Im sick of hearing "primacy but not supremacy" its the same thing primacy is defined as "the fact of being primary, preeminent, or more important." and is even used in 1960s Catholic theology books. Affirming papal primacy doesn't go with eastern orthodox theology. Also eastern orthodox can cope with "First among equal!" or "Extra honor but no extra authority!" that's completely wrong to the early church and first among equals isnt a good term, if i were always first at something i would be more supreme then another. In regards to the early church Heres some references, Quoted in “Athanasius Quoted works” page 110 Pope Julius Letter to the eusebians at Antioch “And why is nothing said to us (The Apostolic see) concerning the Alexandrians in particular, are you ignorant that the custom has been for word to be written first to us and then for a just decision to be passed from this place” so he is saying in the matter of disputes matter should be brought to the see of Rome as to make a judgment and this is the east he is speaking to not just his patriarchal territories. Then he goes on and says “I beseech you readily bare with me what i write is for the common good, for what we have received from the Blessed apostle Peter that i signify unto you and i should have not written this as deeming that these things should be manifest unto all men had not these proceedings so disturbed us”
some might say this is peter syndrome where we get all giddy and excited when peter is mentioned and Rome is mentioned but i would like to say Pope Julius said he has received something from the Blessed apostle Peter that disputes in the east should be brought to his judgment to be settled.
Now from the writings of the early Church Historian sozomen source: Volume 2 of the nicene and post nicene fathers second series. Book 3 Chapter 10. Heres what he says about this whole affair of Pope Julius writing to the antiochians and what he ment in that segment “the bishops of Egypt having sent the declaration in writing, that these allegations were false and julius having been apprised (to give information to someone) that Athanasius was far from being in safety in egypt send for him to his own city he replied at the same time to the letter of the bishops who were convened at antioch (convened: to bring together a group of people for a meeting, or to meet for a meeting) for just then he happened to receive the epistle and accused them of having planned clandestinely(in a secretive and illicit way.) introduced innovations Contrary to the nicene dogmas and of having violated the laws of the church by neglecting to invite him to join their synod for he alleged that is a sacral Canon which declares that whatever is enacted contrary to the bishop of Rome is null."
Now from Nicea II Pope Hadrians Letter
‘Stand firm; for if you abide with perseverance in the orthodox Faith in which you have begun and so through you the sacred and venerable images are restored in those regions to their former state—just as the lord and emperor Constantine of pious memory and blessed Helena, who promulgated the orthodox Faith, raised up the holy, catholic, and apostolic church of Rome as your spiritual mother, and with the other orthodox emperors venerated it as the head of all the churches...'"
"...of all the churches... If, moreover, following the traditions of the orthodox faith, you embrace the judgment of the church of the blessed Peter prince of the apostles and, as the holy emperors your predecessors did of old, so you too venerate it with honor and love his vicar from the depths of your hearts, or rather if your rule granted by God follows their orthodox faith in accordance with our holy Roman church, the prince of the apostles, to whom was given by the Lord God the power to bind and to loose sins in heaven and on earth."https://orthodoxchurchfathers.com/fathers/npnf214/npnf2258.html
the blessed Cyril, bishop of Alexandria, says: "That we may remain members of our apostolic head, the throne of the Roman Pontiffs, of whom it is our duty to seek what we are to believe and what we are to hold, venerating him, beseeching him above others; for his it is to reprove, to correct, to appoint, to loose, and to bind in place of Him Who set up that very throne, and Who gave the fulness of His own to no other, but to him alone, to whom by divine right all bow the head, and the primates of the world are obedient as to our Lord Jesus Christ Himself.
St. Damasus, Pope of Rome (A.D. 304-384)
“Although the catholic churches diffused throughout the world are one bridal chamber of Christ, yet the holy Roman church has been preferred to all other churches, not by any synodical decrees, but has obtained the primacy by the voice of our Lord and Savior in the gospel, saying: ‘You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church, and the gates of hell will never prevail against it; and I will give to you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven…..Therefore, the first see of Peter the Apostles is that of the Roman church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing” (Decree of Damasus, Roman Synod 382. Patrologia Latina 13.374; Jalland, T.G. (1944). Church and Papacy. London: Morehouse-Gorham Co. p. 255-57)
“For in view of our office there is no freedom for us, on whom a zeal for the Christian religion is incumbent greater than on all others, to dissimulate or to be silent. We bear the burdens of all who are oppressed, or rather the blessed apostle Peter, who in all things protects and preserves us, the heirs, as we trust, of his administration, bears them in us…[proceeds to list a number of errors being promoted in Tarragona (Spain)]… it is also inappropriate henceforth for you to deviate from that path, if you do not wish to be separated from our company by synodal sentence….Enough error on this matter! All priests who do not wish to be torn from the solidity of the apostolic rock, upon which Christ built the universal Church, should now hold the aforementioned rule…[lists more errors]…let them know that they have been expelled by the authority of the apostolic see from every ecclesiastical office, which they used unworthily…[lists more errors]… there is freedom for no priest of the Lord to be ignorant of the statutes of the apostolic see and the venerable decrees of the canons…” (Pope Siricius to Bishop Himerius of Tarragona 385 AD, Epistle 1, Directa Ad Decessorem. Patrologia Latina 13.1132; Ed. Pierre Coustant, Epistolae Romanorum pontificum (Paris, 1721; reprint Farnborough, 1967), 623-638.)
St. Innocent, Pope of Rome (401-417)
The reply of Pope St. Innocent in 417 to the Africans concerning their appeal on the controversy of Pelagius/Celestius goes like this:
“In making inquiry with respect to those things that should be treated with all solicitude by bishops, and especially by a true and just and Catholic Council, by preserving, as you have done, the example of ancient tradition, and by being mindful of ecclesiastical discipline, you have truly strengthened the vigour of our Faith, no less now in consulting us than before in passing sentence. For you decided that it was proper to refer to our judgement, knowing what is due to the Apostolic See, since all we who are set in this place, desire to follow the Apostle (Peter) from whom the very episcopate and whole authority of this name is derived. Following in his steps, we know how to condemn the evil and to approve the good. So also, you have by your sacerdotal office preserved the customs of the Fathers, and have not spurned that which they decreed by a divine and not human sentence, that whatsoever is done, even though it be in distant provinces, should not be ended without being brought to the knowledge of this See, [39] that by its authority the whole just pronouncement should be strengthened, and that from it all other Churches (like waters flowing from their natal source and flowing through the different regions of the world, the pure streams of one incorrupt head), should receive what they ought to enjoin, whom they ought to wash, and whom that water, worthy of pure bodies, should avoid as defiled with uncleansable filth. I congratulate you, therefore, dearest brethren, that you have directed letters to us by our brother and fellow-bishop Julius, and that, while caring for the Churches which you rule, you also show your solicitude for the well-being of all, and that you ask for a decree that shall profit all the Churches of the world at once; [40] so that the Church being established in her rules and confirmed by this decree of just pronouncement against such errors, may be unable to fear those men, etc.” (Pope Innocent I, Epistle 29, to the Council of Carthage (In requirendis). Jan 27, 417 AD. Patrologia Latina 33.780)
Pope St. Zosimus (AD 417)
Innocent’s successor, Pope Zosimus, continued to write letters to Africa concerning the same Pelagian issue:
“Although the tradition of the Fathers has attributed such great authority to the Apostolic See that no one would dare to disagree wholly with its judgment, and it has always preserved this [judgment] by canons and rules, and current ecclesiastical discipline up to this time by its laws pays the reverence which is due to the name of Peter, from whom it has itself descended …; since therefore Peter the head is of such great authority and he has confirmed the subsequent endeavors of all our ancestors, so that the Roman Church is fortified … by human as well as by divine laws, and it does not escape you that we rule its place and also hold power of the name itself, nevertheless you know, dearest brethren, and as priests you ought to know, although we have such great authority that no one can dare to retract from our decision, yet we have done nothing which we have not voluntarily referred to your notice by letters … not because we did not know what ought to be done, or would do anything which by going against the advantage of the Church, would be displeasing.…(From the epistle (12) “Quamvis Patrum traditio” to the African bishops, March 21, 418. Patrologia Latina 20. 676; Denzinger, H., & Rahner, K. (Eds.). (1954). The sources of Catholic dogma. (R. J. Deferrari, Trans.) (p. 47). St. Louis, MO: B. Herder Book Co.)
MG 54.743. Jerome: "I keep the unity in communion with your Beatitude, that is, with Peter's chair. I know that the Church has been built upon that rock." (Epist. 15.1, to Pope Damasus, ML 22.355).
The Roman See is the "Apostolic Chair" or the "Apostolic See." Augustine: "The sovereignty of the Apostolic Chair was always in the Roman Church" (Epist. 43, ML 33.163); "Apostolic See" (Serm. 131.10, ML 38.734).
The Roman Church presides as a sovereign over all the other churches. Gregory of Nazianzus: "It presides over all" (Poems, 2.1.12, MG 37.1068); Theodoret of Cyrus: "That most holy see holds in many ways the sovereignty over the churches of the entire world, especially because it kept immune of heretical corruption, and never a dissenter sat in it, but everyone
The Roman See is the source of all rights in the Church. Ambrose: "From that See derive into all the rights of the venerable communion." (Epist. 11.4, ML 16.986).
"Rome has spoken, the case is closed" ("Roma locuta est, causa finita est"). This famous axiom derives from Augustine saying about the debate on Pelagian heresy: "Concerning this question two conciliar decisions have been sent to the Apostolic See: also rescripts came from there, hence the trial is over." (Serm. 131.10, ML 38.734).
The Roman Pontiffs themselves constantly asserted their primacy, as is shown in the following summary of their doctrine.
They apply to themselves Christ's words to Peter, Matt 16.18 ff.: "Thou art Peter..." and John 21.15-17: "Feed My lambs..." Thus Siricius, Boniface I, the "Decree of Gelasius," Hormisdas, Pelagius I, Nicholas I (Denz. 184, 234, 350, 383, 446, 640).
Sure, here is the transcription of the text from the third image:
The Roman Pontiff is Peter's moral person. Siricius: "[The Roman Pontiff is] the apostolic rock." (Denz. 184). Innocent I: "Whenever a question of faith is dealt with, all must refer only to Peter, that is, to the one who bears his name and his honor." (Denz. 218). Leo I: "The blessed Peter did not leave the government which he received... In his See [that is, the Roman] his power is alive and his authority is visible." (Serm. 32 f., ML 54.145 f.).
Peter remains in his successors. See Leo I, just quoted. Philip, apostolic legate to the Council of Ephesus: Peter "is always living in his successors." (Denz. 3056).
The Roman Pontiff is "Peter's heir" (Siricius, Denz. 181) and has "Peter's See" (Leo I, quoted above; Gelasius, quoted below).
The Roman Pontiff has "the care of all the churches." (Innocent I, Denz. 218; Leo I, Serm. 5.2 ML 54.153). He is "the head of all the churches" (Boniface I, Denz. 233; "Decree of Gelasius," Denz. 350; Pelagius I, Denz. 446, 640).
The honor of writing the last Latin manual of Scholastic theology truly belongs to Emmanuel Doronzo (1903-1976), the eminent sacramental theologian of Catholic University of America (Washington, D.C.) in the mid-to-late 20th Century. He wrote a complete, traditional Scholastic, dogmatic manual in 1966, a year after the closing of Vatican II
The Science of Sacred Theology by Doronzo Emmanuel.
https://obrascatolicas.com/livros/Teologia/Doronzo%20The%20Science%20of%20Sacred%20Theology%20for%20Teacers%20Bk%204.pdf
https://www.patheos.com/blogs/davearmstrong/2018/02/papal-participation-in-the-first-seven-ecumenical-councils.html since i was reasearching constantinople I i had came across this: "This council also was convoked by an emperor, Theodosius I. [Ibid.] The language of his decree suggests he regarded the Roman see as a yardstick of Christian orthodoxy."
Pope Vigilius came to become Pope amid much turmoil in 537, as his predecessor, St Silverius, had been accused of treason, defrocked, and exiled by Belisarius, the general under Empress Theodora. Silverius had refused to re-instate the monophysite patriarch of Constantinople, whom Pope Agapetus had deposed — even here, a recognition of the canonical authority of Rome to depose and judge the other most prominent and important Sees of Christendom was something the Popes fought bitterly to maintain against the emperors.
Where was this canonical authority established? In fact, it was as old as the Church itself. When Athanasius had been exiled by a judgment of the Alexandrian Church, Pope Julius had written on his behalf (341): “Judgment ought to have been made, not as it was, but according to the ecclesiastical canon. It behoved you all to write us so that the justice of it might be seen as emanating from all.” Again: “Are you ignorant that the custom has been to write first to us and then for a just decision to be passed from this place [Rome]?” For Pope St Julius, the judgment of Athanasius which had not sought approval from Rome was a canonical novelty: “not thus are the constitutions of Paul, not thus the traditions of the Fathers. This is another form of procedure, and a novel practice.” However, the reference of judgment to the Apostolic See was something taught by the Apostle Peter: “For what we have heard from the Apostle Peter, these things I signify to you.”
Cope.

