for Ms Chircky):

Parasite Eve 2 as Allegory For Inequality

Let it NOT be said that these past few months of obsessive devotion to the playing of the Playstation games (as evidenced by recent blog postings) has been in vain. Or a waste of time. Or that, surely, I could find something more worthwhile to do with my time. I say, not so!

For, whilst I was embedded in manic hours of console madness, I discovered a remarkable revelation.

Indeed, it came to my attention, during the desperate throes of trying (unsuccessfully) to beat the Knight Golem in the Akropolis Tower in Nightmare Mode of Parasite Eve 2, that I was doomed from the start of the Nightmare Mode game. Doomed. And why was I so doomed? Because Nightmare Mode imposes a set of impossibly harsh preconditions upon the player, which are incredibly hard to overcome. In fact, you can't actually ever overcome them  - the enemies are always super strong and Aya (the player's character) is always super weak. As a result of the imposition of such, um, austerity measures (it's as though Aya were allowed but one gold coin to pay for necessities which cost, like, a gazillion gold coins), Aya is destined to die, die, DIE!

It is my contention, thus, that Parasite Eve 2 (and its multi-gameplay-mode system) provides a comprehensive parable/allegory - or parabellegory - for social, economic and cultural structures which allow inequality to flourish. [However, I do not intend to write a thesis about it. This blog post will (more than) suffice.]

Parasite Eve 2 has four unlockable modes of play (ie these modes can only be accessed after the player has completed Normal Mode). The four unlockable modes are: Replay/Bounty/Scavenger/Nightmare.

Replay Mode is like being born into a safe and wealthy family, living in a safe and well maintained neighbourhood, going to a safe and well funded school, having a safe and well paying job, and rarely being discriminated against or oppressed.

Here are the gameplay specifications for Replay Mode (mission level: easy):

The modes become progressively more difficult - mission levels: normal (Bounty), then hard (Scavenger):

Until the most evil, Nightmare (mission level: forget about it, aka very hard)(note: there is no exclamation mark at the end of the blurb - as there is for the other modes - not very encouraging):

Nightmare Mode is like being born into an unsafe and poor family, living in an unsafe and poorly maintained neighbourhood, going to an unsafe and poorly funded school, having an unsafe and poorly paying (and probably crappy) job, and frequently being discriminated against and oppressed.

I know which mode I would want to play/be born into.

For this blog post, I conducted primary research into the Parasite Eve 2 inequality parabellegory phenomenon. My methodology involved extensive interviewing with a regular Parasite Eve 2 player (aka me), with special attention to the intellectual, physical and emotional responses experienced whilst engaging with (aka playing) Parasite Eve 2. I have compared and contrasted these responses (via two insightful statements) with explicit regard to Replay and Nightmare Modes:

Statement 1: "I have just finished playing Replay Mode (again - I've played it 3 times now! it is awesome) and I had the best weapons and ammunition and health and all the asshole creatures got massively killed and I am great."

Statement 2: "I kept getting killed when I attempted to play Nightmare Mode and this sucks and I had crap weapons and ammunition and no health and I didn't have the energy to keep playing and I turned off the console and I went to bed and I am not great."

Nightmare Mode Beckons at Me

But its deadly invitation is not so readily heeded.

Having completed Scavenger Mode (Parasite Eve 2 ), I am now eligible to undertake the dastardly torture that is Nightmare Mode. (Nightmare Mode mantra: "You start off sick and things get worse in this most difficult mode").

HOWEVER, I don't think I'm gonna do Nightmare Mode. 'Cos it looks too frickin' hard. And I am no overachiever. Scavenger Mode was difficult but still (mostly) enjoyable. Nightmare Mode is just psychotic. And I haven't attempted Bounty Mode yet, which is actually unlocked before Scavenger Mode, but some (internet) people say it's harder than Scavenger Mode. So maybe I'll have a try at Bounty Mode.

Or maybe not, because I think I need to read some books and watch some films, and maybe even talk to some people, like I (sometimes) used to do before I pulled out the Playstation console. Playstation console has an uncanny ability to absorb my mind, body and soul.

