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Mary frequently doesn't respond to my texts for days or weeks. I keep at it, and then one day she responds immediately. Then once in a while, I get her to call me, and we talk for two to seven hours. Last weekend, after a couple of unresponsive weeks, she became rather chatty, albeit with rather random responses. On Sunday evening, we talked on the phone and watched the second episode of a show called Paradise that she's obsessed with. The last time we talked on the phone, she asked me to watch the first episode with her, and I said I wanted to watch all the episodes with her as a clever way of getting her to talk to me more often. She said maybe I wasn't really tricking her because that's what she wanted. So there were only two weeks between these phone calls, which is a record.
This time, I was high. I've texted people I trust while I was high, including Mary, but I've never talked on the phone. Mary's voice sounded softer than ever and like it was right inside my ear. Most of the episode proceeded uneventfully, but there was a part where a woman picked up a carton of ice cream at the store and asked her son, "Horse?" and he said, "Horse." I understood this to mean that the ice cream was horse-flavored, and I didn't question that. It's kind of a weird show. In the next shot, her son was riding the coin-operated horse ride outside the store. I laughed my ass off as I explained my misunderstanding to Mary, and she laughed at my laughter and asked why I don't laugh more often. I should have told her she needs to be funnier. Then there was a part where a woman, I think the same one, told some guy that it was sexy when he did what she wanted. I boldly asked Mary if that was true and said that I could do what she wanted. She laughed. When the episode ended, I said it again and told her I needed to say it now before I got my inhibitions back. She said that because I probably wouldn't remember that conversation, she would be blunt, and of course I didn't like the sound of that, but all she said was that it was obvious (i.e. that I wanted to do what she wanted). "Within reason," she added before I got a chance. "I trust you," I said, and that was so true. I've told her before that if I could, I would give her my soul and feel perfectly safe. I kept her talking while she needed to go to bed, and she said she was going to do a Sudoku before bed and that made her a nerd and also a hypocrite for calling me and her sisters nerds. I said she needed to tell me what words I was allowed to call her so I didn't get in trouble. She said I can call her whatever words she calls me. I said, "I like that you set the rules, and I have to obey them." She said, "I know you do." Perhaps this experience is just weird to anyone else, but it was beautiful and titillating and thrilling to me, and this is my blog, so of course I'm going to write about my life, not everyone else's. I used to be scared that she would feel misled about our friendship if I told her I loved her, and now I routinely test her boundaries and kiss her ass, and she doesn't hate it. I guess I'll keep at it until she gets a boyfriend or tells me to get lost, but I don't anticipate either of those things happening. She hasn't responded to me about watching Paradise together this evening, though, so DuckTales alone it is.
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This is an op-ed I recently sent to the Salt Lake Tribune, which I'm publishing here and now because, predictably enough, they didn't. In January 2025, in response to the re-election of the most xenophobic American president in a century, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints issued another brief, unsigned statement reiterating its nuanced stance on immigration. “We follow Jesus Christ by loving our neighbors,” it said. “The Savior taught that the meaning of ‘neighbor’ includes all of God’s children.” Around that same time, in one of my Signal chats, I also suggested protesting the church's silence at General Conference. I hoped someone more experienced would run with the idea so I didn't have to do the work, but I was willing to do the work if I had to. It got some interest, but not enough to encourage me to persist after someone brushed it aside to talk about the NIck Shirley protest at the Draper aquarium instead. I kid you not, a couple of weeks later, the same guy suggested the same idea. I'm not mad. Whatever it takes is fine by me. Then some women took over the planning, made it into a protest against the church's sex abuse cover-ups, and said that the men were welcome to participate but the focus needed to remain on them. I felt that this topic would be less timely and effective than one tied into the current national political situation, but of course I still supported it. I encouraged everyone to keep it respectful, not because the church deserves respect but because triggering its members' persecution complex would be counterproductive. We were all on board with that. The other guy still backed out after he became too concerned about alienating his Mormon parents. I didn't worry about that because my Mormon parents alienated me years ago. By most measures, frankly, the protest was a flop. We ran out of time to make signs beforehand. Some people showed up to the rendezvous point late, so the Mormons attending conference were inside by the time we reached Temple Square. We just walked up to the Capitol in Handmaid's Tale robes with no signs. It wasn't originally part of the plan for me to wear one, but we had an extra after a woman had to back out, and walking to the Capitol in it was much less embarrassing than walking to the rendezvous point in a suit on conference day and making people think I was Mormon. Waiting for the bathroom in the gift shop was a little weird, but I survived. So anyway, I don't think we accomplished much, but people took notice of us and I had a great time with my friends, and that's important too. I also made a new friend while i was waiting at the rendezvous point for the late people. Some nice random woman sat by me, complimented my suit, chatted about her life, and showed me things from her backpack - a very interesting poem, her favorite book (which used to be an overdue library book), and two pictures (one on each side of the paper) that she let me keep. I love people like her who are kind and intelligent but just don't understand that it's weird to discuss random things with strangers. She may have been homeless, but she said her boyfriend designed video games, so hopefully that keeps them afloat, unless she made that up, which she might have because I couldn't find the game she told me about - Ring Quest, a game about a cat who's searching for a wedding ring and knows that he's in a video game. I couldn't find her zine, "Jewish Cocaine," either, but that might plausibly just not be on the internet. Bummer. At least I have these cool pictures. Oh yes, and after our protest, a woman with no shoes approached us in the parking lot, sobbing, breathing hard, and telling us that she'd been framed for murder and every cop in the city was looking for her. She wanted to go to her uncle's house so he could say she'd been there the whole time. We took her to the general area she said her uncle lived in so she could go sleep off whatever she was on. So once again, this was a very worthwhile experience.