Feel free to suggest whatever book. I am making good use of library genesis so I can get whatever I want.
I tried searching for articles myself on the negative numinous and although it seems like an essential concept to me I could find nothing. Maybe I just suck at researching.
I'm doing my MA thesis on Rudolf Otto and applying his work to the study of horror fiction. Example, one of the books I am citing is Haunted Presence: The Numinous in Gothic Fiction by S L Varnado. But where they focused on gothic horror, I'm looking at weird horror. So, authors like H P Lovecraft, and David Lindsay.
Rudolf Otto's concept of the negative numinous is mentioned ONCE in a footnote of Idea of the Holy. With this concept he is articulating an evil face of holiness: Satan, or wrath. But this concept exists elsewhere in that book. For example,
"The numinous only unfolds its full content by slow degrees, as one by one the series of requisite stimuli or incitements becomes operative. But where any whole is as yet incompletely presented its earlier and partial constituent moments or elements, aroused in isolation, have naturally something bizarre, unintelligible, and even grotesque about them. This is especially true of that religious moment which would appear to have been in every case the first to be aroused in the human mind, viz. daemonic dread. Considered alone and per se, it necessarily and naturally looks more like the opposite of religion than religion itself. If it is singled out from the elements which form its context, it appears rather to resemble a dreadful form of auto-suggestion, a sort of psychological nightmare of the tribal mind, than to have anything to do with religion; and the supernatural beings with whom men at this early stage profess relations appear as phantoms, projected by a morbid, undeveloped imagination afflicted by a sort of persecution-phobia. One can understand how it is that not a few inquirers could seriously imagine that 'religion' began with devil-worship, and that at bottom the devil is more ancient than God."
"How should it be logically inferred from the still 'crude', half-daemonic character of a moon-god or a sun-god or a numen attached to some locality, that he is a guardian and guarantor of the oath and of honourable dealing, of hospitality, of the sanctity of marriage, and of duties to tribe and clan? How should it be inferred that he is a god who decrees happiness and misery, participates in the concerns of the tribe, provides for its well-being, and directs the course of destiny and history? Whence comes this most surprising of all the facts in the history of religion, that beings, obviously born originally of horror and terror, become gods - beings to whom men pray, to whom they confide their sorrow or their happiness, in whom they behold the origin and the sanction of morality, law, and the whole canon of justice? And how does all this come about in such a way that, when once such ideas have been aroused, it is understood at once as the plainest and most evident of axioms, that so it must be?"
a quote from Numinous And Modernity by Todd A Gooch,
"Otto claims that, on the contrary, the origin of the gods must be sought in the unfamiliar and uncanny. It is precisely when the gods become too familiar that they begin to loose (sic) their religious power, as was the case, for example, in ancient Greece."
from Das Gefühl des Überweltlichen : (sensus numinis)
This is where Rudolf Otto gets weird and fascinating to me. This is what Gooch is talking about. To my knowledge this book by Otto is not available in English.
"Where the goddesses and gods became all-too noble and all-too charming and all-too human-like, belief in them was not at its highpoint, as one would have to assume according to the doctrine of anthropomorphism"
Here, Rudolf Otto seems to be saying that the negative numinous holds a privileged position in his evolutionary understanding of the numinous. And this is reflected in some parts of Idea of the Holy. In Idea of the Holy he argues mankind first encounters daemonic dread from evil nightmares but that pointing beyond themsevles we eventually arrive at the Christian God. This other book argues the opposite evolutionary trajectory. It is this trajectory that authors like Lovecraft and David Lindsay argue to be the true one.
A quotation from Timothy Beal from Religion And Its Monsters. This is the trajectory I am taking.
As personifications of radical otherness, monsters are often identified with the divine, especially conjuring its more dreadful, maleficent aspects. And experiences of horror in the face of the monstrous are often described in ways that suggest a kind of religious experience, an encounter with mysterious, ineffable otherness, eliciting an irreducible mix of dread and fascination, horror and wonder. Early on in religious studies, Rudolph Otto’s The Idea of the Holy (Das Heilige; 1917) recognized this affinity between religious experiences of radical otherness and encounters with the monstrous, describing the monstrous as an apt expression of the holy in all its aspects of overwhelming awe, wonder and dread—what he called the mysterium tremendum. The monstrous, for Otto, was a kind of monstrum tremendum, a dread envoy of the holy. Otto’s translator effectively captured this unsettling alloy of awe and horror in his use of the older English spelling of “aweful” that retains vertiginous combination of fascination and terror, attraction and repulsion. Thus we may recognize both conservative and subversive religious dimensions to supernatural horror and the monstrous. On the one hand, conservatively, they function to maintain order against chaos, to police the boundaries of the normal and the known by projecting otherness—within oneself, society and the cosmos—onto the monster and then blowing it away. In this way, they serve what Russell McCutcheon, Bruce Lincoln and other ideological-critical scholars of religion argue to be the primary function of religion, namely, the legitimation and sanctification of existing social and institutional structures of power and authority. As objectifications of otherness and anomaly, monsters serve to clearly locate and securely ground “us,” “here.” On the other hand, monsters of supernatural horror may also reveal an equally powerful subversive religious desire for dislocation and ungrounding, for the terrifying dimensions of holiness, in the face of which our own sense of selfhood and control is lost—a kind of ego annihilation in relation to radical otherness. In this way, monstrous horror testifies to the chaotic, disorienting dimensions of religious experience, which is not reducible to common mainstream representations of it in terms of goodness, beauty and human thriving.
A quote by David Lindsay, from A Voyage To Arcturus
"Maskull, though fully conscious of his companions and situation, imagined that he was being oppressed by a black, shapeless, supernatural being, who was trying to clasp him. He was filled with horror, trembled violently, yet could not move a limb. Sweat tumbled off his face in great drops. The waking nightmare lasted a long time, but during that space it kept coming and going. At one moment the vision seemed on the point of departing; the next it almost took shape—which he knew would be his death. Suddenly it vanished altogether—he was free. A fresh spring breeze fanned his face; he heard the slow, solitary singing of a sweet bird; and it seemed to him as if a poem had shot together in his soul. Such flashing, heartbreaking joy he had never experienced before in all his life! Almost immediately that too vanished. Sitting up, he passed his hand across his eyes and swayed quietly, like one who has been visited by an angel. 'Your colour changed to white,' said Corpang. 'What happened?' 'I passed through torture to love,' replied Maskull simply. He stood up. Haunte gazed at him sombrely. 'Will you not describe that passage?' Maskull answered slowly and thoughtfully. 'When I was in Matterplay, I saw heavy clouds discharge themselves and change to coloured, living animals. In the same way, my black, chaotic pangs just now seemed to consolidate themselves and spring together as a new sort of joy. The joy would not have been possible without the preliminary nightmare. It is not accidental; Nature intends it so. The truth has just flashed through my brain.... You men of Lichstorm don’t go far enough. You stop at the pangs, without realising that they are birth pangs.' 'If this is true, you are a great pioneer,' muttered Haunte. 'How does this sensation differ from common love?' interrogated Corpang. 'This was all that love is, multiplied by wildness.' "
From H P Lovecraft,
"This type of fear-literature must not be confounded with a type externally similar but psychologically widely different; the literature of mere physical fear and the mundanely gruesome. Such writing, to be sure, has its place, as has the conventional or even whimsical or humorous ghost story where formalism or the author’s knowing wink removes the true sense of the morbidly unnatural; but these things are not the literature of cosmic fear in its purest sense. The true weird tale has something more than secret murder, bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. A certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer, unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that most terrible conception of the human brain—a malign and particular suspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our only safeguard against the assaults of chaos and the daemons of unplumbed space."
"Because we remember pain and the menace of death more vividly than pleasure, and because our feelings toward the beneficent aspects of the unknown have from the first been captured and formalised by conventional religious rituals, it has fallen to the lot of the darker and more maleficent side of cosmic mystery to figure chiefly in our popular supernatural folklore. This tendency, too, is naturally enhanced by the fact that uncertainty and danger are always closely allied; thus making any kind of an unknown world a world of peril and evil possibilities. When to this sense of fear and evil the inevitable fascination of wonder and curiosity is superadded, there is born a composite body of keen emotion and imaginative provocation whose vitality must of necessity endure as long as the human race itself. Children will always be afraid of the dark, and men with minds sensitive to hereditary impulse will always tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars, or press hideously upon our own globe in unholy dimensions which only the dead and the moonstruck can glimpse."
Lovecraft finds spirituality emotionally real but intellectually false. He is self contradictory figure.
Ok so I realize this is long winded. But I am touching upon an ambiguity in Rudolf Otto's work that he greatly privileges daemonic dread as an essential feature of holiness. And weird horror like Lovecraft puts daemonic dread on a pedestal.
I'm looking for criticism of RUDOLF OTTO that addresses the weird importance he places on the spectral and daemonic dread in holiness. I'm looking to read more about this ambiguity that Timothy Beal touches on.
Another book I will be citing is The Terror That Comes In The Night by David J Hufford who describes the nightmare sleep paralysis phenomenon as numinous.

In the year 2000, the Russian Orthodox Church canonized one hundred and four priests and monks who were arrested and convicted for their faith in the year 1937, in the Ukrainian city of Cherkasy. Many of them were shot, others did not return from the camps. From the documents it is clear that often sentences were handed down to people who had not yet been arrested. Church historians from Cherkasy cite only one case of the return of a clergyman from the camp.
In the 1920s, the first massive wave of repression against clergy and believers swept across the country. At that time there were still relatively few death sentences. After five or seven years of exile, many received an order forbidding them to live in large cities such as Moscow, Leningrad, Kyiv, Kharkov. Therefore, many exiled priests and monks moved to small towns such as Cherkasy. The census of the thirty-seventh year in the country showed that two-thirds of the citizens continued to call themselves believers. On December 5, 1936, the USSR adopted the Constitution, which declared freedom of conscience, equality of rights for all citizens, universal, equal and direct elections by secret ballot... People were optimistic.
Almost immediately, in January 1937, the authorities conducted a population census, which, in particular, showed that 2/3 of the population of the USSR (75%) were believers. In villages in the Cherkasy region, the number of believers reached 80% (for example, in the village of Verguny). On Easter in 1937, which coincided with the May Day holidays, people went to churches en masse and not to clubs, confessed in church and took communion, and did not demonstrate solidarity. The authorities were literally in shock: 20 years had passed since the revolution, a huge hellish work had been done to destroy the Church, of which as many temples remained in the gigantic country as there were in one small province before the revolution, and people still believed!
On May 20, 1937, Malenkov submitted a note to Stalin, which began with the words: "It is known that that recently the hostile activity of the clergymen has seriously revived." It served as an ideological basis for the repressions of 37-38. On July 30, 1937, an Operational Order was issued, which ordered mass repressions to be carried out within a four-month period (from August 5 to the end of the year). By order of Yezhov, the country was divided into operational sectors, with certain military and police units. But Cherkassy did not need this, the 58th NKVD rifle division was stationed there. At that time, 136,900 Orthodox clergy were arrested throughout the country, of which 85,300 people were shot. In the Cherkasy region, they could not cope with the plan. Until the end of the 1937, (at least) 138 meetings of the Judicial Troikas of the NKVD were held. It is documented, that on December 31, death sentences were passed on people who had not even been arrested yet, that is, charges against whom had not yet been brought. These people were arrested by Christmas, and shot a week later. There is evidence from the investigator of the Cherkassy district NKVD that the investigators were fake. For the execution of the accused, at least the testimony of three witnesses was required. In a hurry, the investigators invented statements.
There are cases when priests died during interrogations, as happened with Konstantin (Dyakov), Metropolitan of Kyiv, who died as a martyr during interrogation on the night of November 10, 1937, and according to documents he was shot later, in 1938. Together with the Orthodox clergy, Renovationists were also shot in the region, according to the documents we see that one Old Believer bishop and one Catholic were shot.
Many later said about the God-fighting time that then everyone was afraid of everything.
Archival documents show: not everyone and not everything. Former novice of the Moshnogorsk Holy Ascension Monastery Panteleimon Kovalenko, born in 1899, on the night of December 11-12 (1937) compiled and distributed leaflets in the village of Geronimovka with the aim of disrupting the elections to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, - this was recorded in the Indictment. The archive contains three notebooks of his poems, there are lines:
I am the one who declares war on Satan: I want to beat Stalin! I do not want the Jewish kingdom. I'm going to meet the sword.
Together with Panteleimon Kovalenko, Vasily Savchenko, born in 1908 (he was not even thirty), was arrested, who was anti-Soviet, a churchman and, being closely associated with Kovalenko, forbade his family to take part in voting at a polling station, carrying out similar work among the population under type of religious belief. Unfortunately, the leaflet itself is not in the file, it was sent to Kyiv. They were arrested on January 12, sentenced to death on the 25th, executed on January 14, 1938.
This day was the day of the mass executions in Cherkasy, the authorities were in a hurry to report by the New Year, even according to the old style. In 1938, more than 28,000 Orthodox clergymen were arrested and 21,500 were shot. We know nothing about the fate of many after they were sentenced to serving their sentences in labor camps (ITL). According to the documents, we see that a person was sentenced to 10 years in a labor camp, and his trace is lost.
The Cherkasy region knows only one case of the return of a clergyman from the camps. Now we know him as Schema-Archimandrite Avvakum (Starov, baptized Dimitri, a native of the village of Verguna). He is the last rector of the last operating monastery in the Cherkasy region - Moshnogorsky Holy Ascension. The monastery was closed by the authorities at the end of 1923 or at the beginning of 1924. Abba Avvakum is the last elder of the land of Cherkasy. He was born on October 25 (November 7), 1877. In 1917 he turned 40 years old. He survived arrests, camps, a terrible disease.
According to the testimony of people who knew him, he was a great elder who had spiritual children all over the world. Father Avvakum knew, for example, in advance that in 1961 new persecutions against the Church would begin, churches would be destroyed and monasteries would be closed. Literally by a miracle, Vladyka Sophrony (Archbishop of Cherkasy and Kanevsky) found information about Father Avvakum, whom he was looking for as Father Dosithea - the elder bore this name until the secret adoption of the schema. Miraculously, the place of his rest was also found: in 1964 Father Avvakum was buried at Cherkasy Vatutinskoye (Nativity of the Theotokos Cemetery); he lived for 87 years. Elder Avvakum has not yet been canonized, but believers venerate him as a holy confessor.
So far, the names of one hundred and four new martyrs from Cherkasy have been established. The collection of materials continues.
Source

