Shannon Larratt is Zentastic

Last night Caitlin and I were watching Black Swan but we only made it half way through because I wrecked the movie by making a ton of noise attempting to fix my printer. I have been feeling just awful, a real hope-shattering never-letting-up torturous horror, and wrote a letter to my doctor trying to explain what I’m going through and advocate my case for adequate treatment, but the printer kept refusing to load paper. Me trying to force it, trying to figure out how to front load and manually insert the paper over and over, canceling and restarting it until Caitlin walked out of the room in frustration. It was only ended when she returned to see me shaking the printer with a sense of futility over my head in the hope that I’d magically repair some trigger switch and she told me that the printer might work better if I removed the paintbrush. So with some sense of shame I pulled out the brush that I’d accidentally and unawarely dropped into its innards and my sad words were eagerly spit out by the now healed printer as Caitlin stomped up to the loft to go to bed.

I hold on to a sliver of hope that this new path of treatment could work because I can feel that there is some overall reduction in pain, but at the same time, because of the slow nature of the drug I’ve lost that up and down that in the past momentarily took the pain away. In a way the severity of pain is irrelevant when it never stops, when you never have a single second that isn’t dominated by agony. Even if that agony is reduced all it means is that it takes a little longer before it cracks past your threshold, and when the pain never ever ends, then you’re always past said threshold. It’s also difficult to hold on to faith in the process when it moves so slowly that by the time you get relief, the underlying disease has destroyed your muscles to the point where you can’t take advantage of whatever new lease on life you’ve been given. When you’re running out of time it’s hard to be patient.

Anyway, it’s been very hard to get anything done but I still am trying to force myself to enjoy life, and remember that as much as I have to deal with this particular curse, I’ve had so many other blessings — and continue to — that I have very little right to complain. I think I have the right to demand medical treatment for the pain and make the appropriate complaints to achieve that, but I don’t have a larger philosophical right to “oh poor me” complain about my life, and I really don’t believe that. I could die today and feel that my life has been a huge net positive. Not that I’m about to, don’t worry. That said, I really want to get over this hump so I can get more active because it’s been hard not being able to do all the things I want to. I did do a little bit of painting, with mixed results that I’m still debating. Much time will still need to be spent here but I wanted to share the current evolutionary point.

As a point of trivia, much of this painting has been done with a syringe. I asked the supermarket pharmacy what big syringes they had and they gave me a fat 30ml one that works nicely for sucking in paint and spitting it out again somewhat like cake icing. That said it contributes to the dated eighties feel that the colours give as well, so yeah, mixed results.

Oh, and I wanted, for any sci-fi fans reading this, to recommend a free download of the Pioneer One series on VODO. The idea behind the show is that a spaceship carrying a young man has crashed in Canada, and it appears to be an old Soviet ship. A note claims that the kid is the son of cosmonauts who have been living on Mars since before the fall of the USSR. To repeat what others have said, it’s “surprisingly well done” for an indie project. That sounds bad and it’s not meant to — I’ve really enjoyed it, and it’s the kind of science fiction that really gets your head spinning and thinking and I’ve been pouring over Wikipedia articles on Mars colonization and spidering out from there. I have always advocated and continue to advocate one way to Mars, “Mars To Stay” type projects. We shouldn’t be “exploring” Mars and then leaving. We should be colonizing it as pioneers. I would welcome the opportunity (and the reduced gravity).

Tangentially, I also got deep dreaming excited as I read about rogue planets, planets in deep space not part of any solar system. According to a Caltech prof with the right conditions an earth-sized planet could exist in deep space with a thick hydogen/helium atmosphere and enough warmth, even without being bathed in the UV radiation of a mother-star, to have liquid water and thus, I suppose, life. What a thing that is to dream about. I like thinking about life moving between worlds, and if I have faith in anything that moves into the minimal-evidence world, it’s in pamspermia. Anyway, I promised Caitlin that I would do some clean-up here today as I’ve been so non-functional lately that I’ve been neglecting my duties, so I will try and do that now.

