Patreon

It’s my anniversary today! I love you, Tash. Always will.

I try not to do posts like this too often, but I have to!

I do not have huge monthly expenses, but I have enough that life is a pain-in-the-ass at times. Cellphone alone costs just shy of 200$ a month, and that is ignoring medication, gas, car, utilities, etc. etc…

I am not asking one person to help me out exclusively, but just $1 a month from each follower on WordPress gives me another $100 on top of what is already being made.

I am beyond excited to be over $90. Tickled, even, and I feel I do not thank them enough. It definitely helped in renewing the subscription to the site, as well as the URL. That was a huge help in getting those mundane tasks complete.

Please, donate what you can. I try to keep on top of bonuses. I understand if I do not get anything from this plea. Please consider it!

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#vss365

For starters, thanks for waiting. Between moving and changing auto-payments, I would have nothing to update about. Things are calming down a bit now, so: here I am!

I have been doing this thing every day over on my Twitter. It’s fun and challenging. I tend to use the prompts for morbid rambling which actually find an audience.

(An audience is something I rarely have.)

I am writing this after only completing four, but I will share all of what I have done at the end of the year.

Why the wait? I am lazy. I am too busy to figure out a way to display them right now. I am moving. Pick an excuse, I promise that it’s right.

If you have a Twitter, you should follow me. I know that I have the widget thingy somewhere on this site, but I have not directed eyes that way. I don’t spam updates. It only gets updated (automatically) when I post something, and otherwise it’s when I think of something really witty and no one is around to hear.

Now, the update schedule includes these vss365 posts.

I need reasons to update my Twitter more. Using it as a play-by-play for my day sounds boring. Most updates would be “sitting in a wheelchair #relatable” or something like that. I treat my social media with a similar discretion that I do this site. I tend to only update with things that I think are “important” for people to read. On my FaceBook, I do post more about politics and religion with no assumption that anyone will take my opinion to heart. I also post a lot about the music I am currently digesting because that is something I, personally, find very important.

Speaking of which, do you remember Touché Amoré? I just gave their album “Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me” another spin and I remember why I love this art. The most powerful lyrics I have heard in a very long time that any touring musician can relate to. Give it a listen, and bask in the bleak (yet strangely beautiful) portrait they paint.

[Something cool happened yesterday. More later]

The Above {ANEWSIN VOL. 8 — Jason Garden}

//Edited by Luka Riot

“Why must we do this?”

A skinny girl stands smoking a cigarette in the midst of a collection of carnage. Machines pick through the gore, collecting as many valuables as they could.

A man steps forward. “You know that this is how we make our living. We need any sort of identification to prove we killed the right group. Now, hurry your smoke, Skylar. We gotta go.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Skylar proclaims under her breath.

Several corpses litter the street around her. The smell of decay fills the air. Skylar takes one more deep drag of her cigarette and lets the smoke slowly leave her mouth. The cloud just hovered around her lips as there was no wind to replace the air.

The smell was putrid: flesh and steel flood the ground where the two stand, and it is not shielded by the elements. The area is bathed in the sun, and the temperature is sitting at a balmy 40 Celsius. Carnage as far as the eye could see.

Their job was simple. They just had to collect any valuables they could find. May that be rare metals, jewelry, or small electronics. Cellphones are the best find, as they contain a trace of gold. It wasn’t much, but it could be just enough to make the week affordable.

“I need a fuckin’ shower.” Skylar proclaims as she flicks the smouldering end of her cigarette off to the side, narrowly avoiding a machine picking over remnants of a cadaver. “Hopefully, the smell of the soap will clean the stench from my mind.”

Steve laughs. “How poetic of you! Soap. D’ya think we can afford soap? I dunno ‘bout you, but I can barely afford the water for a shower.”

Just then, an explosion behind a wall shakes the ground.

“Do you think they know we’re here? That sounded a bit too chaotic to just be construction.” Skylar asks, her expression showing mild fear.

This was the life they half chose to lead. The masses were forced underground decades ago, and a handful of people were chosen to be scavengers, looking through rubble. The corporations still feud over bits of what remains on the mainland, trying to get their hands on materials to manufacture things to sell to people so they can remain dependent on the corporations, so the corporations can exploit the masses and rape the lands they once inhabited. 

