#psych verbs

[unbearable-lightness-of-ink]

y'all i caved to peer pressure and made one of those lists of books. I got to be the first person to add some books by tumblr mutuals to this list website, apparently, so that's pretty cool. anyway pls tell me if you have read more of my books than I have bc I honestly need motivation to get through my tbr piles of shame.

[skiddo-xy]

I've actually found that language learning is quite enjoyable for me when you look at it as a bunch of different skills you can use. I think the thing that first triggered this feeling as an example was when my English teacher from exchange (they put me in English so I could help out the class/teachers lol) who was an L2 speakers said "that makes two of us" when talking to me and even though you I would usually hear "same" or "me too" it was just a nice way of showing how hard you worked in the language. So yeah, going to focus more on grammar points and sentence structures for Italian

[greenwriterplaidbow]

Human Connection

Part I

Logan Howlett x reader with injury related memory loss

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: Inspired by @pandapetals’ memory loss fic (it's taken over all by thoughts since I read it) as well as the song We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross. Sorry in advance, this is probably going to be a series, I was going to make it all one story but it’s already this long and I haven’t gotten to what I wanted to get to.

Warnings: a combination of angst and fluff, suggested feminine reader (called Logan’s wife, she/her used once) but no true descriptions, if you’re an English teacher you’ll hate this because I mix past and present tense verbs. Sorry if it bothers you, it’s my primary grammatical weakness.

The doctor’s words felt monotonous and cold. Logan looked to you. Your eyes trained on the doctor, your blanketed knees pulled up to your chest, your arms loosely held around them. You had been conscious for around 24 hours and he’d hardly seen you. Admittedly at your specific request, ‘your hovering around is making me kinda anxious’ were the exact words. The sting of the words stuck in his mind. The doctor told the two of you the state of your condition, monitoring and treatment outline, and the information needed to fill out the discharge papers. You would walk away mostly fine. You survived the accident, lucky you!

But you didn’t feel lucky. You felt frustrated and unsettled. Maybe even a little scared. You had woken up to a man you’d never seen whispering to you in your sleep, seemingly close to tears. When he noticed you awake he asked you questions you didn’t know the answers to and claimed to be your husband. You had never been married and given the fact that he looked as though he hadn’t showered or slept in days, this was obviously a psych patient who had wandered into your room. But it wasn’t. The doctors could confirm, according to the paperwork and pictures, you were this man’s wife. He’d continued to be around you, he clearly wanted to help in any way he could but you couldn’t handle the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.

You had few memories, almost none of them were recent. Not even memories of your own identity were intact. Dissociative amnesia they called it. The staff stressed, to both you and this Logan guy, that your memories needed to come back on their own, he shouldn’t just tell you memories. He was allowed to help fill in details or answer small questions but that’s it. They said the best thing you could do right now would be to go back to your routine. They told him to act normal towards you as much as possible. You didn’t even know what that would look like. It was weird being addressed as a unit. Talked to like he was ‘your other half’ or whatever people say.

“Here is the form. Either of you can fill it out, I’ll just need both of your signatures at the bottom.” The nurse’s words snap you back to reality. You nod and take the form. She checks your levels one last time before leaving you and the man alone in the room. You concentrate on the papers in front of you. You first take the pen off the clip board with your left hand then look at it confused. You stare a moment before shifting it to your right hand, then back to your left before just setting it down again and leaning over the small table as you breathe out slowly.

“You’re right handed.” The man said quietly.

You look over at him. He sits on your left side. His knees are wide apart as he leans his body forward resting his forearms on his thighs with his fingers interlaced. He was watching you struggle with the pen. You nod slowly and pick up the pen with your right hand this time. You adjust your hand to hold it properly. It feels no more comfortable than in your left but you had to start somewhere. Okay first blank, patient name. Easy enough. You write your first name, middle initial, and-

You stop in your tracks. If you’re married, you wouldn’t necessarily have the same last name that you remember. You sit and think for a moment, determined to figure it out but you keep drawing a blank. An owl was the only thing that came to your mind when you thought of your last name. You bit the inside of your cheek before you sighed frustratedly. You put the pen back on the clipboard and slid the small table towards the man.

“Can you do this?” He perked up at your words.

“Yes- of course”

A small smile showed on his face as he took the clipboard, apparently happy to help. He filled in the blanks quickly as if he didn’t even have to think about the answers. Jealousy and shame flowed into your chest. Jealous that this random man knows you better than you know yourself. Shameful because of the pressure you’re already putting on yourself. You’ve always been independent. You like it that way. You like being known as the girl who has a man because she wants one not because she needs something from one. But now, you have no choice but to put your entire trust in someone you don’t know. Trust that he was going to tell you the truth about yourself. Trust he was going to remember what meds you needed and when to take them. Trust he was going to keep you safe both from yourself and someone who might want to take advantage of your current situation. The vulnerability it took to ask for help was already wearing away at your self esteem.

“Think that’s it. I’ll go bring this to the-”

“Wait, can I look at it first” Your hesitation was evident by the little shake in your voice.

“Sure but I promise, I know most of this by heart. And the stuff I didn’t know I got a refresher for when I filled out your admission forms.” He said it, clearly trying to make conversation but it only made you feel worse. You scanned over the form. Your birthday was the only thing you remembered, aside from your name but you didn’t even remember all of that so it didn’t quite feel the same.

“Howlett” You read the name off the sheet. It felt strange to say, even more so to think it now belonged to you.

“Yeah, that’s our last name.” You nodded and handed the form back and buried your head in your knees.

“What’s wrong? Are you starting to feel worse again?” You took a pause before answering him. When you raised your head, his eyes met yours and he could see tears welling up in them.

“I don’t even know my own stupid name- or my dominant hand. I feel so useless.” Logan set the form back on the table and knelt at your bedside.

“Hey, you are not useless. You’re sick right now, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m here and I’ll help you with anything you need. I promise. I can help fill in what you don’t know”

“Thanks.. I know you’re trying to make me feel better but knowing that you know all this and I don’t, really only makes me feel worse. This guy I don’t even know knows more about me than I do.” You could immediately see the pain on his face from your statement. Another reminder that he was included in the gaps that still needed to be filled in.

“It- It’ll come back to you. You’ll be back to yourself in no time.” He said as he stood up. It sounded like the statement was just as much to comfort him as it was to comfort you.

“I’ll be right back.” You nodded and he left the room with the clipboard.

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You changed into the clothes Logan brought you. When you were all set to leave, you were told about your follow up appointment and picked up your meds. The two of you left the hospital and walked to Logan’s truck in the parking lot. He opened the door for you and held out his arm behind you as you climbed in to ensure you wouldn’t fall. You took note of the sweet gesture. Once he got into the drivers side, he slung the backpack that had held your clothes and now held your collection of meds onto the backseat. The drive was silent for a while before you broke the ice.

“I can not believe I married a man who drives a truck.” You half-joked as your fingers played with the wedding ring you still wore.

He smiled a little sadly, both amused at your distaste for truck owners and saddened at the reminder that you didn’t remember the man you married. He swallowed down his sadness to joke with you.

“Yeah? And what kind of man would you marry?” His unexpected response made you blush.

“Well, I don’t know.. Honestly I haven’t given it much thought. I guess I’m just not the marriage type.” Logan laughed quietly.