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Taishen Part Continued..
I was stuck at my current work at Mao’ye. A mall in the central part of Taiyuan in Shanxi. Coal dust central China. Frequent dust storms leaving me having to wipe the window sills of dust piles collecting. Life felt dry as the air—numb. I never know what I want. Drifting like paper in a breeze.
23 and feeling empty. Left the previous English training center I working at teaching adults. Company started going bankrupt. Boss was an asshole. He was originally from Datong near to Inner Mongolia.
That boss ran the company horribly. Was a coward of a boss. He would watch the cameras and email complaints on my dress code and not talk to me in person. A coward.
When the company was nosediving I got sent an email in the middle of the day stating my job would be terminated by the end of the month. I worked in china as an American. In china most jobs are based on contracts between employees and employers. I was supposed to continue another seven months with my job. The contract was broken when they emailed me saying they could not keep me due to salary. Contracts can be broken due to performance but not due to finance issues. I had already work for them a year on another contract. The law in China states I was due to be paid a year and a half of salary. My boss was such a coward to not speak to me in person and email the letter. I marched in his office and got told to fuck myself. I talked to the labor board at the local government office. I was told was told that I that they would have to pay me a year and a half of salary for breaking my contract.
Those times were rather gray for me. Clouds were heavy like gnats flying around the face. My girlfriend at the time was a stern nurse. The girl made of paper. She stayed beside. My fortress. Put up for adoption by her family in Henan. Where her adopted mother would put her hands in scalding hot water for punishment and remind her of being an inconvenience. She marched into my boss’s office and created a storm. He refused to budge. A few days later when the labor office contacted him he was willing to keep me for the rest of my contract. The labor office said that because my job was offered back I could not be paid if I left my job, as it would be my choice at that point. Frustrating. My wife had her uncle’s boss contacted from Taiyuan to go into the office. She had some influence in the area. She threatened to look over various certificates to get the branch in trouble. My boss did not budge. I decided to just go ahead and leave this English training center for teaching adults. I went for a new company that paid more passed in the Moye mall on the other end of the city. Now I would be teaching children again like I used.
Is this all I am? A server?
It makes me think of a time right before I met the woman made of paper. Stern from her experiences. A fighter. I like fighters.
I met fighters before. Reminds me of a story. A story I hold deeply to my heart. There was a woman named Ming. I met her through surfing on WeChat nearby searching for people looking for others nearby. Older by a few years. Met and became acquainted over messages.
Christmas tree lights in my head
Perched to be exploited…
Balloon with the air let out
Hissing all the time… because it whines
The inferno in me wants me to burn
Because it feels right
Christmas trees lit are under pressure—they know if they dry up the whole building will be in flames
So you have to be festive when you decorate—and avant-garde with who you decorate with
Maximalist at heart with pleasure
Nomads tend to wander to find a better part of the steppe
With a phallus as a Swiss Army Knife,
Paddling in northern China building a trench
22 year old Midwesterner with psychosis looking for a frigate to save him from the deep end
Impulsivity a catalyst for losing everything
I don’t care if you’re married, if you have a tunnel you can help me in the trench
Two staged rocket—
Already psychotic
Be a Launchpad
So I can get even further from earth
Ripple through the galaxy like I got a mission—
Even if it’s delusional
Another N1
Get myself on disconnect in the vacuum
Even if I come down Iike napalm.
I met Ming because I needed her and she needed me-even if she was married. I was 23 and without security. MY first job that I forgot from my boss Ryan was insane at times. Working without a visa for a company was unbearable. I felt obligated to my boss at that time he promised he could solve my issue if I worked hard for him. And I did. He was a bit corrupt too and not the greatest. Always offering going to brothels with people to make deals happen, including trying with me too. I never went. I did work hard for him though. I wanted to escape my predicament and he knew all the right people to contact to fix my problems if I met my obligations. Obligations could mean being asked to go to another training center to work part time and gather their curriculum for my school.
It felt unstable not knowing when I could get arrested or taken away. Made Ming a perfect connection to come across. I needed a friend that brought stability. She was a radio broadcaster in the city. Extremely wealthy. She would take me on outings eating delicious cuisine in the city or among weekend trips to interesting places nearby. I consider her one of the greatest friends I had. Because of her it was getting to meet other connections at outings with friends at KTV and clubs in the city. Like rhizomes growing out of a tree. Sustainability. It led to more rhizomes of connections. Something I want to talk more about. But I need to move the clock a bit. To the start of this ramble.
I was working in Maoye. I was on a legal visa at this time. My colleagues were not legal. They were often Slavic. Russian, Ukraine, and other Slavic nations. We had an office in the building setup on a third floor of a large mal with various classrooms for the foreign teachers to teach in. They would generally have a Chinese teaching assistant to help them in the classrooms. I taught students from pre-k age to middle school there.
In the middle of the setup of the floor layout was a large open office. I would sit and plan lessons and grade amongst the Chinese staff and foreign teachers. One day I grep of plain clothed officers came into the facility. They were checking on teachers on the wrong visas. The Russian teachers and others often could not fluently speak English or qualify for the correct visas—they didn’t meet the right requirements for work visas and would be on other various kinds of visas. They stormed in and I remember my Russian friend hearing the commotion tore his shirt with his logo on it and threw it on the ground in a rush. He ran shirtless down a stair well nearby flinging the doors open. Fear, anger… got to fill their class schedule while they are all out hiding.
Final Taishen
I met Chang’e. Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Like pollen.
My thoughts can transplant and Change can do the same too.
Mania got me again. I wrote a poem when I was younger to express it.
Feeling bold and exacerbated
Maybe I am just high strung
Ricocheting off these walls like bumper cars
A sparkler burning hot and bright
Popping off like roman candles
I am not always calm, but I am high,
A kettle left on the burner and forgotten,
Watch me melt away into my ecstasy
Where I dance and scream all in one
I’ll hit peak when crisis comes.
I hadn’t been sleeping. I took a second English teaching job and was seeing attending to seeing different people besides Ming.
Ming was kind and always took me on nice dinner dates. I didn’t have to worry about expenses and felt secure.
I was back on my smartphone looking and fishing for people nearby. Chang’e came in as a breeze from Luoyang to meeting a relative in Taiyuan.
Chang’e was working for a boss in Taiyuan. She would go on the WeChat application looking for men nearby. Flirt to get them to meet her. Like moths in dark they get to the lights:
Useless as a glass door. You can peek through. Pigeon-toed. Drained an ocean to fill insecurities. Uncomfortable thoughts ricochet in me. Like an ambush. Giddy when disappointed. I build trenches amongst the tripwires of life. City feels like a tsunami. Manners like a bloated tick. Sipping the veins from any limb around me. As a stranger to a moth, a porch light pulling. Desolate in lost thoughts. Nights awake and bunkering in hotels. Soft in my voice, I hopscotch to hands—falling through like particles of sand. With enough friction to set off an atom bomb. To radiate right through me, and hollow my marrow. Amongst open nerves I can feel something, so I play with the pain. No matter how annoying.
As particles I transplanted through to her screen as we lay in our separate beds in the city. Mania makes me dumb. We flattered away. Fused as particles.
Her intent was for me to arrive at a designated location to drink and eat late into the night—11:00 p.m. With this given location I would be taken down like an elephant via poachers—that was the intent. At the location I was to be given an outrageous bill for the service and if I did not pay a group of big men would use their physical presence to get me to pay.
When I met her at the given location outside the door. I knew the tricks. I tested her. Asked if she would be willing to eat at another location.
She thought she would eat me and I thought I would eat her. My test was asking her to go to another place at the KTV nearby where I knew somebody that worked there—a karaoke location—the LED lights shining and me and her staring at the direction of them.
She hesitated and insisted on the location next to us. I said I had to go—before I left to contact if willing in the future to go to the KTV.
Where a perpetual hydrogen bomb would go off on our fused particles.

In today's rapidly evolving social landscape, finding a soulmate who shares your deepest passions and interests can often feel like searching for a needle in a haystack, especially for those of us who dwell in the vibrant, eclectic realm of the arts.
With an overwhelming sea of dating apps and websites vying for our attention, the quest for a platform that speaks directly to the unique nuances of our niche is fraught with challenges.
Yet, for the artistically inclined seeking that special someone who not only appreciates but embodies the creative spirit, the importance of choosing the right dating app cannot be understated.
Fear not, for you've stumbled upon the perfect canvas to begin painting your love story. We're here to guide you through the labyrinth of options with a curated selection of the best free dating apps tailored for the arts-loving soul.

The Evolution of Romance: Online Dating in the Arts Community

As the digital age has unfurled, so too has the nature of dating transformed, morphing from traditional courtship to swipes, likes, and DMs. This revolution has been particularly poignant over the last 20 years, with dating apps becoming a staple for modern singles.
These platforms offer a beacon of hope, especially within niche communities where finding someone with shared passions and perspectives can be tantamount to finding treasure. The arts community is no exception, where the nuances of creativity can play a pivotal role in the compatibility of potential partners.
The popularity of dating apps among those enchanted by the arts stems from a desire to connect on a level that transcends the mundane. It's about finding someone who not only appreciates your passion for Monet or can debate the merits of modernism vs. postmodernism but who also resonates with the rhythm of your soul.
These digital platforms offer the unique advantage of filtering potential matches by specific interests, ensuring that those you connect with are more likely to harmonize with your personal aesthetic and ethos.
Moreover, couples that forge a bond over shared artistic interests often find that their relationship is built on a foundation of mutual understanding and respect. This common ground paves the way for a deeper connection, one that is nurtured by shared experiences and a mutual appreciation for the beauty that each person brings to the relationship.
In this way, dating within the arts niche not only offers the possibility of love but also the promise of a partnership that is as enriching as it is enduring.

Unveiling the Stage: Five Free Dating Apps for the Arts Aficionado

In a world brimming with generic dating platforms, finding those that cater specifically to the arts community can feel like a quest for the Holy Grail. Yet, amidst the myriad of options, there are gems that shine for their ability to bring together creatively minded souls.
Here are five real dating apps that stand out for their unique appeal to the artsy individual, with Boo leading the troupe.

Boo: Your Portal to Romance and Creativity

Boo distinguishes itself from the crowd with its innovative approach, offering more than just matchmaking; it’s a social universe designed for deep connections. What sets Boo apart for the arts enthusiast is its unique feature that allows users to search for potential matches based on shared interests, including those in the vast sphere of the arts.
Whether your medium is paint, prose, or piano, Boo's filters enable you to fine-tune your search to find someone who not only appreciates your art but shares it.
Moreover, their Universes are a breeding ground for discussion and discovery, a place to connect over mutual passions and explore the depth of your compatibility based on the 16 personality types.

OkCupid: The Old Reliable

OkCupid, while not specifically geared towards the arts community, merits mention for its comprehensive approach to matchmaking. Its elaborate questionnaire and emphasis on detailed profiles provide ample space for users to express their artistic interests.
However, the broad user base may mean sifting through more profiles to find those few precious gems.

Bumble: Flip the Script

Bumble offers a unique twist on the dating dynamic, with women taking the first step. This platform allows for a wide array of interests to be displayed prominently on profiles, including artistic pursuits. Yet, the necessity of mutual swipes for interaction can potentially slow down the search for that ideal artsy companion.

Hinge: Beyond the Surface

Hinge encourages users to delve deeper, prompting responses to thoughtful questions on profiles. This format can highlight shared interests in the arts and foster more meaningful connections. Still, the app's design, focusing on relationships over casual encounters, may not suit everyone.

Coffee Meets Bagel: The Curated Match

Offering a "daily bagel," this app curates matches based on detailed profiles and preferences, potentially including artistic interests. While this model encourages careful consideration of each match, the limited daily options may be frustrating for some.

Crafting Your Masterpiece: Profile Do's and Don'ts

• Do highlight your artistic endeavors and favorite mediums.
• Don't resort to clichés about being a "tortured artist."
• Do use visually engaging photos that showcase your personality.
• Don't underplay or over-exaggerate your passion for the arts.
• Do tailor your bio to attract someone who shares your specific interests.

Starting the Conversation: An Art Form in Itself

• Do make the first message as engaging as your favorite artwork.
• Don't rely on generic greetings or pick-up lines.
• Do ask thoughtful questions about their artistic interests.
• Don't shy away from sharing your top art experiences.
• Do sprinkle in humor and light-hearted art jokes.

From Pixels to Paint: Making It Real

• Do suggest meeting at art galleries or museums for first dates.
• Don't rush the transition from online to in-person.
• Do respect each other’s comfort levels and pace.
• Don't forget to bring something (like a sketch or a poem) that showcases your talent
• Do keep the conversation flowing with discussions about art styles and favorite artists.