“The bombs sound close. Too close. We need to bail.” Steve is now right behind Skylar as he calmly exclaims this.

Skylar lets out a slight chuckle as her face softens. “You read my mind.” She pulls out a pad from her bra and pushes a button on the face of the device.

A small flying ship comes to their location. It has only two seats, and the full span of the wings is only five meters. The two get on and it leaps into the air. It doesn’t generate much air, yet moves with great power and speed. Skylar gets behind the steering wheel and Steve, in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes out towards the horizon.

“Did you collect anything?” Steve asks his comrade. “Your pack looks rather empty.”

“Sight can be an illusion. Size means little in this game, you know that.” Skylar takes her right arm and tosses a small satchel towards Steve. Inside is two rings and a cell phone. “We’re set for a bit, anyway. What did you find?”

“Some small stuff, but nothing this classy!” Steve’s tone is quite jovial. “We’re set for almost a month, even if we get half market value for this stuff!”

Steve puts the salvage into a bucket under the seat he is in. It clangs against a few other things that the two got from a previous venture. By Steve’s observation, they have the bucket half full.

The two of them soar through the air for a bit, keeping their elevation roughly a kilometer above the ground. They only remain at that height for a couple of minutes before Skylar suddenly drops altitude.

“I fucking hate this part.”

They enter a small cave, barely enough for their vessel to get through. It is far from well maintained. They ride the small entrance tunnel for at least an hour.

“Are the walls closing in around me, or am I just loosing it?” Skylar asks.

“You know you’re fine. You’ve done this a million times” Steve replies, sounding exhausted.

Patreon helps me pay bills, feed Luka’s dog and keep everything running.

Chair Movement!

This is a post that I have wanted to write for a while.

I was recently chastised for having my hands in the wrong position when moving around. I would like to make it clear that it was by accident, but I do appreciate the note.

It seems like a strange thing. Why would it matter where you put your hands? Should it not be okay to have your hands anywhere as long as it is comfortable?

SURPRISE! It matters a lot. Or, it does if you want to keep your arms in use for a long time, anyway. Please, allow me to educate. I would like to add that this is all experience based, though I will be following up with people with a physio background to make sure that I don’t make egregious errors.

Imagine the wheel is the face of a clock. To propel yourself forward, your hands should be at 945-10. Why so far back? If you keep pushing from 11-1, you are not allowing the full motion of your arms to play out. You are forcing them to start part way through a natural motion and, therefore, will wear out your shoulder joint faster than if you start further back.

This is something that was mentioned to me early in my wheelchair experience, and I thought I was doing a fine job of it. However, I met with an occupational therapist the other day and she pointed out that I start my push too far forward.

Now, I was doing that in the apartment. It is hard to say that I do that when out and about, as it is easier to gain speed when pushing from further back. Having your hands closer to twelve makes it easier for small maneuvers and quick turns. This does not excuse where you have your hands. The possibility of muscle and join damage is present, anyway.

Advantages of having your hands at the right spot? As I mentioned before, speed. There is the vane advantage of improving pectoral muscles. This all does not ignore NOT NEEDING SHOULDER SURGERY!

Last happy update for a month! So, I will leave you with a warning. The next four updates are far from happy. I think the posts are important, but I realize the potential impact they can leave on a person. If you are one who has a hard time with dark ideas and depressing facts, I understand if you don’t check back in. Normal updates start back in June. If this warning has not scared you away, I hope you find the following four updates and funny as I do!

Please consider donating to my GoFundMe or Patreon.

My memory (and other rants)

I already forgot what this post is about.

GOODNIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!

I play. I only pseudo know what I want to talk about.

Well, here we are! Less than a month off until I start posting mildly depressing things every week! I cannot explain how excited I am. It sounds dower, morose, and mildly strange; I am well aware. I just look forward to it because I get to express things that I think about all-too-often.