“Yeah- I guess you’d know that already.”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just funny that you think you’re the one who wasn’t marriage material. Normally people think that about me, not you.”

“Don’t be close minded- maybe neither of us are marriage material! Maybe those are the kinds that marry each other. I doubt most of those relationships last long though..” You regretted the words as soon as you realized what you had said.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure we’re very happy.” You bit your lip and kept your eyes glued to your hands twiddling in your lap.

Logan didn’t know what to say so he opted to say nothing. The sound of the running engine and the wind outside the vehicle were the only sounds between you. Your thoughts were swarming in your mind. You turned your eyes to the window, trying to turn off your brain and just observe the unfamiliar scenery. Trees consumed the road on either side. You saw on the form that you lived in New York in some town you hadn’t heard of.

“So how far into the woods do we live?” You turn back towards him as you said it.

“Close enough to walk into town but far enough that we don’t see our neighbors unless we’re trying to.”

You nodded and made a sound of acknowledgement.

“That’s why you smell like pine?”

“Uh, I guess. Didn’t realize I did. I guess I’m just used to it.”

“That would make sense.” You lost interest in the conversation when you realized you had turned onto a side road. From the side road you went up a driveway.

He wasn’t kidding, if you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t know there was anyone even remotely close. Trees seemed to swallow you whole as you approached the house.

“Look familiar?” He asked tentatively. You studied the outside of the house then the inside as you pulled into the garage. You wanted to say yes but in reality it looked entirely foreign.

“No, sorry.” You answered softly.

“That’s alright, I was just curious.” He tried to keep the longing sadness from his voice. He was not successful. He grabbed the backpack and left the truck. You followed him but your eyes couldn’t help traveling over the room. You stepped inside the house and mirrored Logan as he took off his boots and placed them behind the door.

He watched your movements as you hesitantly followed him. He smiled at the realization that you were almost acting like a puppy dog, eager to take in information and follow instructions but still tentative about both him and the surroundings.

“I should probably show you around,”

“Yes, please.”

It was a split level house. He showed you the basement first. The guest room, storage room, furnace room, a mostly unused living room. He explained small things about each room when necessary. As you headed back up the stairs you felt brave enough to ask more questions.

“So we live alone? Just the two of us?”

“Yeah, why?”

“No pets? No family? No transient friends that feel comfortable enough to invite themselves over when they need a place to stay? Nothing?” Your question made Logan visibly nervous. He now stood across from you as you stood at the top of the steps.

“Uh, no. Not really. Why?” His confusion was mixing with anxiety.

“No reason.”

“..Are you uncomfortable staying alone with me?” His expression looked sad but understanding.

“Oh no, not that. Well a little. But no, that’s not why I asked.” He was silent waiting for you to explain, which you did when the silence became too uncomfortable. You forced your eyes to stay on his when you finally spoke.

“I’m just worried about you. You’re dealing with a lot, you should be with other people. People who care about you and know how to take your mind off everything. I just don’t want you to burn yourself out trying to do all this alone.” Your words hit him like a train. You were the one who was sick and you still worried about him, even when he was a complete stranger to you. He looked like he could cry. He took a half step towards you before stopping himself,

“Can I hug you?”

You nodded as you took a step closer to him, embracing him. His large arms engulfed your shoulders. He held you close like you might spontaneously vanish if he didn’t anchor you to himself. Your arms came around to his upper back where you rubbed his back lightly, trying to comfort him. When your nails softly scratched against his shirt, his face nuzzled deeper into your neck. You couldn’t tell if he was crying or not. Not that you cared either way, you understood. You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling. This large, strange, kind man had completely bent himself over backwards just to take care of you. The least you could do is try and comfort him. The two of you stood there for longer than either of you thought you would. He gave you one final squeeze before parting. He kept his hands on your shoulders for a second as he looked at you. He sniffed as he looked away and took a few steps back.

“Sorry.” His breathing was unsteady.

“Don’t be.” You shrugged. “You’re allowed to be sad. You’re kind of grieving, in a way.” Your words were meant to be comforting as much as forcing him to face the reality of the situation.

“Don’t say that, you’re going to remember. It just takes time.” There was a desperation in his voice. Like he was trying to convince you both.

“I know. I’m not saying I won’t. But right now, you’re living with someone who doesn’t know you.. The woman you know, the woman you love, is as good as dead. As of right now anyways.” He studied your face as you said it and nodded after you’d finished speaking. He bridged the gap between the two of you once more to press a kiss onto your forehead. He sighed but didn’t pull away from you when he spoke.

“Let me finish showing you around.” He whispered the words warmly against your skin.

“Okay.” You whispered in return.

As promised, he showed you the living room, kitchen, and dining area; all close together at the top of the steps. Down the hall there was a bathroom, an office, and finally your shared bedroom. He lets you walk into the room, he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. You cautiously walked around the room, taking everything in. The walls were a calm green that paired well with the browns and yellows of most other things in the room. On the nightstand closest to the door there was an assortment of crystals, papers, wire wrapped shells, chapstick, handwritten notes, bracelets sitting inside a teacup, a clock, and a pair of glasses. You turned back to Logan.

“This is my side of the bed?” He nodded. You opened the drawers of your nightstand. Books, sleeping meds, pen and paper, nothing of interest upon first glance. You walked over to the other side, glancing back at Logan, searching his face for permission to poke around. You couldn’t read his expression.

“Mind if I snoop?”

“Go ahead. It’s all stuff you’ve seen before.”

You tried to turn your full attention to his nightstand but you could see him move out of the corner of your eye. He entered what you assumed was the closet, which was currently behind you. Back to trying to learn about Logan through how he kept his things. His nightstand was less cluttered than yours. There was a notepad and pen, reading glasses, a clock matching yours, and three pictures of you. One was in a frame, one was a polaroid, and the last one was printed out, you’d guess from a digital camera. All pictures were in places you didn’t remember with people you didn’t recognize. You looked happy. The picture in a frame was from your wedding. Logan and you were all dressed up, looking at each other. Although it was clear the two of you were posing, your smiles seemed genuine. The other two were candids, laughing with friends in one while in the other your face held a look of recognition like someone took the photo right as you saw the camera. You were happy or relieved to see whoever was holding the camera. You guessed Logan himself based on your relationship and where you found the photo.

“Sorry,” He moved past you and set his phone on his nightstand.

“I’m going to go shower. You’re welcome to as well, I’ll shower downstairs so if you want to, the option is there. Or wait until later, I just don’t want to smell like the hospital anymore”

“Yeah I will probably take you up on that, where do I keep my clothes?”

He directed you to where you keep your pajamas as well as showing you to your half of the closet, pointing out where you keep underwear and socks.

“Let me know if you need anything.” You nodded and thanked him. He went downstairs. You felt like looking around some more. A bin of stuffed animals under your side of the bed. Saw the books on the shelves in the office. Check out the cupboards, familiarize yourself with where things belong. Out the kitchen window, the woods catch your eye. You feel a sudden urge to go walking in the wet grass. You look towards the lower level then back at the back door. You’d surely be back before he was out of the shower. You just needed to indulge this feeling. Then you’d come right back. It’s midday, it’s not like it is dangerous at this hour.