Latest Research: The Importance of Common Interests in Relationship Longevity

In their landmark 1983 research, Argyle & Furnham explore the importance of common interests in the longevity of relationships, a finding that resonates strongly with the concept of niche dating. The study reveals that shared interests are a universal source of satisfaction in long-term relationships, including romantic partnerships.
For individuals engaged in niche dating, this underscores the value of finding a partner with whom they share specific and unique interests, as this forms a solid foundation for a lasting and fulfilling relationship.
The research classified different relationship types and consistently found that shared interests played a significant role in the satisfaction levels experienced. In romantic relationships, particularly, shared interests emerged as a key component of satisfaction. This highlights the importance of niche dating platforms, where individuals can connect based on unique or specific interests, leading to a deeper understanding and appreciation between partners.
These shared interests not only provide enjoyment but also strengthen the emotional bond between partners.
Additionally, the study discusses the ratio of conflict to satisfaction in various relationship types, noting that shared interests can play a role in balancing this ratio favorably. It suggests that when partners have common interests, they are more likely to experience fewer conflicts and more satisfaction, making the relationship more resilient.
This insight is especially valuable for niche dating, as it implies that finding a partner with similar niche interests can lead to a more harmonious and fulfilling relationship. The shared pursuits foster a strong connection and understanding, contributing to the relationship's overall health and longevity.

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.
Tisishen Part Continued..
I was stuck at my current work at Mao’ye. A mall in the central part of Taiyuan in Shanxi. Coal dust central China. Frequent dust storms leaving me having to wipe the window sills of dust piles collecting. Life felt dry as the air—numb. I never know what I want. Drifting like paper in a breeze.
23 and feeling empty. Left the previous English training center I working at teaching adults. Company started going bankrupt. Boss was an asshole. He was originally from Datong near to Inner Mongolia.
That boss ran the company horribly. Was a coward of a boss. He would watch the cameras and email complaints on my dress code and not talk to me in person. A coward.
When the company was nosediving I got sent an email in the middle of the day stating my job would be terminated by the end of the month. I worked in china as an American. In china most jobs are based on contracts between employees and employers. I was supposed to continue another seven months with my job. The contract was broken when they emailed me saying they could not keep me due to salary. Contracts can be broken due to performance but not due to finance issues. I had already work for them a year on another contract. The law in China states I was due to be paid a year and a half of salary. My boss was such a coward to not speak to me in person and email the letter. I marched in his office and got told to fuck myself. I talked to the labor board at the local government office. I was told was told that I that they would have to pay me a year and a half of salary for breaking my contract.
Those times were rather gray for me. Clouds were heavy like gnats flying around the face. My girlfriend at the time was a stern nurse. The girl made of paper. She stayed beside. My fortress. Put up for adoption by her family in Henan. Where her adopted mother would put her hands in scolding hot water for punishment. She marched into my boss’s office and created a storm. He refused to budge. A few days later when the labor office contacted him he was willing to keep me for the rest of my contract. The labor office said that because my job was offered back I could not be paid if I left my job, as it would be my choice at that point. Frustrating. My wife had her uncle’s boss contacted from Taiyuan to go into the office. She had some influence in the area. She threatened to look over various certificates to get the branch in trouble. My boss did not budge. I decided to just go ahead and leave this English training center for teaching adults. I went for a new company that paid more passed in the Moye mall on the other end of the city. Now I would be teaching children again like I used.
Is this all I am? A server?
It makes me think of a time right before I met the woman made of paper. Stern from her experiences. A fighter. I like fighters.
I met fighters before. Reminds me of a story. A story I hold deeply to my heart. There was a woman named Ming. I met her through surfing on WeChat nearby searching for people looking for others nearby. Older by a few years. Met and became acquainted over messages.
Christmas tree lights in my head
Perched to be exploited…
Balloon with the air let out
Hissing all the time… because it whines
The inferno in me wants me to burn
Because it feels right
Christmas trees lit are under pressure—they know if they dry up the whole building will be in flames
So you have to be festive when you decorate—and avant-garde with who you decorate with
Maximalist at heart with pleasure
Nomads tend to wander to find a better part of the steppe
With a phallus as a Swiss Army Knife,
Paddling in northern China building a trench
22 year old Midwesterner with psychosis looking for a frigate to save him from the deep end
Impulsivity a catalyst for losing everything
I don’t care if you’re married, if you have a tunnel you can help me in the trench
Two staged rocket—
Already psychotic
Be a Launchpad
So I can get even further from earth
Ripple through the galaxy like I got a mission—
Even if it’s delusional
Another N1
Get myself on disconnect in the vacuum
Even if I come down Iike napalm.
I met Ming because I needed her and she needed me-even if she was married. I was 23 and without security. MY first job that I forgot from my boss Ryan was insane at times. Working without a visa for a company was unbearable. I felt obligated to my boss at that time he promised he could solve my issue if I worked hard for him. And I did. He was a bit corrupt too and not the greatest. Always offering going to brothels with people to make deals happen, including trying with me too. I never went. I did work hard for him though. I wanted to escape my predicament and he knew all the right people to contact to fix my problems if I met my obligations. Obligations could mean being asked to go to another training center to work part time and gather their curriculum for my school.
It felt unstable not knowing when I could get arrested or taken away. Made Ming a perfect connection to come across. I needed a friend that brought stability. She was a radio broadcaster in the city. Extremely wealthy. She would take me on outings eating delicious cuisine in the city or among weekend trips to interesting places nearby. I consider her one of the greatest friends I had. Because of her it was getting to meet other connections at outings with friends at KTV and clubs in the city. Like rhizomes growing out of a tree. Sustainability. It led to more rhizomes of connections. Something I want to talk more about. But I need to move the clock a bit. To the start of this ramble.
I was working in Maoye. I was on a legal visa at this time. My colleagues were not legal. They were often Slavic. Russian, Ukraine, and other Slavic nations. We had an office in the building setup on a third floor of a large mal with various classrooms for the foreign teachers to teach in. They would generally have a Chinese teaching assistant to help them in the classrooms. I taught students from pre-k age to middle school there.
In the middle of the setup of the floor layout was a large open office. I would sit and plan lessons and grade amongst the Chinese staff and foreign teachers. One day I grep of plain clothed officers came into the facility. They were checking on teachers on the wrong visas. The Russian teachers and others often could not fluently speak English or qualify for the correct visas—they didn’t meet the right requirements for work visas and would be on other various kinds of visas. They stormed in and I remember my Russian friend hearing the commotion tore his shirt with his logo on it and threw it on the ground in a rush. He ran shirtless down a stair well nearby flinging the doors open. Fear, anger… got to fill their class schedule while they are all out hiding.
Final Taishen
I met Chang’e. Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Like pollen.
My thoughts can transplant and Change can do the same too.
Mania got me again. I wrote a poem when I was younger to express it.
Feeling bold and exacerbated
Maybe I am just high strung
Ricocheting off these walls like bumper cars
A sparkler burning hot and bright
Popping off like roman candles
I am not always calm, but I am high,
A kettle left on the burner and forgotten,
Watch me melt away into my ecstasy
Where I dance and scream all in one
I’ll hit peak when crisis comes.
I hadn’t been sleeping. I took a second English teaching job and was seeing attending to seeing different people besides Ming.
Ming was kind and always took me on nice dinner dates. I didn’t have to worry about expenses and felt secure.
I was back on my smartphone looking and fishing for people nearby. Chang’e came in as a breeze from Luoyang to meeting a relative in Taiyuan.
Chang’e was working for a boss in Taiyuan. She would go on the WeChat application looking for men nearby. Flirt to get them to meet her. Like moths in dark they get to the lights:
Useless as a glass door. You can peek through. Pigeon-toed. Drained an ocean to fill insecurities. Uncomfortable thoughts ricochet in me. Like an ambush. Giddy when disappointed. I build trenches amongst the tripwires of life. City feels like a tsunami. Manners like a bloated tick. Sipping the veins from any limb around me. As a stranger to a moth, a porch light pulling. Desolate in lost thoughts. Nights awake and bunkering in hotels. Soft in my voice, I hopscotch to hands—falling through like particles of sand. With enough friction to set off an atom bomb. To radiate right through me, and hollow my marrow. Amongst open nerves I can feel something, so I play with the pain. No matter how annoying.
As particles I transplanted through to her screen as we lay in our separate beds in the city. Mania makes me dumb. We flattered away. Fused as particles.
Her intent was for me to arrive at a designated location to drink and eat late into the night—11:00 p.m. With this given location I would be taken down like an elephant via poachers—that was the intent. At the location I was to be given an outrageous bill for the service and if I did not pay a group of big men would use their physical presence to get me to pay.
When I met her at the given location outside the door. I knew the tricks. I tested her. Asked if she would be willing to eat at another location.
She thought she would eat me and I thought I would eat her. My test was asking her to go to another place at the KTV nearby where I knew somebody that worked there—a karaoke location—the LED lights shining and me and her staring at the direction of them.
She hesitated and insisted on the location next to us. I said I had to go—before I left to contact if willing in the future to go to the KTV.
Where a perpetual hydrogen bomb would go off on our fused particles.

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.
Tisishen Part Continued..
I was stuck at my current work at Mao’ye. A mall in the central part of Taiyuan in Shanxi. Coal dust central China. Frequent dust storms leaving me having to wipe the window sills of dust piles collecting. Life felt dry as the air—numb. I never know what I want. Drifting like paper in a breeze.
23 and feeling empty. Left the previous English training center I working at teaching adults. Company started going bankrupt. Boss was an asshole. He was originally from Datong near to Inner Mongolia.
That boss ran the company horribly. Was a coward of a boss. He would watch the cameras and email complaints on my dress code and not talk to me in person. A coward.
When the company was nosediving I got sent an email in the middle of the day stating my job would be terminated by the end of the month. I worked in china as an American. In china most jobs are based on contracts between employees and employers. I was supposed to continue another seven months with my job. The contract was broken when they emailed me saying they could not keep me due to salary. Contracts can be broken due to performance but not due to finance issues. I had already work for them a year on another contract. The law in China states I was due to be paid a year and a half of salary. My boss was such a coward to not speak to me in person and email the letter. I marched in his office and got told to fuck myself. I talked to the labor board at the local government office. I was told was told that I that they would have to pay me a year and a half of salary for breaking my contract.
Those times were rather gray for me. Clouds were heavy like gnats flying around the face. My girlfriend at the time was a stern nurse. The girl made of paper. She stayed beside. My fortress. Put up for adoption by her family in Henan. Where her adopted mother would put her hands in scolding hot water for punishment. She marched into my boss’s office and created a storm. He refused to budge. A few days later when the labor office contacted him he was willing to keep me for the rest of my contract. The labor office said that because my job was offered back I could not be paid if I left my job, as it would be my choice at that point. Frustrating. My wife had her uncle’s boss contacted from Taiyuan to go into the office. She had some influence in the area. She threatened to look over various certificates to get the branch in trouble. My boss did not budge. I decided to just go ahead and leave this English training center for teaching adults. I went for a new company that paid more passed in the Moye mall on the other end of the city. Now I would be teaching children again like I used.
Is this all I am? A server?
It makes me think of a time right before I met the woman made of paper. Stern from her experiences. A fighter. I like fighters.
I met fighters before. Reminds me of a story. A story I hold deeply to my heart. There was a woman named Ming. I met her through surfing on WeChat nearby searching for people looking for others nearby. Older by a few years. Met and became acquainted over messages.
Christmas tree lights in my head
Perched to be exploited…
Balloon with the air let out
Hissing all the time… because it whines
The inferno in me wants me to burn
Because it feels right
Christmas trees lit are under pressure—they know if they dry up the whole building will be in flames
So you have to be festive when you decorate—and avant-garde with who you decorate with
Maximalist at heart with pleasure
Nomads tend to wander to find a better part of the steppe
With a phallus as a Swiss Army Knife,
Paddling in northern China building a trench
22 year old Midwesterner with psychosis looking for a frigate to save him from the deep end
Impulsivity a catalyst for losing everything
I don’t care if you’re married, if you have a tunnel you can help me in the trench
Two staged rocket—
Already psychotic
Be a Launchpad
So I can get even further from earth
Ripple through the galaxy like I got a mission—
Even if it’s delusional
Another N1
Get myself on disconnect in the vacuum
Even if I come down Iike napalm.
I met Ming because I needed her and she needed me-even if she was married. I was 23 and without security. MY first job that I forgot from my boss Ryan was insane at times. Working without a visa for a company was unbearable. I felt obligated to my boss at that time he promised he could solve my issue if I worked hard for him. And I did. He was a bit corrupt too and not the greatest. Always offering going to brothels with people to make deals happen, including trying with me too. I never went. I did work hard for him though. I wanted to escape my predicament and he knew all the right people to contact to fix my problems if I met my obligations. Obligations could mean being asked to go to another training center to work part time and gather their curriculum for my school.
It felt unstable not knowing when I could get arrested or taken away. Made Ming a perfect connection to come across. I needed a friend that brought stability. She was a radio broadcaster in the city. Extremely wealthy. She would take me on outings eating delicious cuisine in the city or among weekend trips to interesting places nearby. I consider her one of the greatest friends I had. Because of her it was getting to meet other connections at outings with friends at KTV and clubs in the city. Like rhizomes growing out of a tree. Sustainability. It led to more rhizomes of connections. Something I want to talk more about. But I need to move the clock a bit. To the start of this ramble.
I was working in Maoye. I was on a legal visa at this time. My colleagues were not legal. They were often Slavic. Russian, Ukraine, and other Slavic nations. We had an office in the building setup on a third floor of a large mal with various classrooms for the foreign teachers to teach in. They would generally have a Chinese teaching assistant to help them in the classrooms. I taught students from pre-k age to middle school there.
In the middle of the setup of the floor layout was a large open office. I would sit and plan lessons and grade amongst the Chinese staff and foreign teachers. One day I grep of plain clothed officers came into the facility. They were checking on teachers on the wrong visas. The Russian teachers and others often could not fluently speak English or qualify for the correct visas—they didn’t meet the right requirements for work visas and would be on other various kinds of visas. They stormed in and I remember my Russian friend hearing the commotion tore his shirt with his logo on it and threw it on the ground in a rush. He ran shirtless down a stair well nearby flinging the doors open. Fear, anger… got to fill their class schedule while they are all out hiding.
Final Taishen
I met Chang’e. Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Like pollen.
My thoughts can transplant and Change can do the same too.
Mania got me again. I wrote a poem when I was younger to express it.
Feeling bold and exacerbated
Maybe I am just high strung
Ricocheting off these walls like bumper cars
A sparkler burning hot and bright
Popping off like roman candles
I am not always calm, but I am high,
A kettle left on the burner and forgotten,
Watch me melt away into my ecstasy
Where I dance and scream all in one
I’ll hit peak when crisis comes.
I hadn’t been sleeping. I took a second English teaching job and was seeing attending to seeing different people besides Ming.
Ming was kind and always took me on nice dinner dates. I didn’t have to worry about expenses and felt secure.
I was back on my smartphone looking and fishing for people nearby. Chang’e came in as a breeze from Luoyang to meeting a relative in Taiyuan.
Chang’e was working for a boss in Taiyuan. She would go on the WeChat application looking for men nearby. Flirt to get them to meet her. Like moths in dark they get to the lights:
Useless as a glass door. You can peek through. Pigeon-toed. Drained an ocean to fill insecurities. Uncomfortable thoughts ricochet in me. Like an ambush. Giddy when disappointed. I build trenches amongst the tripwires of life. City feels like a tsunami. Manners like a bloated tick. Sipping the veins from any limb around me. As a stranger to a moth, a porch light pulling. Desolate in lost thoughts. Nights awake and bunkering in hotels. Soft in my voice, I hopscotch to hands—falling through like particles of sand. With enough friction to set off an atom bomb. To radiate right through me, and hollow my marrow. Amongst open nerves I can feel something, so I play with the pain. No matter how annoying.
As particles I transplanted through to her screen as we lay in our separate beds in the city. Mania makes me dumb. We flattered away. Fused as particles.
Her intent was for me to arrive at a designated location to drink and eat late into the night—11:00 p.m. With this given location I would be taken down like an elephant via poachers—that was the intent. At the location I was to be given an outrageous bill for the service and if I did not pay a group of big men would use their physical presence to get me to pay.
When I met her at the given location outside the door. I knew the tricks. I tested her. Asked if she would be willing to eat at another location.
She thought she would eat me and I thought I would eat her. My test was asking her to go to another place at the KTV nearby where I knew somebody that worked there—a karaoke location—the LED lights shining and me and her staring at the direction of them.
She hesitated and insisted on the location next to us. I said I had to go—before I left to contact if willing in the future to go to the KTV.
Where a perpetual hydrogen bomb would go off on our fused particles.