I have told Nefarious that one day she may have the option to live on other worlds, other celestial bodies. I do hope that I live long enough to look up into the night sky and see the dark parts of the globe of the moon dotted with the lights of cities. It seems so magical to me, and I wonder if one day children will be born to whom this fantasy is the mundane. I hope that great change for a broader and exciting future continues to be the experience of every new generation.

I made some new soap molds today, taking casts in silicone off some real and replica skulls I have here. I quickly cast some goat’s milk soap in them, scented with a mix of ylang-ylang, patchouli, frankincense, salvia sclarea (ie. clary, not the psychedelic drug), orange, and thyme (Caitlin’s favorite combination) and tinted with a tiny bit of black mica (other than the white one, which is just the soap base). These are the very first soaps cast from these molds and I haven’t taken any time to clean them up or correct imperfections. Here you go:

You can continue after the break for close up pictures of everything.

(Continued)

Disclaimer: Totally not proofread or spellchecked!

You know what, if you’re sick of hearing about death and doom, just look at the pictures and read the short paragraph before them. Otherwise, enjoy my rambling about today’s explosive-propelled prescription of “traditional American values”

I’m sure everyone knows by now of the assassination (or assassination attempt if she miraculously survives a point-blank bullet to the skull) of a Democrat congresswoman that happened earlier today. It doesn’t look like it’s a Tea Party nut-job acting directly on the “Don’t Retreat, Reload” or “Second Amendment Remedy” call to arms slogans of Sarah Palin et al (who I’m sure you know recently posted a map of the US with crosshairs on her list of “targets” including this woman) — crazy crap that only the far right could get away with (imagine if Muslims said such things) — but who knows, since some of his web postings make him seem like a odd combination of libertarian and far left kook. Either way, I think one can say with conviction that the violent rhetoric of the far right has come home to roost. It’s really no surprise that the constant references to militant revolution coming from mainstream politicians (I mean, this woman’s opponent held a rally in which his supporters could come and shoot an M16 with him), in some ways it’s surprising that it took this long for it to occur. The environment they’ve created make Jefferson’s famous “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants” quote seem like something rational and politically mainstream.

It will be interesting to watch it unfold over the next little while (especially with confirmation bias making everyone turn the shooter into their own personal enemy), and I’m sure it will be sickening to watch the way everyone tries to spin it. For the conspiracy minded, let me quote from the CIA assassination manual (“A Study Of Assassination”, distributed to their operatives in the 1953 Guatemala coup) that says in its section on choosing the right assassin,

“In lost assassination, the assassin must be a fanatic of some sort. Politics, religion, and revenge are about the only feasible motives. Since a fanatic is unstable psychologically, he must be handled with extreme care. He must not know the identities of the other members of the organization, for although it is intended that he die in the act, something may go wrong. While the Assassin of Trotsky has never revealed any significant information, it was unsound to depend on this when the act was planned.”

A lost assassination is one in which the assassin is intended to die, which seems to have been the case with today’s act since the killer posted videos and blog entries to this effect. And he definitely does seem like a fanatic, as some 2012 apocalypse nut combined with an pissed-off-at-the-world angsty university philosophy major that’s in way over his head intellectually, and is splitting with disillusionment as his youthful idealism shatters and he starts seeing our flawed world for the unfixable mess it is. The kind of guy that agrees with what God did with the flood — rebirth the world by carpet bombing — and isn’t old enough to have the wisdom to see what an asshole Genesis-era Yaweh was. However, for all I know it could also be as simple as Islamic bombers — suicidal people trying to find a way to kill themselves with “honor” and a spot in history (and the more I think about it, the more I believe that “suicide by police” is the most plausible primary explanation, although there are almost certainly many levels of meaning here). I don’t even want to think about the effect this could have on the US, given the overreaction and resultant death of liberty that we’ve seen after every wound the nation has suffered be it 9/11, Columbine, Waco, or whatever other excuse for abuse. America is already way too much of a scary and messed up place. I don’t envy the citizens that are trapped there. Gosh, can’t Americans just listen to Rodney King’s simplistic “can’t we all just get along” plea?