But (and ignoring the previous paragraph), before I do anything else, I will be going back to Replay Mode (easy mode - extra items and awesome weapons, and Aya is much stronger - ie harder to kill) for some cathartic blasting of some of the asshole boss monsters who gave me hell in Scavenger Mode. In particular, I am looking forward to using the Hypervelocity gun (which I am now able to access having raised my level ranking by completing Scavenger Mode):

I will take especially great joy in using the Hypervelocity gun on the Puppet Stinger (aka the Giant Bowman). Here he is in Scavenger Mode, being an asshole:

Gimme Shelter

This room is full of danger! Thank goodness I can take refuge underneath this protective umbrella.

Scavenger Mode Beckoned at Me

And, like a neo-mitochondrial moth to a flame, I heeded its parasitic call.

Scavenger Mode (Parasite Eve 2): This mode can be unlocked either by completing Bounty Mode or by obtaining above 69001 exp points on Replay or Normal modes. In Scavenger Mode decent weapons/ammunition and items are mostly unavailable or extremely expensive to purchase. Basically, most things are acquired by either finding them or after beating some enemies - hence, you are expected to scavenge. Also, you lose health points ALOT quicker in this mode (those adorable, flappy neo-mitochondrial moths can actually kill you here).

And, finishing Scavenger Mode unlocks Nightmare Mode!!! (Nightmare Mode combines the worst - hardest - aspects of Bounty and Scavenger modes for a raucous journey of getting killed lots - good times!).

The point I'm trying to make here, is that my Playstation addiction continues. Despite my belief that I was only going to 'have a look' at my old playstation games when I pulled them (and the PS console) out of the deepest darkest reaches of the wooden chest in my loungeroom, they are now (re) consuming me. However, in fairness to Parasite Eve 2 (and myself), I had not realized that I could unlock all these other modes after finishing the original game. In reality, when I packed this game away, 13 or so years ago, I had only completed a fraction of the gameplay it offered.

My brain, therefore, is currently devoted to Scavenger Mode battle strategies. I am honing my tactics and manoeuvres, testing various combinations of firepower, along with parasite energies (earth, wind, fire, water), with a goal to obtaining the best possible outcomes in each of the - progressively freaking harder - enemy configurations I must face. And, so far, I ALWAYS win (except for when I die - but then I can reload the game until I WIN).

Most importantly, playing Scavenger Mode is allowing me to actively avoid the real world, and any battles contained within the real world that I might encounter - and which, most likely, I would NOT win.

Crochet Kitty

Willow is 'helping' me mend my maroon crochet cardigan. She is a proponent of the - somewhat radical - technique of sitting on top of the fabric and staring at the crochet hook.

"This is MY cardigan, human."

Seeking Solace in Tomb Raider

(So, kind of a rollicking, wild ride solace)

(Also, since I possess only playstation 1,  I've been solacing in old Tomb Raider - none of this new fangled, realistically rendered graphics technology for me; the tombs I'm raiding are polygon shaped)

I have much awe for Lara Croft (legendary adventurer and artefact collector of the Tomb Raider series); her unwavering, energetic devotion to the exploration of interesting and striking - and frequently dangerous - locations. (Also, unexpectedly dangerous - gorillas in the Monastery!). She never falters in the face of imminent death, probably due to her uncanny ability to re-animate from expiration after undergoing the mysterious process known as 'reload game'. She has incredible strength, stamina and gravity-defying gymnastics. I have never heard her use potty language, even when she catches on fire. And she has steely attitude.

(However, despite her almost supernatural capacity for maintaining grace under fire, Lara's serenity does, at times, elude her. She can be inclined to unceremonious bumping into walls, accompanied by guttural grunting, and she will let out blood-curdling screams whenever she (mostly) unintentionally plummets into cavernous depths and ravines. And when she's swimming, she has a tendency to position her bottom so it fills, and thus obscures, the screen.)

But I had not realized (until about a month ago) just how much these atmospheric games offer escapist comfort. (Comfort levels which are greatly increased by having cheat codes that allow unlimited ammo and health - though these won't save Lara when her enemy is a tricky set of jumps over cavernous depths and ravines; only incredible skill on the part of the console controller can do that).