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.
Tisishen Part Continued..
I was stuck at my current work at Mao’ye. A mall in the central part of Taiyuan in Shanxi. Coal dust central China. Frequent dust storms leaving me having to wipe the window sills of dust piles collecting. Life felt dry as the air—numb. I never know what I want. Drifting like paper in a breeze.
23 and feeling empty. Left the previous English training center I working at teaching adults. Company started going bankrupt. Boss was an asshole. He was originally from Datong near to Inner Mongolia.
That boss ran the company horribly. Was a coward of a boss. He would watch the cameras and email complaints on my dress code and not talk to me in person. A coward.
When the company was nosediving I got sent an email in the middle of the day stating my job would be terminated by the end of the month. I worked in china as an American. In china most jobs are based on contracts between employees and employers. I was supposed to continue another seven months with my job. The contract was broken when they emailed me saying they could not keep me due to salary. Contracts can be broken due to performance but not due to finance issues. I had already work for them a year on another contract. The law in China states I was due to be paid a year and a half of salary. My boss was such a coward to not speak to me in person and email the letter. I marched in his office and got told to fuck myself. I talked to the labor board at the local government office. I was told was told that I that they would have to pay me a year and a half of salary for breaking my contract.
Those times were rather gray for me. Clouds were heavy like gnats flying around the face. My girlfriend at the time was a stern nurse. The girl made of paper. She stayed beside. My fortress. Put up for adoption by her family in Henan. Where her adopted mother would put her hands in scolding hot water for punishment. She marched into my boss’s office and created a storm. He refused to budge. A few days later when the labor office contacted him he was willing to keep me for the rest of my contract. The labor office said that because my job was offered back I could not be paid if I left my job, as it would be my choice at that point. Frustrating. My wife had her uncle’s boss contacted from Taiyuan to go into the office. She had some influence in the area. She threatened to look over various certificates to get the branch in trouble. My boss did not budge. I decided to just go ahead and leave this English training center for teaching adults. I went for a new company that paid more passed in the Moye mall on the other end of the city. Now I would be teaching children again like I used.
Is this all I am? A server?
It makes me think of a time right before I met the woman made of paper. Stern from her experiences. A fighter. I like fighters.
I met fighters before. Reminds me of a story. A story I hold deeply to my heart. There was a woman named Ming. I met her through surfing on WeChat nearby searching for people looking for others nearby. Older by a few years. Met and became acquainted over messages.
Christmas tree lights in my head
Perched to be exploited…
Balloon with the air let out
Hissing all the time… because it whines
The inferno in me wants me to burn
Because it feels right
Christmas trees lit are under pressure—they know if they dry up the whole building will be in flames
So you have to be festive when you decorate—and avant-garde with who you decorate with
Maximalist at heart with pleasure
Nomads tend to wander to find a better part of the steppe
With a phallus as a Swiss Army Knife,
Paddling in northern China building a trench
22 year old Midwesterner with psychosis looking for a frigate to save him from the deep end
Impulsivity a catalyst for losing everything
I don’t care if you’re married, if you have a tunnel you can help me in the trench
Two staged rocket—
Already psychotic
Be a Launchpad
So I can get even further from earth
Ripple through the galaxy like I got a mission—
Even if it’s delusional
Another N1
Get myself on disconnect in the vacuum
Even if I come down Iike napalm.
I met Ming because I needed her and she needed me-even if she was married. I was 23 and without security. MY first job that I forgot from my boss Ryan was insane at times. Working without a visa for a company was unbearable. I felt obligated to my boss at that time he promised he could solve my issue if I worked hard for him. And I did. He was a bit corrupt too and not the greatest. Always offering going to brothels with people to make deals happen, including trying with me too. I never went. I did work hard for him though. I wanted to escape my predicament and he knew all the right people to contact to fix my problems if I met my obligations. Obligations could mean being asked to go to another training center to work part time and gather their curriculum for my school.
It felt unstable not knowing when I could get arrested or taken away. Made Ming a perfect connection to come across. I needed a friend that brought stability. She was a radio broadcaster in the city. Extremely wealthy. She would take me on outings eating delicious cuisine in the city or among weekend trips to interesting places nearby. I consider her one of the greatest friends I had. Because of her it was getting to meet other connections at outings with friends at KTV and clubs in the city. Like rhizomes growing out of a tree. Sustainability. It led to more rhizomes of connections. Something I want to talk more about. But I need to move the clock a bit. To the start of this ramble.
I was working in Maoye. I was on a legal visa at this time. My colleagues were not legal. They were often Slavic. Russian, Ukraine, and other Slavic nations. We had an office in the building setup on a third floor of a large mal with various classrooms for the foreign teachers to teach in. They would generally have a Chinese teaching assistant to help them in the classrooms. I taught students from pre-k age to middle school there.
In the middle of the setup of the floor layout was a large open office. I would sit and plan lessons and grade amongst the Chinese staff and foreign teachers. One day I grep of plain clothed officers came into the facility. They were checking on teachers on the wrong visas. The Russian teachers and others often could not fluently speak English or qualify for the correct visas—they didn’t meet the right requirements for work visas and would be on other various kinds of visas. They stormed in and I remember my Russian friend hearing the commotion tore his shirt with his logo on it and threw it on the ground in a rush. He ran shirtless down a stair well nearby flinging the doors open. Fear, anger… got to fill their class schedule while they are all out hiding.
Final Taishen
I met Chang’e. Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Like pollen.
My thoughts can transplant and Change can do the same too.
Mania got me again. I wrote a poem when I was younger to express it.
Feeling bold and exacerbated
Maybe I am just high strung
Ricocheting off these walls like bumper cars
A sparkler burning hot and bright
Popping off like roman candles
I am not always calm, but I am high,
A kettle left on the burner and forgotten,
Watch me melt away into my ecstasy
Where I dance and scream all in one
I’ll hit peak when crisis comes.
I hadn’t been sleeping. I took a second English teaching job and was seeing attending to seeing different people besides Ming.
Ming was kind and always took me on nice dinner dates. I didn’t have to worry about expenses and felt secure.
I was back on my smartphone looking and fishing for people nearby. Chang’e came in as a breeze from Luoyang to meeting a relative in Taiyuan.
Chang’e was working for a boss in Taiyuan. She would go on the WeChat application looking for men nearby. Flirt to get them to meet her. Like moths in dark they get to the lights:
Useless as a glass door. You can peek through. Pigeon-toed. Drained an ocean to fill insecurities. Uncomfortable thoughts ricochet in me. Like an ambush. Giddy when disappointed. I build trenches amongst the tripwires of life. City feels like a tsunami. Manners like a bloated tick. Sipping the veins from any limb around me. As a stranger to a moth, a porch light pulling. Desolate in lost thoughts. Nights awake and bunkering in hotels. Soft in my voice, I hopscotch to hands—falling through like particles of sand. With enough friction to set off an atom bomb. To radiate right through me, and hollow my marrow. Amongst open nerves I can feel something, so I play with the pain. No matter how annoying.
As particles I transplanted through to her screen as we lay in our separate beds in the city. Mania makes me dumb. We flattered away. Fused as particles.
Her intent was for me to arrive at a designated location to drink and eat late into the night—11:00 p.m. With this given location I would be taken down like an elephant via poachers—that was the intent. At the location I was to be given an outrageous bill for the service and if I did not pay a group of big men would use their physical presence to get me to pay.
When I met her at the given location outside the door. I knew the tricks. I tested her. Asked if she would be willing to eat at another location.
She thought she would eat me and I thought I would eat her. My test was asking her to go to another place at the KTV nearby where I knew somebody that worked there—a karaoke location—the LED lights shining and me and her staring at the direction of them.
She hesitated and insisted on the location next to us. I said I had to go—before I left to contact if willing in the future to go to the KTV.
Where a perpetual hydrogen bomb would go off on our fused particles.