In fact, they are horrible (the things I think about), but I forget them as often as I think of them. Just today, I awoke with a great couple of facts in my head to save for next year. As I am writing this, I cannot remember them for the life of me. It’s not that I can’t think of a depressing fact, or two. It’s more the concept that I had a great couple of things to jot down, and they are gone!

How gone are they?!

FUCKING GONE! I need to remember (ironically) to keep a record of this stuff. The one thing that I am fighting with is the idea that I haven’t marked them with a warning. Not that I explicitly talk about suicide or death in a direct fashion, but such things are implied. The last thing I want to to ruin someone.

The rest of the post is just me fighting with the concept, so if you don’t care, you can stop reading.

As stated last week, the purpose is to give someone tools to deal with when life falls apart. So, from that standpoint, I want everyone to read what I have to share. Another part of me does not want to cause depression or anguish. I would argue that a larger part of me wants everyone to find the collection hilarious. My wife does not agree IN THE SLIGHTEST with my perspective. She thinks that I just see the bleak in the world, and fail to explore the brighter moments. I argue that I appreciate the brighter moments BECAUSE I explore the dark.

To travel through life just looking at the pretty things and choosing to ignore the dark gives me the impression that, after a while of doing so, you do not respect how great everything is. Acknowledging the dark and brutal times, even revelling in them, makes the good feel so much better. The trick is, one cannot get entrenched or drowned by the heavier moments, no matter how suffocating life can be.

Maybe that’s why I listen to what I do. Everything is bleak, until you do a little reading and realize that these artist and singers are living a decent life. We tend to fetishize the best parts of life in modern media and ignore the trouble and tribulations that led up to that point. We all know how that person got as huge as they did, but we rarely show the part where their marriage implodes, they file for bankruptcy, go hungry for a while, then catch a lucky wave of success.

Now, with that said, we all watch the train-wreck that ensues. I’m sure that every single person who bothered to get to this point in the rant can name at least one example of what I mean. Whether it be a physical and tangible tragedy, or a metal break. It’s made all the worst because we don’t have context. We just see this idyllic person, “Hero” if you will, become human. They become, SHOCK FACE, one of us. That must be horrible for them!

Now, there are examples where the fall isn’t jarring. There are examples where we hold people on high for what they overcame and continue to fight against. Those tales are not as wildly known, it feels.

…but hey! What do I know? I am just a guy on his keyboard ranting and raving: hoping that someone hears.

HELP THIS BITCH KEEP GOING!

I have started a GoFundMe to raise the money to keep this site alive and to buy a new wheelchair. The Government of Canada is a fickle bitch when it comes to funding for assitive devises, Basically, you need to have a chair so dilapidated that it barely works any longer. After five years of moving and learning, I need to get a new chair. I now have a better idea of what I want. Please consider giving a dollar. Patreon is for mostly monthly upkeep for day to day life where the GoFundMe is going to be just for the chair and this site.

Art V. Depression

I got the privilege to see Amanda Palmer last night in Toronto. I was a huge fan of the Dresden Dolls years ago, and I have been intrigued by her solo work. It doesn’t help my fan-boying that her husband is Neil Gaiman, who has created some of my favourite worlds in modern fiction.

It was three hours of her telling anecdotes, smashing the keys on a piano, and strumming a ukulele. She explored her past, which included death, feminism, and abortions. It was so carnal, so brutal, so honest, I was enamoured by every word she spoke.

There was (several, but) one thing she said that has, and will always, stick with me. “You can be too depressed to create art.” Initially, I was offended by this notion. My initial reaction was one that I looked into my own artistic endevours and evaluate whether I was actually depressed, or just angry.

What I found at the end of my introspection was that I agreed with her statement, to a point. Depression is very deep. Not always, but it can result in exhaustion, and disasociation with reality. That explains why I have been having a difficult time writing over the last few years. I am nowhere near as angry as I was when I was a teen. Instead, I have been trying to harness my depression and translate that into anger.

My end point is that there will not be an update to asnP on May first. I have actually pulled out “this book doesn’t matter” and am trying to re-write most, if not all, of it. It was super short, and a few of my points were rushed. I hope to have everything done and better before the end of the year.