You step out onto the patio. You walked in the directions you felt pulled in. Following some imaginary trail, bare feet sinking into the puddles in the grass. It had been an especially wet April and the heavy clouds overhead suggested tonight would follow the trend. You found a hammock in a small clearing not far from the house. You sat upright on it, like a swing. You crossed your ankles and leaned forward, palms placed beside your knees, pressing onto the fabric beneath you. The silence felt comfortable. You relaxed more than you had been in recent days. The silence allowed your mind to wander through your thoughts just as you had through the trees. The calm around you soon contrasted with the spiraling thoughts that took over your mind. It didn't feel like you had forgotten anything but logically, you knew years had passed since the last things you remember. Logically you knew Logan had to know you intimately and clearly cared deeply for you but, you didn't know how to make yourself return his feelings. There was guilt in not being who you were apparently supposed to be. You hated the pained look in his eyes he when stared at you. The hot tears that rolled down your face contrasted with the cool air around you. Your face hung down and your eyes traced the ground through blurred vision. You felt like you had been sitting here for hours. Your thoughts drowned out the once comfortable silence and along with it, Logan's panicked voice in the distance. He stumbled into the clearing.

"Jesus-” He huffed, catching his breath. “Don't run off like that. What the hell are you doing out here? How did you know where this was? Did you remember something?"

His rapid fire questions and loud voice were overwhelming.

"N-no, I don't know. I just felt like this is where I should go. I didn't mean to worry you- please don't yell at me" your plea took him by surprise as he realized his worry made him louder than he intended. He took a quick step towards you and you unconsciously flinched. He took care to make the last steps toward you slower before he crouched down so he was looking up at you. There was a gentleness that now replaced the panic in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.. I didn't know where you were or what happened. I just- you're not yourself right now, even if you had your memories, you still have a brain injury. I just don't want you to get lost. At least if you're going to go exploring, leave a note?"

You nodded and wiped away tears from your face.

"Do you want me to leave you alone out here for a while?"

"No, I'll come in with you.. I really don't know why I came out here, it just felt like I should. I don't know why." You still tried to explain yourself as you got up from your spot. Logan stood up and started leading towards the house.

"Maybe subconsciously you remember coming out here."

"Maybe.. I don't know why I would. It's not exactly nice out."

"You didn't just go when it was nice, you like being out there when you feel upset. Sometimes if we have a fight you'll go sit out there for a while. Sometimes you're upset with someone else and you drag me out there with you and tell me about it. You just don't like bringing that stuff home."

"Oh. Am I out there a lot?"

"No, not really. Sometimes you have a bad week and you'll be out a few days in a row but that's not very common. Just once in a blue moon, as you'd say." He smiles at the memory as he opens the door for you. You step in and dry your feet on the mat. He takes off his shoes and carries them to the front door. As he walked off you noticed his hair was wet and a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants had replaced his flannel and jeans from the hospital. You could really see how muscular he was through his shirt that hugged him tighter than the flannel did.

“You look better than you did at the hospital.”

“Hm? Oh, thanks.”

“Don't get me wrong you pull off the disheveled look but now you look better, like people wouldn't worry about you if they saw you like this.”

“Not sure that's the compliment you think it is.” He smiled as he said it.

“I'm aware. Still felt like you should hear it.”

“Whatever you say. Do you still want to shower now or do you want to wait until later tonight?”

“No, I'll just get in now.”

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You leaned your face towards the bottle of the more feminine looking soap, assuming it was yours, trying to use it as an olfactory trigger. It didn’t work. You got out of the shower and dried your hair in front of the mirror and something caught your eye. Your skin carried stories in the form of deep scars that decorated your body. Old bullet wounds and healed cuts lied among the new gashes and scratches from your accident. You ran your hands over some of the small lines of scar tissue, unsure if you wanted to know the stories they had to tell. You rewrapped your bandages. The bandages and cuts from your accident made you glad to have such baggy pajamas.

You left the bathroom after getting dressed and found Logan laying on your side of the bed, staring at the ceiling. He sat up when you came into the room, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Oh, hey- Sorry I know this is your side, I just-” He stumbled over his words while trying to justify his actions but you cut him off.

“You don’t need to explain, it’s alright.” You gave him a small, tight-lipped smile. The kind you’d give a stranger who held a door for you.

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You spend the rest of the evening on the couch, doodling next to Logan as he reads some papers. Neither of you spoke. Eventually it came time for you to go to bed, forcing the two of you into conversation.

“I can sleep in the guest room, if you’d be more comfortable that way.” He offered as he walked you to the bedroom.

“That’s all the way downstairs, right?” You looked up at him as you sat on the bed.

“Yes.”

“Then no..” You paused after saying it.

“I can stay up here on the couch if you want me to be closer. Whatever you want.”

You shook your head adamantly. “Not whatever I want, I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

“Baby, I would be happy as a clam at high tide just sleeping on the floor at the foot of our bed.” The way the pet name so easily left his lips made you blush.

“W-well- you can be just as happy sleeping in your own bed.” He sighed in defeat before nodding.

“Alright. I can do that.” He shut the door behind him as he walked into the room.

“Given your apprehension to stay in the same bed, I assume it goes without saying but, I still don’t know you.. For you, you’re sleeping next to your wife but for me, I’m sleeping next to this man I met yesterday.. I just..” You trailed off.

“I’ll stay on my side of the bed, no problem.” He finished your thought casually.

“Thanks..”

“Of course, I just want you to feel comfortable and safe in your own home.”

“That.. means a lot. Thank you Logan.” He nodded before shutting off the lamp on his side of the bed.

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It wasn’t a particularly cold night but you still felt a chill creep over your skin under the blankets. To your memory, you had slept alone most nights so this was what you were used to. So why did you feel more alone than ever with Logan less than a foot away? You could feel the heat ghosting off his skin even from where you laid. The loneliness sank into your chest making you feel colder than you actually were. You mentally fought yourself, it was only a few hours ago that you were telling him not to touch you and now you were considering asking him to put his arm around you? Talk about mixed messages. What if he was the type of guy to take approval to cross one boundary as approval to do whatever he wanted? What if he thought this meant you had your memories again? What if-

Your thoughts were cut off by the sound of Logan sighing quietly as he rolled over and shifted to get comfortable. He was awake. If you were going to ask, now would be the best time, right? You gathered your courage before you spoke.

“Logan?” You asked barely at a whisper.

“Hm?” His sleepy reply made you feel guilty for bothering him.

“Could you- .. I mean if you wanted to you could- you don’t have to but.. Um. Would you put your arm around me?”

“You want me to hold you?”

“I mean.. Only if you want to. I just- It’s cold over here and I can feel the heat coming off of you and I- .. I just feel so lonely for some reason.” Your voice dropped even quieter as you ended your statement.

“Yes, of course I will. Tell me if I do anything you don’t like; you’re allowed to push me back over to my side, alright?” You nodded as he pulled you into his broad chest. He felt warm and comforting. He kept his hand innocently at your abdomen. The two of you both slept the best you had all week. Tangled together like lovers.

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Author's second note! Thank you for reading my first true fanfiction that's been put on Beyoncé's public internet for anyone to judge. Speaking of judging I'm very open to feedback if you have any.

I want to have the next part up soon but tragically, I have two big projects coming up not to mention finals week. College is eating me alive so we'll see when I string enough coherent sentences together the next part.