It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.
Tisishen Part Continued..
I was stuck at my current work at Mao’ye. A mall in the central part of Taiyuan in Shanxi. Coal dust central China. Frequent dust storms leaving me having to wipe the window sills of dust piles collecting. Life felt dry as the air—numb. I never know what I want. Drifting like paper in a breeze.
23 and feeling empty. Left the previous English training center I working at teaching adults. Company started going bankrupt. Boss was an asshole. He was originally from Datong near to Inner Mongolia.
That boss ran the company horribly. Was a coward of a boss. He would watch the cameras and email complaints on my dress code and not talk to me in person. A coward.
When the company was nosediving I got sent an email in the middle of the day stating my job would be terminated by the end of the month. I worked in china as an American. In china most jobs are based on contracts between employees and employers. I was supposed to continue another seven months with my job. The contract was broken when they emailed me saying they could not keep me due to salary. Contracts can be broken due to performance but not due to finance issues. I had already work for them a year on another contract. The law in China states I was due to be paid a year and a half of salary. My boss was such a coward to not speak to me in person and email the letter. I marched in his office and got told to fuck myself. I talked to the labor board at the local government office. I was told was told that I that they would have to pay me a year and a half of salary for breaking my contract.
Those times were rather gray for me. Clouds were heavy like gnats flying around the face. My girlfriend at the time was a stern nurse. The girl made of paper. She stayed beside. My fortress. Put up for adoption by her family in Henan. Where her adopted mother would put her hands in scolding hot water for punishment. She marched into my boss’s office and created a storm. He refused to budge. A few days later when the labor office contacted him he was willing to keep me for the rest of my contract. The labor office said that because my job was offered back I could not be paid if I left my job, as it would be my choice at that point. Frustrating. My wife had her uncle’s boss contacted from Taiyuan to go into the office. She had some influence in the area. She threatened to look over various certificates to get the branch in trouble. My boss did not budge. I decided to just go ahead and leave this English training center for teaching adults. I went for a new company that paid more passed in the Moye mall on the other end of the city. Now I would be teaching children again like I used.
Is this all I am? A server?
It makes me think of a time right before I met the woman made of paper. Stern from her experiences. A fighter. I like fighters.
I met fighters before. Reminds me of a story. A story I hold deeply to my heart. There was a woman named Ming. I met her through surfing on WeChat nearby searching for people looking for others nearby. Older by a few years. Met and became acquainted over messages.
Christmas tree lights in my head
Perched to be exploited…
Balloon with the air let out
Hissing all the time… because it whines
The inferno in me wants me to burn
Because it feels right
Christmas trees lit are under pressure—they know if they dry up the whole building will be in flames
So you have to be festive when you decorate—and avant-garde with who you decorate with
Maximalist at heart with pleasure
Nomads tend to wander to find a better part of the steppe
With a phallus as a Swiss Army Knife,
Paddling in northern China building a trench
22 year old Midwesterner with psychosis looking for a frigate to save him from the deep end
Impulsivity a catalyst for losing everything
I don’t care if you’re married, if you have a tunnel you can help me in the trench
Two staged rocket—
Already psychotic
Be a Launchpad
So I can get even further from earth
Ripple through the galaxy like I got a mission—
Even if it’s delusional
Another N1
Get myself on disconnect in the vacuum
Even if I come down Iike napalm.
I met Ming because I needed her and she needed me-even if she was married. I was 23 and without security. MY first job that I forgot from my boss Ryan was insane at times. Working without a visa for a company was unbearable. I felt obligated to my boss at that time he promised he could solve my issue if I worked hard for him. And I did. He was a bit corrupt too and not the greatest. Always offering going to brothels with people to make deals happen, including trying with me too. I never went. I did work hard for him though. I wanted to escape my predicament and he knew all the right people to contact to fix my problems if I met my obligations. Obligations could mean being asked to go to another training center to work part time and gather their curriculum for my school.
It felt unstable not knowing when I could get arrested or taken away. Made Ming a perfect connection to come across. I needed a friend that brought stability. She was a radio broadcaster in the city. Extremely wealthy. She would take me on outings eating delicious cuisine in the city or among weekend trips to interesting places nearby. I consider her one of the greatest friends I had. Because of her it was getting to meet other connections at outings with friends at KTV and clubs in the city. Like rhizomes growing out of a tree. Sustainability. It led to more rhizomes of connections. Something I want to talk more about. But I need to move the clock a bit. To the start of this ramble.
I was working in Maoye. I was on a legal visa at this time. My colleagues were not legal. They were often Slavic. Russian, Ukraine, and other Slavic nations. We had an office in the building setup on a third floor of a large mal with various classrooms for the foreign teachers to teach in. They would generally have a Chinese teaching assistant to help them in the classrooms. I taught students from pre-k age to middle school there.
In the middle of the setup of the floor layout was a large open office. I would sit and plan lessons and grade amongst the Chinese staff and foreign teachers. One day I grep of plain clothed officers came into the facility. They were checking on teachers on the wrong visas. The Russian teachers and others often could not fluently speak English or qualify for the correct visas—they didn’t meet the right requirements for work visas and would be on other various kinds of visas. They stormed in and I remember my Russian friend hearing the commotion tore his shirt with his logo on it and threw it on the ground in a rush. He ran shirtless down a stair well nearby flinging the doors open. Fear, anger… got to fill their class schedule while they are all out hiding.
Final Taishen
I met Chang’e. Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Like pollen.
My thoughts can transplant and Change can do the same too.
Mania got me again. I wrote a poem when I was younger to express it.
Feeling bold and exacerbated
Maybe I am just high strung
Ricocheting off these walls like bumper cars
A sparkler burning hot and bright
Popping off like roman candles
I am not always calm, but I am high,
A kettle left on the burner and forgotten,
Watch me melt away into my ecstasy
Where I dance and scream all in one
I’ll hit peak when crisis comes.
I hadn’t been sleeping. I took a second English teaching job and was seeing attending to seeing different people besides Ming.
Ming was kind and always took me on nice dinner dates. I didn’t have to worry about expenses and felt secure.
I was back on my smartphone looking and fishing for people nearby. Chang’e came in as a breeze from Luoyang to meeting a relative in Taiyuan.
Chang’e was working for a boss in Taiyuan. She would go on the WeChat application looking for men nearby. Flirt to get them to meet her. Like moths in dark they get to the lights:
Useless as a glass door. You can peek through. Pigeon-toed. Drained an ocean to fill insecurities. Uncomfortable thoughts ricochet in me. Like an ambush. Giddy when disappointed. I build trenches amongst the tripwires of life. City feels like a tsunami. Manners like a bloated tick. Sipping the veins from any limb around me. As a stranger to a moth, a porch light pulling. Desolate in lost thoughts. Nights awake and bunkering in hotels. Soft in my voice, I hopscotch to hands—falling through like particles of sand. With enough friction to set off an atom bomb. To radiate right through me, and hollow my marrow. Amongst open nerves I can feel something, so I play with the pain. No matter how annoying.
As particles I transplanted through to her screen as we lay in our separate beds in the city. Mania makes me dumb. We flattered away. Fused as particles.
Her intent was for me to arrive at a designated location to drink and eat late into the night—11:00 p.m. With this given location I would be taken down like an elephant via poachers—that was the intent. At the location I was to be given an outrageous bill for the service and if I did not pay a group of big men would use their physical presence to get me to pay.
When I met her at the given location outside the door. I knew the tricks. I tested her. Asked if she would be willing to eat at another location.
She thought she would eat me and I thought I would eat her. My test was asking her to go to another place at the KTV nearby where I knew somebody that worked there—a karaoke location—the LED lights shining and me and her staring at the direction of them.
She hesitated and insisted on the location next to us. I said I had to go—before I left to contact if willing in the future to go to the KTV.
Where a perpetual hydrogen bomb would go off on our fused particles.