Oh yes, I suppose today is Easter. Naturally, after another protest today against the Supreme Court legalizing verbal conversion "therapy" because First Amendment rights somehow trump professional standards of conduct, I'll celebrate in my usual manner by getting high at home by myself. Respectfully, THC has blessed my life more than Jesus ever did. I spent New Year's Eve with some friends and ate a pot brownie for the first time. I assumed it would be essentially the same as my beloved Kush Kubes, and I didn't inquire about the dosage or anything. Oops. It was much more intense than a Kush Kube, and it was, at first, fun and frightening at the same time. Even as I felt unconditional love from the people around me, engaged in deep spiritual conversations, and laughed at silly things, I felt anxious about the non-zero chance that a SWAT team with the wrong address would break down the door. So much of our lives is entirely out of our control, and sometimes I find that unbearable to think about. I also experienced some degree of ego death and felt like I might fall asleep and never wake up. By five in the morning, I hadn't slept at all, wasn't having fun anymore, and worried that my brain was beyond repair. My roommate was up, so I asked him to take me to the emergency room. This, incidentally, is the roommate who kept eating my food and using my stuff without asking, but I recently told him to stop after I went to fix my dry hands, found my lotion empty, and snapped a little. I didn't handle it perfectly, but I stood up for myself and kept my anger reasonably controlled, and he bought me more lotion, and I let it go. After he took me to the emergency room, I had more positive feelings toward him. Isn't that beautiful? I also felt love from the emergency room staff who gave up their holiday for me. It was a far more positive experience than my last trip to the emergency room, when Hayden Nelson of the Logan City Police Department made me go after he verbally abused me, and the staff treated me like an assembly line product they wanted to finish as fast as possible. This experience gave me some healing and closure. I obviously made a dumb mistake, but it was worth it, and I'm not sorry for doing drugs. One of the lasting side effects of Kush Kubes is that I laugh and smile more often. Maybe the pot brownie was the reason that I laughed for a full minute at the ending to the Firefly episode "Our Mrs. Reynolds" last night and continue to laugh every time I think of it. Why did it take me so long to watch Firefly? My latest ebook, Lights Over Logan, is out. I have mixed feelings about the text I forced myself to write, but at least I love the cover. Okay, so, I paid an artist to draw the cover. I generously picked this random guy who reached out to me on Discord over a year earlier to offer his services and said he was "super duper cheap." Indeed, when I broached the topic, he said he would work for any price I named because he hadn't gotten a commission in years. Maybe now I know why. First of all, I was rather disappointed in the artwork itself. I asked if he could draw realistically, giving him the character concept art I made in ChatGPT and an example of what I had in mind, the cover art for My Teacher is an Alien. He said, "Yes I can." That was a lie. What he gave me was not only not realistic, it looked like it was made in Microsoft Paint, albeit by someone more skilled than me. But whatever, someday the sun will run out of fuel and my hopes and dreams won't matter, so I would just deal with it and pretend this was a stylistic choice I made. And the lighting was pretty, so I would just accept it even though I told him multiple times that this scene was during a new moon, meaning maximum darkness. I will say that at first, he worked very fast, and I would take a day or two to give him feedback because I needed time to think. But he produced this draft in late November, asked if I wanted any changes, and then ghosted me with no warning at all after I asked him for a change. So, to recap in case the text is too small, I asked him nicely to fix the shape of the trees that don't look like trees, at least not from Earth. After eight days (rounding down) of no response, I followed up. Two days later, he said he was busy with school, which he had never told me would be an issue. After eight more days (rounding down) of no response, I said he hadn't warned me he was going to do this. That was the nicest way I could think of to say, "What the fuck, man?" He said he was seeing his family and didn't have his drawing equipment. That is to say, he hadn't brought his drawing equipment with him even though I was paying him to draw something for me and had told him I needed it by the end of the year. Still keeping my temper, I asked him why not. And then he had the nerve to get snippy with me and say he didn't have a deadline (not true), so I stopped keeping my temper. I later edited "an asshole" to "rude," but he blocked me anyway. So this is where I learn a valuable lesson that artists' asses are made of gold and I must defer to their narcissistic whims with infinite patience, right? Maybe he hopes so, but no. Having already paid for "real" art and both received and been treated like crap, I felt not an ounce of guilt about enlisting ChatGPT to fix the crap. I did put it off until the last minute because I was afraid that ChatGPT would also crush my hopes and dreams by making a stupid mistake and repeatedly failing to fix it. But I had a little discussion with it about the changes I wanted (and had to explain that this scene was in Logan Canyon, not on an alien planet), and