PS I'm still trying to figure out pictures so that's why these three at at the bottom. If I figure it out, I'll add them at the top but uhhh we'll see

I FIGURED IT OUT LETS GOO

[librarycards]

sry if you've answered this before, but do you have any fave or recommended poems centered around or related to disability?

thanks for your patience, i do! i'm including some of my favorite books below, as well as some individual poems.

i've also written some disability-themed pieces/books. Some pieces I've written that may be of interest include these two and these two in Electric Lit, Diagnostician's Note in Protean, RUNNING in X-RAY Lit, Late Summer Dispatch in Princemere, Headcase! in the New Orleans Review, and to a specified fate) and these two in The Institutionalized Review.

books (all of the authors listed also have individual pieces published that are worth checking out!)

Hannah Emerson, The Kissing of Kissing

Twoey Gray, Electrodaughter

Bhanu Kapil, Schizophrene

Sam Sax, Madness

Bettina Judd, Patient.

Jane Shi, Leaving Chang'e On Read

David Wolach, Occultations

Petra Kuppers & Neil Marcus, Cripple Poetics

Phil Smith, Writhing Writing: Moving Toward a Mad Poetics

Edited Anthology: Beauty is a Verb: The New Poetry of Disability

some poems i love (* marks those I have edited/helped bring into the world!):

Jess Silfa, Keeping Up

Dane Lyn, Stoner Termites*

Andy Jackson, Disfigured Fame

BEE LB, Two poems

torrin a. greathouse, SICK4SICK

Nora Hikari, The Fictive's Address

Matthew Tuckner, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, With Figurative Language

Isaac Pickell, In The Psych Ward*

Zachariah Claypole White, OCD Sonnets

Evan Reynolds, [ABJECTION]*

Jesse Rice-Evans, Snow Moon

hope you find something you like!

[maculategiraffe]

if you ever decide to write a story with alternating chapter viewpoints where one viewpoint takes place in the "present day" and the other takes place in the recent past and you decide to cleverly differentiate by writing half the chapters in present tense and the other half in past tense, please be aware that you are creating a task for yourself analogous to when venus dumped ten tons of mixed seeds and grains on the ground and told psyche to sort them by type, except the seeds and grains are instances of verbs you accidentally wrote in the wrong tense

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some English Grammar Vocabulary

Atelic

A verb, construction, situation, etc. which does not express an inherent end point or goal.

Examples: "It is raining"; "The children are watching TV"

Catenative

A verb that can form a chain with one or more subsequent verbs

Examples: "want to go"; "hate to tell you"

False Friend

Also called false cognate and faux ami.

A word that has the same or a similar form in two (or more) languages, but different meanings in each.

This term is used in contrastive analysis and foreign language teaching.

Example: The French adjective sympathique (like Italian simpatico) often means ‘nice’, ‘pleasant’, or ‘likeable’ and is therefore a false friend to English sympathetic.

In the same way French actuel means ‘present’, not ‘actual’.

God’s Truth

An extreme view of grammar which assumes that the ‘rules’ of grammar have an objective existence in the language, and that all good grammarians will therefore discover the same facts and propound the same descriptions.

Invented by Fred W. Householder (1913–1994) in 1952.

Greengrocer’s Apostrophe

Use of an apostrophe in an ordinary plural, where it is incorrect.

Example: "Potato’s 75p per kilo."

Hesitation Noise

A sound (or sounds) not classified as a word, but used by speakers to keep conversation going.

Hesitation noises are somewhat inadequately indicated by such items as er, erm, uh, um, etc.

Hypocoristic

(Designating) a pet form of a *word; (that is or has the nature of) a pet name

Example: Auntie.

Irrealis

Of a verb, form, etc.: expressing unreality, non-factuality, extreme unlikelihood, potentiality, etc.

Examples: counterfactual conditional clauses, which contain a past tense form (e.g. If I lived to be a hundred . . . ), and

so-called subjunctive moods (e.g. If I were you . . . ) describe what is extremely unlikely or totally impossible.

Non-Word

A word that is not recorded or not established.

This may be interchangeable with nonce word, but tends to be restricted to inventions that could be unintentional errors rather than deliberate coinages:

1963 PUNCH. The aesthetically displeasing non-word ‘annoyment’.

A string of letters (or sounds) that is not an English word.

Pleonasm

The use of more words than are needed to convey a particular meaning.

Examples: "see with one’s eyes"; "at this moment in time."

Polyseme

A word that has multiple meanings.

Many English words have several meanings which are all uses of the same word that have grown apart over time

Examples:

Draw - ‘cause to move in a certain direction’, ‘produce a picture’, ‘finish a game with an equal score’

Flat - ‘apartment’, ‘note lowered by a semitone’, ‘piece of stage scenery’

Psychological Verb

A verb that expresses a psychological state.

Also called experiencer verb, mental verb, psychological predicate, psych verb; and verb of psychological state.

There are 2 types of psychological verb: those that have an experiencer as subject and a stimulus as object (e.g. I felt the cold);

those that have a stimulus as subject and experiencer as object (e.g. The cold overpowered me).

Royal We

The use of we by a king or queen to mean ‘I’.

Example: Queen Victoria’s ‘We are not amused’.

The style is now restricted to formal documents.

Tmesis

The separation of the parts of a word by an intervening element or elements.

This is not a very productive operation in English, and is largely confined to the insertion of swear words for greater emphasis, as in: "I can’t find it any-blooming-where."

The phenomenon is now usually described by using the term infix.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[reachartwork]

what is project secret moth?

project secret moth is an LLM-based text adventure with optional visual accompaniment. unlike many other LLM-based text adventures where you can basically do whatever you want and its open ended like a lucid dream, project secret moth has actual game structure built beneath and the LLM simply acts as an interpretative + narrative layer to generate description and cohere the varying game elements. in my schema of game design, things like ai dungeon (with no non-self-imposed win or loss state) or "just open ended chatting with an ai" are "toys", rather than "games". sure, they are fun, and you can make your own fun, but it requires a certain amount of buy-in that always leads me to bounce off of them.

project secret moth does not have that, in the prototype. it is a capital letters Video Game.

project secret moth has the same "win state" as any other yume nikki-like - collect all the effects and leave your bedroom.

the beginning of the game offers two modes - "personal" and "story". personal mode will have the narrative ai ask you psychologically probing questions so that it can customize the dream realms to your psyche. story mode will have it procedurally generate an individual, A Madotsuki, and put you in their shoes.

project secret moth does not have a freeform parser. like the very eldest text adventures, it utilizes verb commands - LOOK AT TORININGEN, USE KNIFE ON UBOA, and so on. there is a certain amount of flexibility - it will try to interpret your actions in a way that a traditional parser never can - but you are not free to do whatever you want. there is no macklankey. you are bound like all living things.

the initial prototype will be text-based only, offering a bedroom, 8 dream worlds (with an indeterminate number of extra layers and sub-areas), minor puzzles, NPCs, and the exciting "environmental cascade" system that allows you to solve area puzzles immersive sim style by manipulating the environment of higher-up layers. order a fan off amazon to make your dream worlds colder.

project secret moth will ship bundled with its own local large language model (the particular one is TBD) and will be built to run on relatively low-spec computers or ones with no GPU available, if possible. no internet connection will be required, and no information you send will be sent to external APIs. when the second prototype (with visual accompaniment system - see the attached images?) launches it will also be bundled with its own fine-tuned image model that, again, will be built to run on low-spec computers.

stay attuned

[trans-axolotl]

" “In the year 2024….” read the headline of an editor’s message in a 1970 issue of The Presidio, a publication out of the Iowa State Penitentiary. Even for people in prison, whose primary currency is time itself, the date felt far-fetched. Something so distant, it was more the setting of a science fiction novel than of a real-life possibility. Al Ware, the paper’s incarcerated editor, had just experienced the solar eclipse of the century, though Iowa was outside the range of the total eclipse. He whimsically mused on whether he’d be around for the next one—if he meant alive or still in prison is up for interpretation.