“It's me, Brianna. Not you.”
That's what my latest boyfriend told me before walking directly into the path of a truck. There was barely anything of him, just enough to peel off of the sidewalk. I thought our relationship was going well. It's not like I'm desensitised to my boyfriend's dying (or ceasing to exist), but it's almost become the norm.
Ben was my first boyfriend in high school, and my longest relationship to date. Fluffy haired Ben with his dimpled grin and freckles. He was the type of guy who should have been popular, but chose to keep to himself.
I met him in the principal’s office. Ben was being lectured for ‘sneaking around’ and I was handing in a late assignment. All he did was wink at me, and I fell.
Hard.
We dated for two years, and I really thought he was the one. Ben told me he loved me, and every Friday he introduced me to a new restaurant. I was in love. I loved *everything about him.
On the night before our senior prom, a drunk driver t-boned my boyfriend's car, killing him instantly. After his funeral, it's like he stopped existing. His parents left town, and every time I mentioned him, my parents would slowly tilt their heads and act confused when I brought him up.
My brother was the worst for it, considering he and Ben were best friends.
But he just looked at me with this weird fucking look in his eye, like his soul had been ripped out. Eyes are the windows to the soul, apparently, and my brother's soul was MIA. “Ben?” His expression crumpled. “Wait, who?”
Alex was my emotional support, who later became someone closer.
Funny Alex.
Blonde-but-not-quite-blonde, Alex.
I met him in group therapy. My boyfriend was dead, and he had just lost his mother. We didn't label it, because he had a girlfriend, and I didn't want to move on so quickly. I think we just found comfort in each other.
Eventually, though, Alex became something I wanted to label.
His sense of humor was a breath of fresh air. I didn't go to college because of Ben’s death, settling for a mediocre barista stop in town. Alex came in every day with fresh coffee and a sugar cookie. I think I loved him. I told him that. Half asleep, I told him I wanted to try and be something more with him. Alex looked taken-aback, but happy.
We spent the night together.
The morning after, I woke to my mother screaming.
Alex was dead in the bathroom, his blood splattering, staining pristine white. According to the first responders, he died of a self inflicted head injury. The exact same thing followed. I attended his funeral, and Alex’s family disappeared.
This time, I went back to his house. But according to a neighbour, his house had been abandoned for ten years. I had eaten pancakes in his kitchen just days earlier.
I broke in to see myself, but my neighbor was right. The hallway was piled with ancient mail and threats of eviction. Alex’s room didn't exist, instead, a storage room filled with boxes.
When I got home, my family had already forgotten Alex’s existence.
The town had forgotten him, and yet his blood still stained my bathroom.
Following Alex’s death, I was terrified of getting too close to people.
But Esme made it hard.
She was my third relationship. We met at a bar. I was extremely drunk and convinced I was cursed to kill all of my romantic partners. Esme. Cute Esme. Crooked teeth and smudged lipstick and warm Esme.
Do you know that person you meet and you instantly connect with them? The person you're sure is your soulmate?
That was Esme.
I told myself I wouldn't get close to her. But I was already talking to this girl, already pouring my life out to her. Esme sat and listened, her chin resting on her fist. She was a first year creative writing student, and she had a cat called Peanut.
I didn't remember much after that. We hit it off, and next thing I know we’re curled up in the back of her car watching Buffy on her iPad. I told her about my exes, and she nodded and smiled, but I don't think she was listening.
I told her all of my exes have died, and then been erased from existence.
Esme called me cute. She wanted to base a story around the concept, sitting up and grabbing her phone.
I have this memory of the girl I fell in love with at first sight.
She's nodding along to a Smith’s song spluttering from my car radio, typing on her phone. I can hear the tapping of her nails, her lips curving into a smile. I can see the exact moment she gets inspiration, pulling her knees to her chest. She's wearing fishnet tights that are torn, and a jacket that doesn't fit her.
She is fucking beautiful, and I don't want to lose her.
Alex was beautiful.
He had pretty eyes and brown curls that I liked running my hands through. Ben was beautiful. He made my heart swim, my stomach swarm with butterflies, when I first met him. Ben was my first love.
The realization woke me up one night, three months into dating Esme.
Both of them were dead, wiped away like they never existed.
And Esme would follow.
At first, I tried to break it off with her without sounding crazy. I told her it was me not her, and I wasn't in the mindset for a relationship.
Esme understood, but her eyes didn't. I didn't want to lose her. Esme lit up every room she entered. Her obsession with thrifted clothes and badly written poems, and her irrational fear of pandas, made her someone I wanted to be with.
So, I stayed with her. I told myself Ben and Alex were just coincidences that were nothing to do with me, and I wasn't indirectly fucking killing the people I fell in love with.
I avoided the ‘L’ word for as long as I could.
It slipped out on my way to work. Esme was driving.
I just said it, and her eyes lit up. She reached out and squeezed my hand.
At work, one of my colleagues, Jasper, caught my eye. When I twisted around to ask him to grab something, I glimpsed his phone screen. It looked like Tinder, though I didn't recognise the layout. It reminded me of Twitter, in dark mode. Jasper was leaning against the counter, his thumb hovering over a photo of Esme, chewing his bottom lip.
I watched his thumb prance across the screen, before he gave up and swiped left.
Finishing up the woman's coffee, I handed it over.
“Uhh, I asked for cream.”
Ignoring her, I sidled in front of my colleague, hyper focused on whatever app he was playing around with. “What's that?”
Jasper looked up, his eyes widening, lips parting, like a fucking goldfish.
“Clearly nothing.” Jasper side-stepped me, opening the refrigerator and pulling out milk. But he already had milk. The bastard was stalling. We had zero customers waiting, so it was the two of us, and a long, dragged out pause.
Jumping up and down on the heels of his feet, he shot me his usual grin, slipping his phone in his apron.
Jasper may have been smiling, though there was something twisted in his expression.
I couldn't stop myself. “Was that a dating app?”
“Dating app?”
“Excuse me, can I get what I ordered?” The woman demanded, waving her coffee in the air. “I asked for whipped cream.”
Jasper saw that as an excuse, an escape, and nodded, fashioning a grin. He saw an opportunity, and took it. “Of course, Ma’am! I'll get that for you!” He said, with a little too much sarcasm. The boy took her coffee with a spring in his step, ducking in the refrigerator for the whipping cream. Jasper added too much whipping cream, dumping the drink on the counter with a little too much force.
It was a good thing my colleague was marginally attractive guy with cropped blonde hair, and a deadpan voice that somehow attracted the ladies.
Jasper could insult someone directly to their face, and they would just blush and get all tongue tied. I had seen it happen in real time. A girl was flirting with him, and used a bad pick-up line, which was something along the lines of, “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”
He laughed, and her eyes brightened. She giggled along with him, nudging her friends.
But he wasn't laughing with her. I saw the gleam in his eye.
He was laughing at her.
Still laughing, Jasper plonked her milk latte down so hard half of it spewed out.
And, with that exact same charming smile, he deadpanned, “Did it hurt when you dropped out of a drainpipe?”
Yeah, my colleague was blessed with good looks.
Otherwise, he would have been punched in the face by now.
Presently, he was being his usual asshole self. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
The woman shook her head, pulling a face.
Jasper had, essentially, ruined her drink. It was more cream than coffee.
When she left the store, I situated myself in front of him when he was counting cash. “What were you just looking at?” I nodded to the guy’s phone sticking out of his pocket. “Was it like… a dating thing you were on?”
Jasper didn't even look at me, his lip curling.
“That's kinda rude,” he hummed, “I don't peek at your phone.”
“Esme Hope.” Was all I could hiss out. “Was she on that dating app?”
My colleague proceeded to stare at me like I'd grown a second head, before his half lidded gaze flicked behind me. Jasper’s expression brightened.
“Oh, Hanna is calling me!” He said, choking out a laugh. Hanna was not calling him. She was in the break room getting high. Jasper slowly backed away, maintaining his smile. “I'll be back in a sec, all right?” He grabbed that same carton of milk with a grin. “Don't you just love when your milk stays fresh?”
“What?”
“Fresh milk!” He grinned. “Mulberry Farm’s finest.”
Jasper was darting away before I could coerce a sentence.
After work, I texted Esme as usual. She was my ride on Fridays.
Esme didn't reply.
I texted her again, a little more panicked.
Hey, are you okay?”
When I called her, an automated voice told me she wasn't available.
Already feeling sick to my stomach, I drove to her place myself. I could see the flashing lights before anything else, blurred red and blue sending my thoughts into a whirlwind. It took me ten minutes to muster the courage to jump out of my car, and ask a pale looking deputy what was going on.
I tried to jump over the yellow tape, only to be politely pulled back.
“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” the deputy told me. “The whole family is dead.” he sighed. “Mom, Dad, and their daughter in college.” I think he was trying to be sympathetic, awkwardly patting me. But I was already on my knees, all of the breath dragged from my lungs. “Luckily, it's just like going to sleep. Monoxide is a silent killer.”
Monoxide is a silent killer.
Was that the same as, “I'm sorry. Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
And, “Alex was silently suffering. He did what he thought was best.”
I didn't go to Esme’s funeral. Mom and Dad and Will had already forgotten her, just like the others. What I did do, several days later, when her name wasn't even a memory anymore– I bought flowers from the store. Roses were Esme’s favourite.
The seller was around my Mom’s age, a plump looking woman wearing a floral dress, long red hair tied into a ponytail. She was on her phone, humming to a tune on the radio.
The Smiths.
“I hope she likes them.” The woman said, wrapping the flowers in red ribbons. She had a strong southern accent that immediately annoyed me.
I took the roses, stuffing them in my bag. “What did you say?”
The seller cocked her head. “Hmm?”
“How did you know they were for my girlfriend?”
The woman sighed, placing her phone on the counter. I glanced at whatever she'd been so interested in, but the screen was faced down. “Esme came in here a lot,” Her lips broke out into a sad, sympathetic smile. I was quickly growing sick of them.
“Esme. She, uh, she told me you guys were dating. Esme was always buying roses for her room. Sometimes she would stand in here for hours, and just stare at flowers. I think she found comfort in them.” The woman sighed, fixing me with what I could only describe as a pitiful pout.
Urgh.
“I hope you can find the same comfort,” she murmured. The seller handed me an extra rose, and I found myself reaching out for it, my eyes stinging. Fuck.
I hadn't cracked in at least fifteen hours, and that was a record. But now I could feel myself splintering, tears trickling down my cheeks. The Flower lady squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If it makes you feel better, it's just like going to sleep. Monoxide is a silent killer.” Her words were familiar.
Exactly what the deputy said. Before I could speak, she dumped weed killer on the counter. “Did you know our plant killer is ten dollars ninety nine?”
Her sudden bout of energy took me off guard.
I tried to smile. “I don't want any plant killer.”
The seller nodded, handing me another rose. “Oh, of course, Darling! But it is five ninety nine! Just for today!”
Something pricked me, and I hissed out, wafting my hand.
Damn thorns. I could already see a single spot of blood.
I nodded, sucking my teeth against a cry. “Thanks. But I'll skip it this time.”
I took the roses to what used to be Esme’s grave. Now, it was an empty headstone with no name, no memories, no flowers, nothing. Just like Alex and Ben, Esme had been reduced to dirt under my feet. I stayed at her ‘grave’ for a long time, long enough for the sky to grow dark, and my thoughts darker. I tried to find a logical explanation for the sudden deaths of the people I got close to, but all I could think of was a curse.
So, I started googling curses, leaning against Esme’s headstone, my knees to my chest. Had I been cursed?
Was my family cursed?
According to Google, a cursed object connected with the curse itself.
Which could be anything. Though I didn't remember visiting any ancient ruins, or an old church. With zero answers, I headed home. I passed a guy playing The Smiths in his car. Then a group of older women wearing ripped fishnets.
Esme was following me. Just like Alex’s smell. Fresh coffee and rich chocolate.
Ben’s cologne filled my car last summer. His favourite band was playing all day on our local music station. I drove around with no destination, listening to each one on repeat, until I was losing him all over again.
The sweet aroma of flowers followed me all the way home, and I was tipsy on the smell, when I found myself face to face with a boy. Under the overexposed streetlight, this guy was almost ethereal, thick brown hair and freckles.
He reminded me of Ben. Which wasn't fair. I thought I was hallucinating him, before he came closer, bleeding from the shadow. I saw more of him, white strips of something wrapped around his head.
Wrong.
The word slammed into me when I glimpsed his clothes. Filthy. The guy was wearing a white button down, a single streak of bright red ingrained into the material. His white pants were torn, glued to his legs.
He was barefoot, the soles of his feet slapping on wet concrete.
I didn't realize he was in front of me, nose to nose, until he shoved me. Hard.
“Josie.” His voice was a whimper, despite his narrowed eyes, his lips twisted into a scowl. He was crying, and had been crying, every heaving son sputtering from his mouth. The boy shoved me again, and I staggered. His ice cold breath grazed my cheeks. “What the fuck did you do to my sister?”
“Sister?” I whispered.
Something wet landed on my cheek, suddenly.
Rain.
I wasn't expecting a downpour. The weather was forecasted to be clear.
To my surprise, the guy let out a harsh sounding laugh. The two of us were slowly getting drenched, but neither of us were making a move to get out of the rain. My hair was glued to the back of my neck, my clothes sticking to me.
But somehow, I wanted to stay in the rain. It was refreshing.
When a thought hit me, telling me to get out of the rain, it was shoved to the back of my mind. The guy spat water out of his mouth, shaking his head like a dog.
“Of course,” he muttered, “Drown me out with the rain.”
I found my voice, my gaze glued to intense red seeping through the bandage stapled to his head. He looked like he’d escaped an emergency room. “I don't know anyone called Josie,” I said, “I think you've got the wrong person.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, grabbing my shoulders, and I noticed how hollow his eyes were, empty caverns carved into his skull. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and this guy was completely soulless. “I'm only going to say this once,” he whispered, “What did you do to my sister?”
Before I could respond, the guy was being violently grabbed, and dragged back.
Figures who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
“Let me go!” He cried out, struggling. “You fucking assholes! Let me go!”
His screaming became muffling, when his cries were gagged.
“You promised!” He yelled, his cries collapsing into a sob. “You said if you took me, she wouldn't get hurt! So, where is she?” he met my gaze, his expression crumpling, something inside him coming apart, splintering by the seams. “You can't take both of us, this wasn't in the agreement!” When he was dragged further back, I noticed a car parked at the side of the road.
The boy was pulled inside. At first, he refused, before an extra pair of hands shoved him. “You fucking– mmmphmmhphmmm!”
I heard his fists slamming into the windows.
“Don't take me back there! Please! Just let Josie–” His cries once again collapsed into angry muffle screaming, and I felt my hands moving towards my pocket for my phone. This was a kidnapping, right? I was witnessing a kidnapping in broad fucking daylight.
A shadow was suddenly in front of me, and I jumped, tearing my eyes from the car. Jasper, my colleague. He was still wearing his apron, and to my confusion, was swinging a carton of whole milk.
“Sorry, Bree,” He winked, speaking in a single breath. “As you can see, our friend here had a little too much to drink.”
I nodded, craning my neck. Jasper stepped in front of me, maintaining a grin.
“Who is he?” This time, I side-stepped away from him, only for him to copy.
“Just a guy.” He said. “As you can see, he's a little…” Jasper prodded his right temple. “Let's just say he's got a few too many screws loose.” Jasper laughed, staying stock still, blocking my way.
When I made a move to counter him, he stepped in front of me, his eyes hardening. “I heard he lost his family a while ago in a…” He pretended to think. “Oh, yeah, a car crash. Maybe a gas explosion, I’m not really sure.”
I could hear the car behind him, and once again I tried to dart past him. But he was quick to block my way. He was getting closer to me, very subtly backing me in the opposite direction.
“Anyway, this guy is kiiiiind of nuts. Dude still thinks he's got a sister.”
When I lost patience and shoved him out of the way, the car, and the guy, was gone.
“See?” Jasper rolled his eyes. He was still holding milk from work. My head spun. It was 8pm, we were in a suburban neighbourhood, and Jasper was holding half a pint of milk. His apron was stained with coffee, and when I really looked at him, I realized he was out of breath.
He was doing a good job of hiding it, exhaling in intervals, swiping at his forehead to clear sweat. When I noticed, he pretended to run his hands through his hair. “I, uh, I feel for him! Like, I'm sorry his family died, or whatever, but attacking random girls isn't cool, y’know?”
Instead of replying, I stumbled home. It was sunny.
At 8pm.
And when I took notice, I wasn't even wet.
Esme was my last straw. I made a promise to myself to not get close to anyone. The guys and girls I met were friends, and nothing more. Weirdly enough, the only guy I was getting close to was my colleague. I don't know if it was brain damage, or I was finally losing the plot.
But Jasper’s shameless cruelty towards customers, and that quirk in his lips when he made them cry, was kind of hot.
However, he was playing hard to get.
And I mean REALLY playing.
I was in storage trying to find vegan milk, and he was suddenly a fucking expert, spewing milk facts.