it threw together a prompt and gave me this on the first try: Now, respectfully, if you try to tell me this cover is inferior to the original just because you know it was made by a machine, we'll both know you're full of shit. It's light-years closer to what I wanted, and any imperfections are probably attributable to the source material. I poured out effusive praise on ChatGPT. Then, at the risk of ruining a good thing, I asked for a couple more modifications. Mary should have had a backpack because the book mentions her using one, and the alien still didn't look as realistic as I'd prefer. So I got this: In case you think the alien's backpack is an error, it's not. That was in the concept art. ChatGPT made the scene a touch lighter (unwanted, but not a big deal) and moved the alien much too close (kind of a big deal). But no need to panic yet. Picking my battles, I disregarded the lighting and asked it to "Make the alien stand further away, like in the original picture." As you can see, ChatGPT failed to follow my instruction and moved the alien considerably further away than in the original picture. But you know what? I can live with that. It's probably better this way. More mysterious. Anyway, I decided to stop pushing my luck while I was still pleased. Now I'm working up the courage to try to fix the cover art for my first book, Crusaders of the Chrono-Crystal, which was supposed to look like 50s-60s sci-fi cover art but instead looks like PlayStation 1 graphics because the artist didn't paint over his computer models like he said he would. Some of these people deserve to be replaced by machines. Career-wise, I mean. I'm not wishing harm on them.
Lights Over Logan is out now as an ebook on various platforms. On one occasion, I took two Kush Kubes because they were stuck together, and I decided the universe wanted me to have both of them. On another occasion, my first Kush Kube didn't have as much of an effect after a while as I'd hoped, and I supplemented it with another one. With those exceptions, though, I take only one each time. Conventional wisdom would suggest that my body would become desensitized to the drug, and I'd be tempted to take higher doses to achieve the same high. That doesn't happen. If anything, the intensity of the highs have trended upward, and the last couple of times were so intense that I've decided to take a break for a month. I picked a month because I'll want to get high again when I'm home alone on Christmas.
I have no regrets so far. Psychedelics have given me the most spiritual, pleasurable, and peaceful experiences of my life. Even these last couple of times, which included some fear and paranoia, were awesome and totally worth it. Best Thanksgiving ever. It was like being strapped to a rocket, even more so than usual. I lost more control than I'm used to - or did I only lose the illusion of control? There are philosophical and scientific arguments to be made that free will is bogus, so maybe psychedelics help me see that I'm just a puppet. Then again, I tend to write weirder texts to my friends when I'm on them, with full knowledge that they're weird and that my friends will find them amusing, so maybe it's not that simple. I wish everyone could feel what I've felt, and I know that I sound insane to anyone who's never felt what I've felt. I'm just taking a break because I don't want to die yet. I don't think one of these things could actually kill me, but I felt like I was going to die or at least have a stroke, so better safe than sorry. I wanted to submit to the experience, but not if it was a medical emergency. Without any kind of neuroscience expertise, I assume the experiences are getting more intense because I'm permanently rewiring my brain, so each dose of the drug is building off what's already in my head. I do believe I'm permanently rewiring my brain because since I started, my depression has been drastically reduced, I laugh a lot more often, and I have more introspective thoughts without really trying. Again, psychedelics have been overwhelmingly positive for me, but look, I'm trying to be responsible and acknowledging that they're not without risks. I can go without them for a month. I can go without them whenever I want. I've found that my body craves them for a couple of hours ahead of time if I've decided I'm going to take one on a given day, but if I've decided I won't, it doesn't. Simple as that. Anyway, I think the "negative" aspects of my recent experiences are decent preparation for the scary but necessary parts of psilocybin trips. Psilocybin is my goal, the reason I got interested in psychedelics to prepare for death in the first place, but I'm also kind of scared, which is why I should prepare for that by taking as many Kush Kubes as possible - but one at a time, with sufficient rest periods in between. I don't expect anyone is using my blog as their primary source of political news, so I don't expect I need to go into a lot of detail about the things I want to get off my chest. First, the bad news. Democrats lost their balls and caved on the shutdown. I don't think it's the apocalyptic failure that some people are worried about, though. Maybe it will even be for the best in the long run. Republicunts were probably never going to negotiate on the healthcare subsidies, which would have expired in December anyway. Republicunts were willing to starve children to avoid negotiating on the healthcare subsidies. They. Are. Not. Good. People. And as the party controlling every branch of government and refusing to work with the opposition, they were responsible for the shutdown, and most Americans know it.