People travel for hundreds and thousands of miles to view total eclipses and consistently have difficulty describing the experience fully with just words. But even a partial eclipse can be a stunning spectacle. For those in prison, whose lives are often drudgery punctuated by fleeting moments of fear, being able to experience something collectively with people beyond the walls is the type of reprieve that buoys the psyche for quite some time.

I sat in prison for the partial eclipse of 2017. A far cry from how Florida prisons handled a total eclipse in 1970, the Federal Bureau of Prisons decided a dusk-like darkening of the sky was a security threat that warranted a total lock-down. Never mind that for half the year the sun set at dinner time, and we were allowed to continue going about our business, jogging on the rec yard, grabbing a book from the library, and just generally moving about the compound. Perhaps some nefarious actors would use the few minutes of diminished daylight in the middle of the day to orchestrate a prison break, or perhaps the reverse, introduce contraband.

It felt like my life came to a screeching halt the moment I was arrested. No longer did I feel like I was living, an active verb, I was merely existing. If I vanished off the face of the Earth, not a single thing would change in the world, so minimal was my presence, so isolated was my life. Headlines flashed across the television screens, one of my only tethers to the outside world. Floods in Houston, fires in California, a mass shooting in Miami. It was as if these events were happening in some other world, one to which I only had the narrowest window...

...And with that, she led us outside. She didn’t ask where the colander had come from, and I did not tell. Its round holes somehow cast crescent shadows, illuminating the laws of physics. The sky darkened but nothing like dusk, a bizarre energy filling the air—or perhaps it was the abject fear that I was risking time in the hole to watch odd-shaped shadows dance on the ground, unable to even look at the eclipse directly.

For days to come, we tried to explain to our friends what it felt like, what those colander hole shadows looked like. It was simply too difficult to describe.

Whether Al Ware is still around to see this eclipse—he would be eighty-two—is unknown. What is known is that at least a few hundred people that experienced the total solar eclipse from prison in the United States in 1970 are still in prison. The next total solar eclipse that can be seen from the contiguous US won’t be until 2044—and unless that’s your release date, I’m sure it feels just as abstract as 2024 felt to the men at the Iowa State Penitentiary back in 1970."

- Watching an Eclipse from Prison, by Morgan Godvin

[funeral]

Contemporary society...is a society of achievement; increasingly, it is shedding the negativity of prohibitions and commandments and presenting itself as a society of freedom. The modal verb that determines achievement society is not the Freudian Should, but Can. This social transformation entails intrapsychic restructuring. The late-modern achievement-subject possesses an entirely different psyche than the obedience-subject for whom Freud conceived psychoanalysis. Freud's psychic apparatus is dominated by negation, repression, and fear of transgression. The ego is a "seat of anxiety". In contrast, the late-modern achievement-subject is...a subject of affirmation. Were the unconscious necessarily connected to the negativity of negation and repression, then the late-modern achievement-subject would no longer have an unconscious. It would be a post-Freudian ego. The Freudian unconscious is not a formation that exists outside of time. It is a product of the disciplinary society, dominated by the negativity of prohibitions and repression, that we have long since left behind.

Byung-Chul Han, The Burnout Society

[pinazee]

Disco didn’t die. it was murdered!

Psych is one of the best at doing these themed episodes. They change the camera work, the lighting, the background theme, and even the outfits. Like, they go all out and its always fun :)

Look at this smug bastard. I don’t mind arrogance, but i do mind the fake modesty. It made me roll my eyes haha

Now to settle my own curiosity, i looked into all the things shawn and gus point out about the chiefs phrases and grammar.

“I could care less” and “i couldn’t care less” are used interchangeably though english scholars will say the latter is the correct phrase and should be used formally.

“Goes without saying” was originally a french term ça va sans dire and my understanding of it is that it meant more like “absolutely” or “of course” where the English equivalent is more like “obviously”. Either way we can blame the french for this one haha

The chief did in fact split an infinitive when she said “why don’t you tell me how to properly say this-“ Splitting an infinitive is when you put an adverb between to- and a verb. Such as to boldly go, to casually walk, or to gently push. Whether or not its proper english is debated i believe. But if you ask me, it wouldn’t sound right to have Kirk say to go boldly. Just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Heres a Phil collins/ corbin bersen side by side

Also, obviously the chief never should have put shawn on the case. Not only because henry is his dad, but also because he’s a “psychic” and i would think if they were trying to get a solid legal case against him, they wouldn’t use mr.woowoo. But again, its a cable show so we ignore this haha (but also no way they won that in court?? It was circumstantial at best)

“It was the 70’s, we did what we had to do but only when we knew we had the right guy.” Henry…is kind of a hypocrite? Like hes all about following the rules and especially the law but also thinks it was okay for him to do it because he had a good reason. Okay, maybe to give him a little more credit than that, the fact that hes so nervous and touchy about it (fiddling with the key, shouting at gus) is because he knew the search warrant was bogus and screwed up, but his pride prevents him from owning it outright. So, i like that it ends with Henry thanking Shawn for essentially fixing his mistake. I’ve been kinda iffy on henry this whole rewatch so far, and how he is with shawn aside, i at least know its more important for him to get the right guy (or at least be right) than it is to get a bust for the sake of his ego. Though, now that i think about it, thats really the bare minimum to be a cop so…

Ive said it before, but i like that the difference between shawns tactics and his fathers in getting information from people is that henry will bust through or even intimidate, while Shawn makes them feel good about themselves and in some cases like theyre a part of the team. There’s an argument that shawns way is more manipulative, and i think if we didn’t know him as a person it might come across that way, but instead it comes across as him just making friends with everyone he meets.

Gus thinking his story ends with a wrongful conviction explains him freaking out so much in season 7’s ep Office Space. Theres also a commentary there about this being a genuine fear in the black community which makes me very sad at the state of my country.

NATIONAL TREASURE IS A NATIONAL TREASURE GUS

Now, about shawn spending all their money on the car- i am of the belief that he did it on purpose either to be a stinker or to make it more challenging, or maybe I’m in denial that negotiating is not in his skill set considering he’s ridiculously good at so many other things haha

I just wanted to put their clue spotting side by side because i like that their similar and different at the same time :)

Incidentally my filipino coworkers reacted the same way when i told them my mom called my pookie, to which they explained (after laughing) that a “puki” was ahem, vagina in tagalog. Language is fun :)

This is going to sound weird but this is the first ep that juliet and lassie felt like actual partners. It just feels like their on the same level finally, and that level being a dick to mcnab for no reason haha. But im glad karma hit back real quick for them (also, their treatment from the coast guard was a preview for the next ep, though i would think they’d have met chief vicks sis in the process)

Who cuts a cucumber like this? Its one of the easiest vegetables to cut. I dont know why this bothers me so much haha

I could hash out the henry and shawn argument, but as Gus pointed out, they have this same argument pretty frequently. So i think, yeah, im just going to store it for later.