I've found a Happy Place at Tomb Raider. An inner calm. I (as Lara) can wander Zen-like through snowy Tibet, searching for the Ice Palace (whilst carefully avoiding massive rolling snowballs, snow leopards and, of course, yeti). Or I can dive down to the bottom of the ocean and explore the tranquil metal-blue of the Wreck of the Maria Doria. There are also shadowy, not-quite-terrestrial worlds to encounter. And, most importantly, I can roam the ethereal ancient sands of Earth's caves and tombs, from Egypt to Peru.

And if anything or anyone gets in my way, I can blast them to the gods with my grenade pistol!

Here is a Flying Swordsman getting in my way on the magical Floating Islands (Tomb Raider 2):

And here are pieces of the Flying Swordsman after experiencing the 'magic' of my grenade pistol (note his disembodied sword at top of screen):

When Existential Angst Walks in the Room, Everybody Stand Up

Or, more sensibly, just keep sitting, cos nothing is real, so nothing matters. In fact, you may as well go back to bed - only your dreams can provide some semblance of meaning and connection for your withered soul.

BUT, in defiance of isolation, pessimism, and the black hole of doom, I've realized that there's an Ent living in my yard. So many years of existential angst could have been avoided if only this epiphany had been revealed to me sooner (or I'd looked out the window).

The Giant Pink Mutant Baby is Dead!

It has only taken me 13 years to beat the 2nd(!) last boss of Playstation game, Parasite Eve 2. Though in fairness to myself, for the majority of those 13 years I had discontinued playing PE2 (or any video games) in the belief that I would never be able to kill the hideous pink baby. But a restless spirit and a desire to kill fictional mutant babies have led me to triumph. Persistence, incredible skill, and advice from the internet, have paved the way for my glorious victory.
(Gameplay hint: When the creature's core opens keep shooting at the core with grenades, and keep maxing out Aya's health - blasts from the core are deadly).

I have documented my greatness below-

Giant pink mutant baby at beginning of battle:

The battle has been bravely fought and won. Victory (and Ringer's Solution) is mine:

Giant pink mutant baby is toast. Or, more correctly, it's a puddle (the white-pink area at bottom right of screen is what remains of the baby):

Now I just have to kill the super final boss, Parasite Eve... gah!...see you in another 13 years...

The Owl and the Pussycat

Owl whispers secrets into Willow's ear:

Willow takes those secrets into her slumber, as Owl keeps watch:

Caught in a Dream Weaver Loop

The recurring dream-mares (they're more disconcerting dreams than actual nightmares) always place me in an educational institution, either secondary school or university. Mostly the dreams occur at university, where I seem to be doing a Science degree, even though I already have a Science degree - both in the logic of the dream and in real life. Sometimes I show up to lectures, sometimes I don't. Rarely do I do any study or homework. Practical experience - laboratory, field work - isn't required. Occasionally I attend a lecture that isn't part of my syllabus. In one particularly frustrating variation of the dream-mare, I adamantly refuse to attend any mathematics lectures/tutorials, but I do take the final exam which - surprise, surprise - I completely fail. My most recent educational dream-mare incarnation placed me in a lecture in which I not only had a notebook with no blank pages left (making it very hard to take lecture notes) BUT the lecture made no sense. It was all words, words, blah, blah, incoherency, more words, something cryptic, blah. Blah.

That Dream Weaver is one sick, sad, sadistic weaver.

Musings of a Psycho Cat

Oscar, our friendly neighbourhood psycho cat, enjoys perching, for extended durations, upon the various external window ledges located around my flat, whilst intently peering inside. This may seem like a creepy thing for an animal to do...because IT IS! I often wonder what dastardly thoughts he is thinking as he stares incessantly at me and Willow as we go about our daily (and, apparently, incredibly fascinating) routines.
Thanks to the magic of digital camera technology, I have been able to capture creepy Oscar (and his creepy thoughts) in the very act/s of being creepy:


"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

"I am your number one fan."

"A boy's best friend is his mother."

Guide to psycho quotes:
Picture 1 - Hannibal Lecter, The Silence of the Lambs
Picture 2 - Annie Wilkes, Misery
Picture 3 - Norman Bates, Psycho

Mars as Grimacing Face

Look what I did to Mars! (Or, more correctly, look what HP Photosmart Premier - special effects; lithograph - did to Mars!)

Exhibit A - Ordinary red planet:

Exhibit B - Freaky white face: