Pretty connotations

Sometimes in a situation where the words of English have connotations we do not think are pretty, we have to find a way around it. Expect a backlash and whip-crash. I mean it. I did the worst thing I could do on sorry week. Yep. Put up the worst display for a fight I could ever. See, I’m always wrong. No matter. That’s just me. I’m like that. I'm NO.

It wasn’t a question of the kind of emotional play being used, just that emotional play was being used. As it is, again and again. Bad thing? Good thing? Boon. I like that term. It means no.
But my question was, what do you do with such a scenario? Nothing, because it’s not what you think, it is something pink.
***

“Now newspapers, you know they always want an angle,” she says. “And you might not feel comfortable…”
See, I know what she’s going to say. I’m going to hear that I should play the mental health poor NO play. (Not a good one eh?). Got. So I say, “No, don’t worry about that. That’s not important.”
But she is insistent, raises her voice, “Listen to me I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got to let you know.”Like giving me the cop line. She wants to tell me that I have every right to speak but my words will be taken down in evidence or something.
But I’m insistent, “No I’ve heard you say this stuff before. I don’t need to go there.”
She raises her voice again. “Listen to me. They always want an angle and you might have to talk about your illness. Are you comfortable with that?”
What does she want me to say? Yes. No. Boon. Boon. Boon. But hey, English. “Why would I ever need to take that angle? My angle is about dreams and the environment and sensing. It’s an art exhibition about what can and cannot be contained. It's semantics and semiotics. Stop using those horrible terms with us. It’s like saying to someone who is fat that they have to always use that as the angle for their show. What? I eat a lot of cake. Are you interested in how yummy it is?”
Then wait for it: “I don’t like that tone you are using with me. It’s upsetting me.”
Hey, and she’s making my armpits start to do that fear stink. Does she want me to blame her for that? “I’m a psychiatric survivor, that’s my angle.”
Then there is a knock at the door and she doesn’t get to finish what she’s doing with me. That’s for later. She has to have me under her cream bun.
Now, this should be a friendly nice likable character. But it isn’t. Why? Because I’m telling the darn straight truth here. I should never do that. I have to be wry. Now you know why terms make people cry. When they’re used upon your being as a marker of who you are. I’m a blue. What does that mean to you? That I’m a blooper? Probably. But don’t ever try and put those terms on a psychiatric survivor. They don’t mind you using it in anyway, except when you’re in power and can put them away. (The previous blog has a term there. Think about it. Boon.)

Locating the location

I think when we’re talking emotional blackmail we’ve got to think about the situation and the set-up more. I think we’ve got to find that splace where we are going.
Obstacles make me think: I want to get around them. I have to get around them.
Although, I have been stopped in my path by people who like to say that what I’m doing is upsetting them.
Today, I told someone no way. That they were projecting their own sense of being onto me. This cleared stuff. People in authority can be very insistent about having power over the way we speak.
Next time I might say, “Oh dear, you can’t control your emotions very well can you? Like that psychiatrist that yelled at me for making a pun out of his title, then put me in the psychiatric slammer because he felt I diminished his power. How considerate of you.”
Would that work? I could also play the handyman: “Want to make an issue out of this love?” Perhaps that’s all I need to say. But some people freak out even more when I play funny hat says.
Obstacles just create a bumpy drive for my journey. I have things I need to do. Obstacles are the panic zones, where my mind starts going into which, which, which, trying out all kinds of experimental ways to get past, around, through. It can be be confusing and misleading. But I’m going to try and not ever let other people misdirect me again. Shouldn’t respect someone who treats me in a way I’d never want to treat another human being. Shouldn’t trust them. Just have to remove them from my path. No further questions about my tone, or manner then need be asked. You tropple dawl and I catch your maul and put it into a basketcase. I’m someone who loses time if I hesitate.

Advice and the flying dryad dragon

Technique? I move about and create a canvas. Splash some paint. It might turn out something like this:
A few people said I should keep the painting as it was and do no more. But when agreed to, then they changed their mind. Said they like my complicated stuff better. It was like they wanted to question me further.
For painting is like speaking. It’s just communication. About being part of nature, machines, humanity, all those things I’m contained by and want to expression my opinion on or discuss. It comes from the things I sense. Stuff I can never tell people in a “real” conversation, without working on the idea myself a fair bit. It's a dream. Mumbled recollections of dreams to other people often just do not equate to anything reasonable or meaningful.
So, I painted more and this was what came out:
Now I feel more satisfied. I needed to know about a few of the things going on here. It’s sorted stuff out for me, better than any sleeping dream can.
Think the more I use internet the more the square screen appears in the paint. So, I’ve been thinking about quitting blogging for a bit. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. I haven’t really quite made the year mark yet. Took me a while to actually work out that there was a difference between a page element and a blog post. But, I was using places like library internet. And cranky people would stand behind me wanting their ‘hour” to start before I finished mine. So I’d end up sending a blank email to someone in a moment of mundane panic. Hmm. Good to have a place to relax with it. It’s been interesting getting to know all this stuff that’s been around for years. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Or some sort of sleeping printcess. There’s so much other stuff everyone does that I’ve never done. But then, they don’t get to visualise flying dryad dragons.

The punnet puzzel

What does your symbolic sorting system reside in? If it’s not an ecosystem, then it’d be a micro-chip. And if not that, what do you call it?

Playing

Mum says she likes this Symbiosis cartoon. Dad did too. Yep. Sometimes parents just want the playful fun things. They had to fight so much in their younger years trying to make change. Work went mysteriously missing, that supported dangers to the environment. Dad was also told to stop teaching the "hothouse effect". Proving existence of things denied can be tiring.

I want a funeral where people sing and dance on my grave. Crying just makes us lose the memories. I prefer it if people laugh, then they're remembering the happy. Although I couldn't do that for Dad, at least we got the only environmentally friendly recycled cardboard coffin from Sydney, that had state approval. Don't think Mum has put him in the compost yet though (although that's what he said we should do with him).

Love, happiness and skies that spoke to me the hour he passed.And by morning the heavens opened up and rained and his garden was wet where it had been dry from the heat of summer sunshine.

Pharm a shoot tackle

Dedicated testing for the defense of those who love arms races. Break it down to the minimal molecular. Shoot to kill the peculiar. Make it seem like it’s about altruism. Then call for funds to count the dead.

Rubbish filled croc

Using water from washing brushes, layering paper over packaging, I've given the croc some skin. It hides in the grass, hiding the rubbish within. And can be used for seating. Just don't put your arse too close to its mouth! Containers. Sometimes they're about what we don't immediately see. Or have no way of knowing without ripping the structure apart.