Okay, correction from my post on Daredevils!, this was the dumbest thing he ever did. He risked so many peoples lives like wtf?? And i was about to say shawn wouldn’t do that unless he had a trick up his sleeve because he did know how to turn it on, but then when no one is looking he is genuinely relieved it worked so he really didn’t think it through and im so disappointed in him. Bad psychic.

P.S

Dulé!

[hekateofsoria]

To be trans is "esse curæ ipsi"

Since January 1st I have been on HRT and I am so blissful about it! As @lilithisrunningwithscissors told me, to be trans is a journey that requires you to take care of your needs, your body, and your psyche. Therefore, like every time I have something important to say or something I want to think about, I wrote my feelings and thoughts in my Latin diary:

"Kalendis Januariis : Hodie cœpi œstrogenus sumere. Is dies honestissimus lætissimusque mihi est ; enim is est meæ vitæ reliquæ primus dies, non solum quoniam nunc fio femina quam volo esse, sed etiam quatenus nunc officium mihi est esse curæ mihi et animum intendere in meum medicamentum."

Which can be translated as: "January 1st. Today I started taking oestrogen. This day is, to me, the most honourable and the happiest; indeed this is the first day of the rest of my life, not only because now I am becoming the woman I want to be, but also seeing that from now on it is my duty to take care of myself and to apply my mind on my medication".

The most important words in this text, the ones that stuck in my mind, are those three: esse curæ mihi. In Latin that's what we call a “double dative”: some verbs can be constructed with two complements in the dative case, one indicating for whom the action is done, the other the result or for what purpose the action is done. "Esse curæ alicui" means "to be an object of one's care".

When I say my duty is "esse curæ mihi", I’m saying I must be the object of my own care. I think this is relevant to say as a trans person, because we have to actively take care of ourselves (whether on HRT or not). In my case: I am only 20 years old and I had to think about my desire, or lack of, to have kids later— and thus I underwent a gamete conservation. I thought for months about whether or not to go on HRT: from the moment I start taking oestrogens it is a life-long treatment, my body will not start producing oestrogens on its own, I have to give it to my body. It is a very conscious and voluntary driven action of self-care.

I could continue like that for hours on end, but my point is: to be trans is to live in a world where you have to take care of yourself and your body consciously. I do not say that trans people have to be on HRT, no. Be it HRT or any other gender-affirming activity: a book you read, a game you play, a place you hang out at, etc. To be trans is to help your psyche and body, to be happier and at peace. We have to fight for our rights, we have to live through discriminations and it is a difficult time all around the world for trans folks, so let's be our own first ally. Let's take care of ourselves.

For me it was "officium mihi est esse curæ mihi", but I want to make it a maxim for trans people all around the world: to be an object of your own mind, to take care of yourself— esse curæ ipsi.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

MASTERPOST for The One True School Master of Vault 41

This is a continually updating table of contents to help with navigating my posts about TOTSMOV41, my WIP longfic.

The fic's premise: Sophie joins forces with a resurrected, former lover in the midst of trying to get Tedros back onto Camelot's throne, but that's not even half the uphill battle: rogue psyches and distrust abound and threaten to shatter the present state of the Woods as everyone knows it.

or

In which Rafal is resurrected during the events of One True King and things go horribly, disproportionately wrong!

Also, the fic will not be published for a very long time, so don't expect to see it anytime soon. I'm still on draft zero/the outline/script.

⸻

—Table of Contents—[Pre-Publication of Fic]

1. Title reveal and associated music

2. Round I of Excerpts

3. Apparently, the tag "otk" is banned from tumblr.

4. The misleading trope hint

5. Round II Excerpt

6. Visual ref. 1

7. Facts about the fic

8. Reblog #1

9. Aesthetic for one of the first scenes (and flower trivia in the comments)

10. A Peek at My Outline Process

11. Reblog #2, dialogue, and reference to suicide

12. Round III of Excerpts

13. Sketch - Rafal got punched in the face.

14. Screenshots of my Pinterest board for the fic

15. Update, more facts about the fic, and its references to philosophic concepts

16. Round IV Excerpt

17. Cover Reveal

18. Reblog #3

19. Reblog #4

20. Reblog #5

21. Hypothetical Non-Excerpt

22. The Recurring Japeth Punchline

23. Reblog #6

24. Reblog #7

25. Three "Fun" (Incongruous) Facts

26. Thanatos drive reference mentioned

27. Reblog #8

28. Reblog #9

29. Reblog #10

30. Ask containing minor fic trivia

31. Update and Round V of Excerpts

32. Which wizard is this? (a.k.a. The Tedros Insanity Poll)

33. Reblog #11

34. Reblog #12

35. Reblog #13 and Fic Tags

36. Round VI Excerpt

37. The Suffering Scale

38. Word Ask Game

39. Word Ask #1

40. Word Ask #2

41. Word Ask #3

42. Results of the Tedros Poll

43. Round VII of Excerpts

44. Guess the Last Verb/Noun

45. Minor Spoilers

46. Reblog #14

47. Reblog #15

48. Reblog #16

49. Visual ref. 2

50. Reblog #17

51. Slightly Cursed Thought?

52. Aesthetic

53. Round VIII of Excerpts

54. Scrapped Hypothetical Scene

55. Reblog #18

56. Visual ref. 3

57. Reblog #19

58. Reblog #20

59. Deliberate or Not Deliberate?

60. Update and Another Ask Game

61. Page Number Ask #1

62. Page Number Ask #2

63. Visual ref. 4

64. Visual ref. 5

65. Reblog #21

66. Reblog #22

67. Reblog #23

68. Reblog #24

69. Reblog #25

70. Verbing Nouns

71. Reblog #26

72. Reblog #27

73. A Little News

74. TLEA Evidence for One of My Theories

75. Reblog #28

76. Reblog #29

77. Trick-or-Treat Ask Excerpt

—The Story— [Links TBA after publication.]

Part I: Of Solipsism, Sophistry, and Storians.

Part II: Great Mistake II, Great Mistake III, and Verisimilitude

Part III: Phantoms, Prescience, and the Pen

Deleted Scene

Meta post

Fic Analysis, Commentary & Trivia

Propaganda

⸻

Need-to-Knows (a.k.a How I'm meddling with canon):

This fic will involve Rafal being resurrected, and lead up to an alternate continuity of plot events, all set during One True King. Thus, its title will be: The One True School Master of Vault 41. However, the title may or may not be a bit of a misnomer, so I might just end up subverting your expectations after all.

There will be a form of "psyche travel," or an approximation of time travel, using Dovey's crystal ball like in ACOT, the arson of a certain Wizard Tree to look forward to, and some offbeat, unprecedented action taken by the Storian. Of course, Agatha and Rafal will bicker a lot while Sophie plays the role of mediator. And, oh, Rafal will be tortured, slightly…

Additionally, there's a couple things to note about the premise and the changes I've made to canon, for context:

1. The fic will disregard Fall as canon, yet will acknowledge Rise.

2. There are several canon elements I'm not using. The Rafal is the fic is him from Rise, and also from TLEA. I decided to only acknowledge Rise but not Fall because I didn't want to work with the identity-swap twist. So Rafal is Rafal is Rafal in this case. I will draw from both his Rise characterization and his TLEA characterization.