By the way, I’m sure that champion douchebag (which, independent of multiple scum-rape accusations, even after talking to him only very briefly I’m willing to bet on Julian Assange of Wikileaks being extremely happy that he’s out of the media spotlight. I’m sure as well that the right is beyond relief that the assassin isn’t a card-carrying tea partyer and that now they can twist this to their advantage — especially with crazy let’s-start-another-Civil-War quotes like what Michele Bachmann (R-Minn) said — after ridiculously claiming that Republicans in America are “behind enemy lines” no less — “I want people in Minnesota armed and dangerous … because we need to fight back. Thomas Jefferson told us, having a revolution every now and then is a good thing.” And of course Jefferson didn’t mean like metaphorically. Just like jihad can mean internal spiritual struggle to some Muslims, and let’s blow up some Jews holy war to other Muslims, there’s revolution of ideas, and there’s bloody revolution, and invoking Jefferson to clarify what she’s saying makes it real clear that she’s talking about the latter.

The last thing America needs is another jihad pointing its way.

In more pleasant news, Nefarious and I took some scrap Styrofoam that was left here by a previous tenant and turned it into another dollhouse. The architectural design is totally hers, and we did the drawing of the plans and construction together (glue gun and razor knife — it was a quick job). If it’s not obvious, it’s a house shaped like an icecream cone. She got some kid dolls (think tween Barbies) for Christmas that are going to live in it. There’s more to do on it, but you get the idea.

We had quite the blizzard here today, finally getting a heavy load of snow, so when we went out I was able to indulge in the joy of doing sliding donuts in the parking lot of Home Depot (I had to pick up some parts for completing the trike frame). I’m very very much looking forward to this Wednesday though, as I’m headed to the doctor and am assuming they’ll be increasing my medication. Even though I feel like they’ve got me headed in the right direction, I’m still in a significant and constant drone of pain that’s starting to wear me down very badly. I’m trying very hard to play their game — I’m terrified that if I do what instinct tells me, to self-medicate in a desperate quest to find peace for even one small moment, that they’ll terminate me as a patient and I’ll have nothing — but I hope that they can understand how essential it is that they listen to my agony. What I think they have trouble understanding is that when they say to me, “rank your pain from 1 to 10″, and I tell them that it’s gone from an eight to a seven (or whatever) that it doesn’t mean shit… If the pain is constant and you don’t have a single moment ever where you’re not being tormented, that even a one will eventually bring you to the end of a rope. It might take longer, but the sad and desperate resolution is the same.

Why oh why couldn’t the assassin have made a helpful sociopolitical statement? At times when my pain has been unbearable and I’ve been filled with agony-fueled rage against the long line of doctors unwilling to help me I’ve fantasized about going on a suicidal shooting spree at my doctor’s office simply to attract media attention to the plight of those with chronic pain. The incredible cruelty of pain treatment guidelines is mind-boggling. I’ve never understood how the medical community can treat patients the way they do. I try not to think about it, because the injustice of it is heartbreaking. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Pretty much every pain patient I’ve ever talked to is driven to madness by how willing doctors are to watch us suffer. Given that there are simple cures for the majority of pain, it’s indescribably wrong that they’re not given just because there are people without pain that treat these medicines as narcotics instead. Maybe I should be more angry at the false moralizing politicians who pander to the “war on drugs”. Either way, the politicians win their election and addicts still get their drugs (while drug dealers make a fortune and junkies help our world decay as they turn to crime), and millions of pain patients keep on suffering atrocities.

When I was younger I may have gotten a sick pleasure from watching what a cultural catastrophe we’re evolving, but these days, especially with a young daughter who’s going to have to live with the consequences of our short-sightedness — not just on the above bullshit, but on global warming and overpopulation and all the other greed-driven mistakes we make — I end up filled with a nausea that no amount of Dramamine will ever subdue.

But yeah, the outside world descends into violent madness and my body painfully destroys itself from within, so I do my best to enjoy building dollhouses and drinking my coconut juice (that’s not some strange metaphor — I really love drinking coconut juice), and use those small joyful moments to help me smile for the camera one more time.