The worse news, for me, is that the funding bill to end the shutdown includes an entirely unrelated provision to close the loophole in the 2018 farm bill that allows me to legally purchase gummies with THC in them. I know my accounts of being high mean very little to the people who didn't experience them, but Kush Kubes have changed my life. I daresay they've permanently rewired my brain in good ways. I laugh a lot more often, I'm more introspective, and my depression is almost gone. After hearing this news, I thought I was depressed, but then I realized that I actually felt nothing, and I was just telling myself I was depressed because feeling nothing feels bad compared to feeling good, but as soon as I recognized and excised that thought pattern, I felt fine. This is the first time that the orange taint's presidency has had a substantial negative effect on me personally, but I didn't wait that long to start protesting because I care about people who aren't me. Anyway, there's still a year for the hemp industry to try to get this provision changed, and all drugs will be legal someday, and in the worst-case scenario, I'll just have to use real weed like most of my friends. Good news: the Supreme Court paused its wholesale destruction of democracy and social progress to tell Kim Davis to fuck off. To me, nothing represents modern Christianity more than a woman who's been married four times trying to ban other people's marriages because they're against her beliefs. Because I don't believe in mocking people's physical appearances, I won't joke about how strange it is for such an ugly woman to be married four times. I was in college when the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage nationwide. I should have been thrilled about it, like other people my age. Instead, I felt sick and depressed because Mormonism had taught me that same-sex marriage would destroy society, and now it had definitively lost that fight, and society would label me as a bigot. I tried to tiptoe around LGBTQ issues on my blog because my religion's positions on them were embarrassing and clashed with my own conscience, but I couldn't admit that to the world. I will never forgive Mormonism for doing that to me. Let me be unambiguous now, much too late: I support same-sex marriage, I support this decision, and any sorry excuse for a god who creates gay people and then tells them not to do what makes them happy can go to hell. Of course, there's nothing brave about making this statement now. Most Americans support same-sex marriage now because none of the bullshit we were warned would happen has happened. More good news: the Democrats released some emails they subpoenaed from Epstein's estate, which make his former best friend and current US president look even worse than he already did. The orange taint is crapping his pants. More than usual, I mean. As much as I wish he would die already, it gives me satisfaction to know that every waking moment of his existence is miserable. And I'm optimistic that this issue will destroy his presidency, despite his inhuman immunity to consequences for his actions, simply because of how very hard he's trying to keep those files hidden. This is the guy who said, accurately, ""I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose any voters," so whatever's in the files must be... wow. The fact that the world's most notorious sex trafficker called him "evil beyond belief" in one of these emails could be a bit of foreshadowing. And of course, because I'm not in a cult, I want every Democrat who's implicated in these crimes to go to prison for life too. Dear MAGA cultists, in the unlikely event that any of you are reading this: the best time to abandon your orange Messiah was ten years ago, but the second best time is now. You will always be remembered for your mindless, unwavering support of the worst person in the world - sorry, nothing can change that now - but you can at least redeem yourselves a tiny little bit by drawing the line somewhere. Or you can keep saying the emails are fake, like the dipshits you are. Whatever. |
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- Amelia Whitlock "I don't know how well you know Christopher Randall Nicholson, but... he's trolling. You should read his blog. It's delightful." - David Young About the AuthorC. Randall Nicholson is a white cisgender Christian male, so you can hate him without guilt, but he's also autistic and asexual, so you can't, unless you're an anti-vaxxer, in which case the feeling is mutual. This blog is where he periodically rants about life, the universe, and/or everything. Archives
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