3. Later in the fic, Rise Rhian only has minor appearances, and is present in Rafal's psyche, but he will not actually be a character until I write a possible sequel, if I ever do reach that point. So, you can assume Rhian was moderately Good to grey on the morality scale, and that Rafal was the one who ultimately committed the fratricide for the purposes of this fic.

4. I've decided not to acknowledge the OTK parentage twist. To clarify, Rafal will have no relation to Japeth, simply because it felt out of character for him to have children with a woman he seemed to loathe, even if it may have been less out of character for the canon Rhian falsely disguised as "Rafal." I personally thought it contradicted Rafal's characterization, so Japeth's placeholder father, who probably won't even be mentioned in the story, will be the Green Knight, to explain his magical prowess as the Snake.

Otherwise, for the most part, this fic is alternate continuity "canon," and diverges at some point during OTK.

I've tried to set the stage, eradicate confusion, and mediate potential disappointment as best as I could above, but if anyone would like me to demystify anything about the fic, my writing process, or ask anything else at all, feel free to send questions to me! Yet, I might not be able to answer everything, for various reasons, including limiting excessive spoilers, so please keep that in mind.

[kostudies]

18TH JANUARY, 2024 ; I came back to my hometown today in a rush for reasons, so I cancelled a few plans I had with friends today and for the weekend. my social psycho lecture was great, the professor is intriguing and I like his demeanor. I'm getting back to a routine that I like, but dread the upcoming workload (and the masters' candidatures...). My mind is clear for now.

I'm struggling a lot with basic verbs used in farsi, but I'll keep doing the unit again and again until I'm fine with it. I'd love to take more time to study more the languages I want, maybe during the summer holidays.

2h of lecture, 5 cigs, 2h of phone time, 3h of focus.

spanish and portuguese lessons on duolingo and persian lesson on drops.

begin and finish your social psych flashcards.

continue your cogn neurobiology and pharmaco flashcards.

inform yourself on the masters available (damn) and take notes.

hang out with a few friends in the evening.

take a walk for thirty minutes + read in the evening.

♡₊˚ 🎧 ; yoshimasa terui - arrogance.

[librarycards]

Hello! Sorry if you’ve posted about this somewhere already/if it’s redundant, but I thought your coinage of “transMad” was very cool and I’m wondering what that term means to you? I’m really happy to see other people talking about madness being intertwined w their gender/transness and looking forward to checking out your reading lists :))

thank you so much for asking about one of my favorite things to infodump about!! rather than rehash a bunch of stuff, if it's okay, I'm going to borrow a few quotes from past!me that i've published in different places // offer you some things of mine to read.

broadly, though, i use transMadness as a way to explore the identificatory, epistemological, methodological, and theoretical implications of an orientation (to use Sara Ahmed's term) toward bodymind noncompliance and self/selves-determination. this orientation refuses to delineate diagnostically between Maddened / transed experiences of the world/our many worlds, and instead takes this shared/overlapping ground as a jumping off point for solidarity and speculation - that is, something that allows us to imagine otherwise worlds / make them manifest through creativity and collaboration.

(Ha, and I claimed i wouldn't talk too much...famous autistic last words)

ANYWAY. here are some clips that might help explain more dimensions of transMadness. note that, in my dissertation-in-progress, i'm focusing on xeno/neogender and/as self-diagnostic cultures among queercrip and transMad internet users. i'm interested in the anti-psych liberatory potential of this digital community work, especially as it centers forms of knowledge and scholarship devalued within Academia Proper, especially because so much of it is made by and for disabled, Mad, queer, trans people, esp. youth. Onward to quotes!

On transMad epistemologies: citation/power/knowledge:

I’ll spend most of this piece looking not at what transMad is, but what it does. First and foremost, transMad cites. Even its name alludes to other portmanteaus: neuroqueer and queercrip being the best-known among them. Many people have offered many different (ever-“working”!) definitions of these terms; today, I offer co-coiner Nick Walker’s (2021) definition of neuroqueer: a verb and an adjective “encompass[ing] the queering of neurocognitive norms as well as gender norms” (p. 196). In terms of queercrip, I also return to its coiner, Carrie Sandahl (2003), who for whom the queercrip (as person and as method/movement) confuses the diagnostic gaze, bears sociopolitical witness, and performs glitchful[4], incongruous, confusing in(ter)ventions into possible community. At base, “queer” and “crip” appear as analogous, reclaimed slurs signifying marginalized transgression. When combined, they describe a loop, perhaps a Möbius strip: crip (ani)mates queer, queer tells-on crip. The specter of crip haunts queer—and even more explicitly, as we will see, trans—and the crip(ped) bodymind holds, moves, and fucks queerly. Who knows where “queer” stops and “crip” and “neuro” begin? Likewise, transMad, whose citational style leaves little room for diagnostic clarity amidst a pastiche of noncompliant text.

On transMad epistemologies: multiplicity (h/t @materialisnt):

They encourage us to remove others’ names from our bodies, to reign in unruly citations, to set “boundaries” which violate Mad, crip ethics of care (see Fletcher, 2019). In truth, any framing of individual authorship in which the body text is “mine” and the citations gesture “elsewhere” belie the inherent interdependence of all intellectual life, and particularly of transMad intellectual life. transMad plural scholar mix. alan moss (2022) argues in relation to the pathologization of multiple systems: “all people, indeed all that exists, is a system that itself is constantly enmeshed in several overlapping and interconnected systems.” In short, I am full of Is, and will continue as many more. Just as disability justice helps us understand all life as interdependent and deserving of access, a transMad approach sees our selves as numerous and fuzzy. We have permission to dispense with the need for tidy texts, with our interlocutors, edits, and iterations either obfuscated entirely or exclusively relegated to a bibliography. transMad citation may thus be considered akin to visible mending[6], creating flamboyantly messy, multiplicitous work that does not seek to pass as objective or discrete.

On the value of (crip) failure and/as "virtuality":

Don’t get me wrong: Zoom PhD work is a failing enterprise. That is to say, it is a queercrip, transMad enterprise, which is to say, it is a beautiful, beautiful project. Mitchell, Snyder, and Ware describe such “fortunate failures” in the context of “curricular cripistemologies.”5 Coined by Merri Lisa Johnson, the term “cripistemologies,” refers to “embodied ways of knowing in relation, knowing-with, knowing-alongside, knowing-across-difference, and unknowing,” ways which frequently exist outside the purview of mainstream academia.6 Curricular cripistemologies, then, refer to an intentional, queercrip deviation from normative pedagogical approaches which trades the corrective impulse of “special ed” and other rehabilitative programs, and offers instead a generative noncompliance.7 That is, rather than trying to identify, isolate, and ameliorate difference, curricular cripistemologies lean into difference as it is experienced by disabled students ourselves, querying how atmospheres of in/accessibility shape normative approaches to education and how the embrace of “failure,” not as a last-resort but as a first choice, poses potentially transformative possibilities.

On transMadness and fat liberation: (for @trans-axolotl's Psych Survivor Zine)

A transMad, fat approach to disorderly eating requires making connections with humility and understanding, and, as I discussed above, engaging in compassionate, critical interrogation of our own anti-fatness.

[...]

