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azurelunatic: "Welcome to the Internet. (Here's your free eyespork.)" Titanium spork.  (eyespork)
Why use demeaningly sexist language like "attention whore" in response to deliberately shocking/grating, attention-seeking antics (and also, if someone is a professional entertainer? Attention-seeking is sort of their professional life. Just sayin'.) when there exists the simple and evocative "troll"?

If someone positively associates with a known troll, I judge them. I may not say anything to anyone about what I think (obviously, since I'm making commentary here this time, I'm saying something this time, even though in this case it's largely metacontextual and also an example sufficiently detached from my day-to-day life that I can use it as an example), and I may not decide that I must sever my own associations (if any) with them, or make any declaration that they've lost my goodwill (with the linked implication that people who retain them in their goodwill may also be judged), but I think about how much I value them, and my esteem of them will probably drop a fraction if (again in my own estimation) their association with that troll seems to continue in an approval of the troll's trollish tactics, or despite trolling that would be a dealbreaker for me.

Specifics:
Read more... )

And here's where I jump from commentary on that situation to commentary on how my brain works; if you were just here for the celebrity schadenfreude, you can depart the ride now unless you actually want to hear about how my brain works.

Read more... )
azurelunatic: Seated baby in incubator shell with electrodes.  (Cyteen)
There was just a locked post about something that hit me two months ago, but is now hitting me again as the real-world implications of it catch up to me. And that's stressing me the fuck out, but it's an old stress, now. I can deal with it.

Darkside was there for me five minutes after it hit me, and dealt with me gibbering and trying to cry but failing, dealt with me starting to slip into shock, dealt with me laughing in very disturbing ways as my universe flipped upside down and started raining bits of mental foundation down upon me. Figment was there for the aftermaths, and was the first person I allowed to touch me after the first shock started to slip away.

Incidentally, I should never be given bad news when there isn't someone trusted around who can physically hold me, because I can and will start slipping into shock. I've learned to recognize the symptoms, and will dutifully get something to drink and wrap myself up in a warm blanket, but if my mental processes have been derailed, my safety features may have been affected too.

I'm a social creature, but no company is preferable to bad company in a time of stress. I need someone I can safely fall apart around. I trust myself to do that around very few people. There are far more people who would offer hugs and shoulders and their company -- and say the wrong thing when I was vulnerable, and run the risk of planting something in my psychsets that would grow there and trigger off things that would have been better left untouched, or touched only by someone who could successfully read from the Black Book and banish the fishy tentacled thing into rich black fertile soil instead of a slimy, writhing mass of venomous self-doubt. When I'm vulnerable, I shrink back from physical contact except with people who are known to be safe.

I become Disturbing when the foundations of my sanity shake. I keep telling myself that I've been to the rock-bottom, and there isn't any less sane I can ever get, and then someone tosses me a shovel, and I just keep on digging... Paradoxically, the further down I dig things, the more stable I get, because I know where so many of the faults lie now, and I know how to brace them and compensate for them. And people who haven't explored their own sanity in such depth get very scared when someone talks conversationally about where all the holes in their head are...

Freud didn't get it all right. Childhood builds the base structure for the personality, so if there are any down-deep flaws, the mistaken ideas kids get about the funkiest things, it's going to be in the childhood. But some of the deepest damage can happen when an adult earthquake shakes the foundation, or worse, pulls chunks out of the foundation and sets them on fire. If you're lucky, at least, the foundation gets removed before it's set on fire. And the teenage years are just as crucial to the adult personality as the childhood years are to the base personality. Some forms of adulthood are the mask we wear when we pretend we don't want to have fun anymore; those are the bad ones. Some forms of adulthood are figuring out that we don't have to do stupid and dangerous stuff to have fun. I like that kind.
azurelunatic: Seated baby in incubator shell with electrodes.  (Cyteen)
The intimacy isn't up to entire truths, yet. It's still at that point where I have to toss bits and scraps of the things that are important to me, so as not to overwhelm him with too much of me at once.

That was a big one, I think.

He's learned to patch around some of my worse sensitivities, and is courteous of those he knows. Today, he had an amusing mental image, and patched it so I could share in it; I've learned not to rip his patches off, as I trust he means for me to have the patched version, not the buggy raw stuff. He's learning the social skills to interact with me kindly, more kindly than he would were I a random unknown. But then, a random unknown wouldn't be so sensitive to him, not unless they were operating broken. He's never had to play Supervisor before, never had to patch an Alpha. But he's learning.

He's wary of me trusting him too much, of a sudden. It'll take time to rebuild, after I withdrew. And I did withdraw. Since summer, I did withdraw.

The thing that makes it work so well is that he knows me so well. When he doesn't know me, it fades. So to keep it there, I have to keep giving him bits of me, so he'll integrate them if he chooses to, so I'll recognize him. Constant emotional immune recognition. His puns dampen my immune responses. "So, find a girl named Dew." I already have too much of him; I need (for my sake as well as his) to return that with bits of me.

Stimulus, response.

I deconstruct us here. Maybe all of this angstwanking will be useful someday. Help some poor sap reconstruct their own mind, debug a relationship. Gods know I wouldn't make it public otherwise.

When our minds entwine, whose privacy is it? Here, we all know his nickname, not his common nickname, but a nickname he picked for a one-off joke. The logs of that are long dead, but the nickname endures because I say it shall. He has other names, that I shall not repeat here. There is his birthname; in the household, he has become, when I say it, 'the' [birthname]; he is the one who matters most to me, though I know others of that name. There is the name that I've spoken only to him. There's the name he calls himself. There is the name that others call him. Some of those names line up. Some of them don't. None of them are for this narrative.

When I internalize the bits he gives me, whose bits are they? Did he release them to me under a GPL of mind and soul? They're surely not rented, and I may make derivative works, but how much of the original source code may go public? Is there a percentage? Are there segments that are protected and segments that are not?

I'm seeing pixels in my field of vision, again. Photomanips in Paint -- love it. Ha! I'm the Queen. He's the King. We're of separate kingdoms -- bad timing, no time -- related but isolated.

Today he made room from his nap. *boggles* Um....

...this man has no time. By this I mean, he works full-time, he commutes, he's on a heavy job search. He has no time. And he made room for me.

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azurelunatic: Vivid pink Alaskan wild rose. (Default)
Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺

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