A transMad, fat, abolitionist politic is one that makes room. We imagine beyond the cage, even if the details of that imagining are not yet clear. Just as we have carved micro-sites of support within violent digital and in-person contexts, just as we have learned to think about our lifeworlds beyond the paradigm of “recovery or death,” we can also reconceptualize fatness not as the enemy, but as another form of bodymind noncompliance in alliance and/or entanglement with disorderly eating practices. For thin disorderly eaters, this requires us to fundamentally challenge the way we view food and embodiment, even while maintaining a Mad respect for alternative ways of approaching reality.

On xenogenders, virtuality, and self-determination:

It is this very “irrationality” –– the “unrealness,” the “you’ve-got-to-be-kiddinghood,” that is most frequently weaponized against xenogenders, as well as their newly-coined sets of xenopronouns. The perceived and actual virtuality of xenogenders is often placed against the notion of “actuality,” in this case, of “real” (or “practical”) genders and pronouns to be used in one’s “real life.” Disabled activists have rightly resisted the distinction between online and (presumed-offline) “real life,” given that this categorically excludes homebound bodyminds, as well as those without IRL social and support circles. That said, I believe the virtual –– as almost, not-quite, proximite, making-do –– is incredibly useful in thinking about xenoidentities as transMad tools –– particularly, as transMad tools of underground collaboration / co-liberation.

[...]

What if gender was a project we wanted to fail? That is, what if trans- was a process not of getting better, not of moving-toward a bodymind more sane, more straight, and more cisheteropatriarchially desirable, but rather a line of flight on a longer trail to illegibility? Indeed, what if we replaced pathology’s narrow “path” with a trail lighted by the language of our comrades, whose linguistic interventions make and break gender in ways heretofore unimaginable? Xenoidentities, both individually and as a trans-gressive M.O., are fundamental to a broader transMad project of crafted, collective illegibility; intersubjective citation (imagine what it feels like for someone to be the gender that you coined!); and collective care that refuses a politics of cure. Crucially both virtual and digital, xenoidentities are furthermore a manifestation of the power of trans, predominantly disabled digital counterpublics, who overturn the hierarchy which places the IRL-real above the digital-unreal, making unruly, Mad space in which (with apologies to Donna Haraway) a hundred xenoselves might bloom.

On Maddening queer "diagnosis":

In her indictment of all “Kwik-Fix Drugs,” Gray further indicates the practice of forced treatment as in and of itself as a project of violent normalization, regardless of specific target or reason. The intentional ambiguity between her narrative of Madness and her narrative of asexuality disrupt mounting demands for a healthy (sanitized, neoliberal, and consumable) queerness. A Mad ace approach identifies these demands as, indeed, comparable with cis heteronormative notions of sexual maturity and responsibility – the idea that participation in culturally-normative sexual practices is a prerequisite for health (Kim, 2011, 481) and thus, personal autonomy (Meerai, Abdillahi, and Poole 2016, 21). By fusing the “lack of sexual appetite” attributed to her medications for bipolar disorder with her asexuality, Gray destabilizes the binary between healthy-sexual-diversity and unhealthy-psychopathology. She is once again disrupting contemporary queer impulses to dissociate from ongoing histories of pathologization. Here, Mad and queer/asexual activism are as inseparable in text as they are in Gray. Gray and her comrades collectively refuse both sexuality-as-“rehabilitation” (See Kim 2011, 486) and asexual acceptance predicated upon normative “health” (Kim 2010, 158) – that is, they Madden asexuality. Twoey, in her own voice, remixes the sources of her own pathologization, staggering the supposedly-divine pronouncement of the DSM across pages and bookending its extracts with her own writing and art. In this undermining of the DSM’s epistemological polish, Gray disrupts the domination of written prose over poetry and visual art, while also critiquing the role of the DSM in commercialized health “care.” Her zine opens with the lines “sex sells and sex is sold / sex was being sold and i didn’t buy” (Gray 2018, n.p.). Gray indicates a pathology perceived not only in a refusal to practice sex, but also in a refusal to buy (into) it. After all, a refusal to buy into existing sexual paradigms is for her also a refusal to buy into a feminized reproductive mandate.

[hometownrockstar]

i think its crazy how no matter how pro mentally ill and psych critical u are you can still really easily downplay or insult yourself for your own symptoms like "oh i dont believe that other people are faking and i criticize the psychiatric institution but i am probably faking myself and everyone can tell and doesnt believe me" like you know. recently i started having a problem where sometimes my ability to form sentences is impacted and i cant use helping verbs or full sentences and it sometimes even impacts my internal wording like i cant word things correctly in my mind, and yet i still think "well my desire to refer to myself in third person or anything else is just a preference that makes me feel better, its not a NECESSARY thing so it cant be a mental illness thing and i am just pretending to do smth i dont NEED to do"

[maristelina]

I was wondering if you have ever made a theory about the Milgram project as a whole instead of just individual characters because recently I've started thinking about the real life milgram experiment and it's relation to the milgram project and us as the participants. Would love to hear your thoughts about this

I haven't written my thoughts properly about this before but I can give you a quick rundown of it.

The Milgram Project is closer to the Stanford Experiment than MILGRAM itself but it is still connected.

There's also a core detail in the MILGRAM novels that expands what MILGRAM does with its trials. Going more in-depth with spoilers.

Jackalope, the current one we're seeing at the highest position, seems to be looking for a way to have "beautiful/elegant" punishment system. Jackalope gets really passionate about this even in the videos!

Jackalope has talked about multiple MILGRAM experiments and torments indicating it is something that probably has been happening since dawn of man.

It's also important to mention that MILGRAM has a lot of religious imagery that is on purpose.

Dante's inferno (Abandon hope all ye who enter on promotional materials, The Emphasis on Doors/Gates).

The emphasis on sin instead of crime when describing our prisoners. "Book of Sins", "Sing your sins", Undercover's lyrics.

Not only that, using the name Es is very interesting too.

In Freudian psychoanalysis, the "es" refers to the id - the primitive and instinctual part of the human psyche that focuses on immediate satisfaction and operates unconsciously.

In existential philosophy, "es" is sometimes used to describe a person's intrinsic nature or essence. The true "es" of a person as opposed to their public persona.

In some religious and spiritual traditions, especially Hinduism, the "es" refers to a supreme, divine power or absolute cosmic spirit. It represents the latent spiritual nature underlying all of existence.

"Es" is also sometimes used to mean quintessence or embodiment. For example describing someone as the "es" of a certain quality.

In Spanish, "es" is the third-person singular form of the verb "ser", meaning "to be". So "es" means "he/she/it is"

Not only is our Es gender neutral, Jackalope makes it a point that the Warden has to be hopelessly devoid of self but still able to view sin in different perspectives.

Jackalope is also contradictory that he goes you have to be human to be able to judge human sin. But he also wants to strip away Es's individuality? Isn't that interesting?

He even mentions that the current Es is the ideal warden. A vessel to express our thoughts about the prisoners.

This is something I haven't fully thought of yet, but I want to talk about Jackalope himself.

The history of Jackalope is manmade and is a hoax to drive sales. But if you think about the theme of MILGRAM so far, I think it's very interesting they chose this peculiar creature. They have the ability to hypnotize people by dancing and using telepathic powers to "sing" to people. They're also canonically shapeshifters.

Sorry for my messy unorganized thoughts, I figured this might help spark some discussion for now! :)