When I slammed the refrigerator door shut, he was inches from my face.
In the dim light from a single spluttering bulb, his eyes reminded me of coffee grounds. I thought maybe he was going to kiss me, judging from his softening expression. I felt his hands go around my waist, and I felt myself immediately melt.
I don't know what came over me. It's like, one minute I hated him, and the next… I was suddenly hot. Really hot. And I really wanted to take my clothes off. I thought that's what he wanted to do too.
I mean, his gaze followed mine, piercing, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. Before he leaned forward, his breath in my face.
“Did you know that Mulberry Farms is an award winning brand of milk in our town and ONLY our town? Mulberry farms was bred and made right here."
And suddenly, I was no longer hot and bothered.
“I didn't.” I said, ducking into a crouch to search the shelves. “Have you seen our vegan milk? We did have some.”
“Three time winner,” Jasper continued. When I jumped up, he stepped closer, and I felt my cheeks spark. His smile was rare. In fact, Jasper was only smiling when he was talking about milk.
“Mulberry Farms have the best pasturization. It's suitable for everything! Coffee, cereal, or maybe you just want a glass of fresh milk to yourself! Perfect for kids, too! Breakfast time is Mulberry Farms.”
“Are you having a stroke?” I whisper-shrieked.
“Nope!”
Jasper twisted around, shooting me a grin.
I left the storage, however, with butterflies in my gut.
There was no way I was falling for my asshole colleague.
Somehow, though, I was.
Just standing next to him filled me with electricity.
The way he talked down to customers, insulting me to my face… I was thoroughly, and disgustingly, in love.
I tried to stop myself.
I showered in ice cold water.
I ate (choked on) a ghost pepper.
I even asked my BROTHER for advice, who told me to go for it.
I told him Jasper had one (of several) flaws, but this particular one was off-putting.
“He’s obsessed with milk.” I told my brother.
Harry lifted a brow. “Is that a euphemism, or…”
He paused, for way longer than necessary. “So, your would-be-boyfriend has a milk fetish?”
I left his room before he could take that conversation further.
I wanted to say Jasper was the only one who acted weird.
But over the next few weeks, I noticed it in quite a few people.
I was having breakfast with Mom, and she lifted up the box.
“Choco Flakes.” She blurted, “Aren't they just the best?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, Mom. They're great.”
I prodded the box with a smile. “Only a dollar ninety nine.”
There were so many townspeople on their phones. They walked around with groceries or briefcases, their eyes glued to whatever they were swiping through.
I was serving an old woman, when I caught her phone screen.
I could have sworn there was an image of Jasper.
She swiped right, and I had a hard time looking her in the eye.
The woman was at least in her 80’s. And I'm talking, can barely walk, and needs assistance.
Was she seriously hitting up 25 year old guys?
Walking home, everyone was on their phones.
I stopped at a crossing, stabbing the red light.
It started to snow the second I stepped out onto the road, white flakes dancing in front of me. It didn't even cross my mind that it was almost June. The snow was pretty, accumulating on the ground.
“Oh shit, sorry!”
Lifting my head, a guy was standing in front of me holding an umbrella.
I knew him.
But not from whatever was trying to pollute my mind.
I knew him from a while ago. I knew him from the rain. I knew the bloody bandages wrapped around his head, and soulless, seething eyes I couldn't understand. It was the boy who was dragged away three months prior.
He looked different, his hair was shorter, his face carved into a thing of beauty.
The white strips of gauze bleeding scarlet were gone, his filthy clothes replaced with a white shirt and pants, a trench coat flung over the top. I didn't remember him being this handsome. His dark brown hair had been tamed and curled.
It was his expression that sent shivers sliding down my spine.
His too wide smile and unblinking eyes made me suddenly conscious of two bright lights on the two of us.
So bright.
Something shattered in my mind, and I was aware of a lot of things.
The snow under my feet was too soft.
I glimpsed a single streak of red seeping from his nose, his hands trembling around a takeout coffee cup.
Behind me, people were staring. I could see a group of teenage girls giggling.
“It's him,” one of them squeaked. “It's the new love interest!”
“Bree?” His grin widened, snowflakes prancing around us. His teeth gritted together. I could tell he hated every word. “Holy shit, long time no see!”
He held out his hand, and I could see visible pain contorting in his eyes.
Help me. He was screaming through a twinkling smile.
“Don't you remember me? It's… it's uh, it's Sam!” he laughed. “From eighth grade!”
The lights blinked out, and the thought crashed into my mind. Static images filling my head. I shook them away.
Oh, yeah, it was Sam.
My childhood friend.
But I didn't reply. Instead of saying, “Sam? It's been so long!” I found myself walking, stumbling over to the girls.
Who were rapidly swiping left on their phones.
“What's that?” I demanded in a sharp breath.
I grabbed for the phone, only for Sam to step in front of me. He settled me with a smile.
Behind me, one of the girls fainted.
Sam’s smile didn't waver. Though he did side-eye the girl being carried away. “Why don't I take you out for coffee?”
Apparently, coffee was the code word for hooking up.
Sam dragged me into the nearest coffee store, straight to the bathroom.
When he shoved me into a stall, I didn't know what to say.
“Take off your shoes,” he said in a hiss, and after hesitating, I did.
Sam pulled off his jacket, shook snow out of his hair, and got real close.
“Look up.” He murmured.
I did, my gaze finding the ceiling.
“To your right, a camera is very well hidden, but can be seen with the naked eye if you catch what looks like a red laser,” Sam said. “To your left, another camera, as well as a vent that is currently pumping the stalls with aphrodisiacs. And right now, we are in the red zone. Meaning, you should be conscious.”
He prodded me, and I flinched.
“Mostly conscious.”
His words went right over my head, my mind was foggy.
I couldn't think straight.
I think I asked him what he was saying, but my mouth was filled with cotton.
“Snap out of it,” he said, “Like I said, they're making you feel like this.”
He shoved me against the door, which broke me out of my trance. Slightly.
“I hate what I'm going to say right now,” Sam groaned, tipping his head back. He was sweating, I noticed. Bad. I glimpsed beads of red pooling down his neck. He noticed me staring. “I'm okay, for now. I’m faulty, so the connection is severed. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I…think.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sex.” He said, blinking rapidly. I wasn't going to comment on his slurring voice.
Sam stumbled, fresh blood dripping from his nose.
“We need to do the sex. Like…” His eyes rolled into the back of his head, but he managed to stabilise himself. “Nooooow.”
“What?!”
“Is everything okay in there?”
The voice was a woman. She knocked on the stall.
Sam’s eyes widened, coming back to life a little. “They're paranoid,” he whispered. When I could only stare at him, he pounded his fists into the door. “They think we’re fucking,” he hissed, “So, we need to make it believable.”
“They?” I mouthed.
He didn't reply, swiping at his haemorrhaging nose. “Just… move around against the door. That'll fool ‘em.”
I did, doing my best to shuffle around, slamming my back against the lock.
When the metal clanged, he shot me a look. “Sex!” He hissed, “Not murder!”
Sam jumped onto the toilet bowl. There was an open window above him.
“That's enough.” He mouthed, hoisting his way through.
He helped me through, and I expected to land on concrete.
What I did land on, however, was something… squishy.
Something wet sliding between my bare toes.
Looking closer, I recognised the beaded anklet.
Fishnet tights.
Something animalistic clawed from my throat. I was standing on Esme. Or what was left of Esme. She was just a torso and legs, the rest of her ripped away like doll pieces. I couldn't see her face. I looked for it, digging through what could only be old flesh and pieces of limbs.
I felt suffocated. I grabbed half of Ben’s face that had been ripped off, and then Alex’s tattooed arm. There was so much of them, piles and piles of the same heads, the same filthy and rotting clothes. I was screaming by the time I shuffled back on my hands and knees, trying to wipe them off of my skin.
They were all over me, staining me, painting me.
Sam’s hand slick with blood gently covered my mouth.
“Stay calm, all right?” He whispered. “I would tell you everything is going to be okay, but the truth is, it's really not, there's like, a 99.9% chance you're going to… understandably freak out.”
He pulled me to my feet, letting out a heavy breath.
Blinking rapidly, I could only see… pieces.
Pieces of people.
Legs and heads and torsos all piled into one mass of gore.
“We’ve got maybe five minutes before they realize we’re not doing the devil's dance,” Sam sniffled, “Maybe ten, before my brain short circuits and I bleed out.”
I didn't know I was hyperventilating, until I couldn't fucking breathe.
Closer towards the door, and I could hear… machinery.
I couldn't stop myself. Even when I was aware I was standing in congealing blood.
Rotten bodies.
The dim light led me into what could only be described as a factory. There were three levels, and we were on the highest. Sam stepped forward, gripping the metal bar in front of us. I felt my legs buckling, a thick, pukey slime filling my mouth.
“Soo, I guess it all started when Brianna Timberman was seventeen years old, and rejected by her childhood best friend, Sam Thwaites.”
Sam’s words collapsed into a low buzzing in my ear.
All I could see was a conveyer belt, filled with… people.
Boys.
Girls.
But most noticeably, Ben’s, Alex’s, Esme’s, and Sam’s.
But they start as Ben’s, Alex's, and Esme’s.
I could see regular people, their hair stripped away.
Their skin sliced into, cruelly moulding them into the exact same four faces.
When a large looming needle plunged into the back of an Alex’s head, I couldn't not watch. I waited for the guy to wake up, but I don't even think he was alive.
He stood, unblinking, letting this thing twist and contort his face. And it was then, when I realized these things weren't even human. I could see the mechanics built under their flesh, both living tissue and metal melded together. “Brianna’s father, who is a liiiitle on the crazy side, with too much cash and not not enough logic, took his daughter’s rejection a little too personally,” Sam continued.
“So, he promised his daughter he would find her the perfect match.”
I started to speak, the words coming out before I could stop them.
“My father would never–”
“I didn't say it was your father,” Sam said. His eyes darkened. “Anyway, as I was saying, the townspeople became unhealthily obsessed with who Brianna would choose. So obsessed, in fact, that the girl’s day to day life was broadcasted across town, while her potential love interests were ranked, week after week. First, there was Ben.”
Sam’s smile thinned. “Her high school boyfriend.”
Sam shrugged. “She grew bored of him. Also, he kinda did something unforgivable.”
He continued. “Then… Alex. She liked him, but sometimes, he was a little too unserious. The guy was a clown.”
I backed away, but he was quick to grab my shoulders.
“Finally? Esme. Who she truly fell for.”
I swallowed. “Esme is–”
He cut me off. “But I didn't mention that they hurt her, did I?”
Sam leaned against the bar. Behind him, I could see a figure in white pushing a gurney with a Ben strapped to it. “Ben tried to rape her, insisting she wanted it. Alex dumped her on her birthday. Esme ended their relationship with a one word text. Goodbye.” Sam mimed an explosion. “That was the nail in the coffin.”
I caught blood sliding down his nose. “You're still bleeding.”
Sam gingerly prodded his nose.
“Urgh. Yeah, it's an effect of the severing. I've been in the red zone too long. I should probably speed this up.”
He talked faster, his voice collapsing into a mumbled slur.
“Brianna couldn't take it. Her best friend was ignoring her. Everyone she had fallen in love with hurt her. Esme wasn't returning her calls. Ben was sleeping around right in front of her, and Alex was still being a clown. Brianna’s poor parents found her hanging from her bedroom ceiling fan.”
I shook my head, my thoughts screaming.
“No–”
He held a finger up to shush me. “Let me talk. Jeez.”
Sam folded his arms. “A grieving father would do anything to avenge his dead child, buuut… Mr Timberman took ‘finding a perfect match’ and ‘the show must go on’ a little bit too literally.”
His sickly smile found me. “Which also means going stark fucking crazy. The town wanted more of Brianna, and her life, so he turned his daughter’s failed love life into a town wide TV show, sending the entire teen and young adult populace into here,” he gestured around him. “To make the perfect suitors. Who wouldn't hurt his new Brianna.”
Something ice cold crept down my spine.
He cleared his throat. “Mr Timberman grew, let's say, obsessed, with getting revenge on these specific four people. So, he started killing them–” He coughed.
“Sorry. Us. Killing us for the funny ha-ha, ‘Look at how many times I can fuck with them!’ bit. And then recycling us into someone completely different. Our names are gone. Then our personalities. Finally, our bodies ripped to pieces and sculpted into Brianna’s exes.” Sam poked me in the cheek.
“The cycle continues. They reset your ticker and the town eats it up. They can bring back Esme, Ben, and Alex whenever they want and add curveballs. Like the bad-boy colleague who becomes the fan favorite.” Sam’s lips curved. “For… some fucking reason.”
His eyes flickered open. “However, Brianna will never find a suitor because her father is a fucking sociopath. To him and the town, his dead daughter’s pathetic love life is entertainment.”
He held out his arm.
“See?”
I tried really hard not to look through the makeup.
At noticeable skin grafts.
“I was a Ben.” He said. “Then I was an Alex, and then I was an extra.” His eyes found mine, sad, suddenly. “But who I was originally is kinda gone. All I remember is a deal to protect Josie. I gave myself up so they wouldn't take her.”
“Your sister.” I said.
Sam nodded.
His earlier words hit me. He was talking like Brianna Timberman was dead.
But I was Brianna Timberman.
I was rejected by Sam, yes, but I found Ben.
As if he could read my mind, Sam shook his head.
“Look at yourself.” He said, his voice shaking.
“And I mean really look at yourself.”
Sam stepped closer.
“Because, underneath all of that make-up and the prosthetics and surgery, and fucked up memories, you're just another recycled lump of flesh.” He prodded my temple. “Who thinks she is Brianna Timberman.”
His voice was slurring again, a fresh stream of scarlet seeping down his chin.
“Don't you want to know?” His eyes rolled to pearly whites.
Before he could finish his sentence, Sam dropped to the ground.
I remember warm arms grasping hold of me.
Shadows with no faces.
They pricked me twice in the back of my neck.
A familiar voice in my ear, almost a hiss.
Jasper.
“You are the worst fucking Brianna.”
When I came to, I was standing up, somehow.
At work.
I am Brianna Timberman.
The thought floated around in my head, my memory hazy.
“Hello?!”
A man was waving his hands in front of me.
“I asked for iced coffee, lady!”
Jasper was serving another customer. “Bree, wake the fuck up.”
They were trying to make me think I was hallucinating.
Which was crazy, because my fingernails were still tinted with Sam’s blood.
The marks he'd left on my wrist when he was yanking me, were still there.
Bruised on my arm.
“Bree!” Jasper snapped. “Snap out of it and make the dude his drink.”
“Right.”
The word slipped out of my mouth.
He caught my eye, winking, and Brianna Timberman internally squeaked.
I half wondered what he was. Was he recycled, or an unwilling performer?
Throughout the day, I was fully aware my words were not mine.
Like I was on autopilot.
But not just that.
My thoughts weren't mine, either.
I spent half of my shift staring at my colleague’s biceps.
During my break, I went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.
I am Brianna Timberman.
But even when I told myself that, my eyes were too blue.
My smile was too perfect.
My teeth.
Too white.
My shaking hands prodded at my face, at someone else's face.
So many faces, so many skin grafts.
The thought was violent, sending tremors through me.
How many people was I wearing?
I started to claw at my arms and legs, my face.
How many fucking people had I been?
I grabbed a knife and tried to slice at my face.
But there was no blood.
How could there be no blood?!
When I got home, I found my family waiting for me.
Mom, Dad and Harry, all of them beaming.
“Bree!” Mom stood up, her lips stretching into a grin.
My mouth was already moving, but they were not my words.
“Mom!”
I didn't know why she was smiling so much, until I saw Sam sitting at our dining room table. His smile was too big. His over-expensive shirt and pants did not suit him, and looked fucking gross, but somehow my brain thought it was hot. The worst part is, I couldn't and still can't tell which Sam he was.
Was he the guy who told me the horrific reality of my existence?
Or was he another recycled, mindless suitor?
“This is Samuel.” Mom said, and Sam slowly stood.
He took slow steps towards me, and kissed my hand.
I saw the slightest smudge of scarlet in his lip, but his eyes were blank.
In the corner of my eye, my ‘father’s’ eyes were glittering.
“Hello, Brianna.” Sam said, and I swore Now that I was awake, the walls were wolf-whistling. Laughing.
"Ooooooooooooooo!”
My town is a blip on the map.
We’re so small, so insignificant, not even a Google search will find us.
I keep thinking if I tear at my skin, I will find who I am underneath. But I'm so fucking scared. I don't bleed. I don't think who I was still exists under so many layers. But even if this is just a cry into the void, please help us.
I don't want to be Brianna Timberman.

4am bid for affection turned
Ugly in the war for independance
Again again again
You called it first
I laid my blessings before the ones
Who used them up
Without respect to whom I love
And all the rage back home
I'm responsible
I was the one who left and abandoned
Under the banner of "the right thing"
When all the real life words said
You don't want me and
I only made a victim of you
It was a lie my true stories used
To hanged me by a noose
For the love of godddd
I screamed Plato
Where Eros ruled
Motherfucking Calypso
Norman fucking Rockwell
Goddamn manchild my poetry is bad
The digital childrens toys were dull years ago
Used now like heroin needles
To avoid the revulsion I feel
A baby's tantrum stomping on the door-mat
It was never enough to sacrifice my whole self
My soul was demanded too
And beat against the banisters when I refused
It's not a mentality when I'm actually abused
Half-poems where the conscious met
A screeching halt to prevent
Each new disaster of the heart
Fool! Fool! Fool!
You handed me the instructions and blueprints
The help I could have given myself and
The changes I could have made
Jesus - that I swore I would make
Smoke rises from chains
Just ask her please how often
I've said your name out loud and long
Last night, the night before, last week, last month,
At the start I said my heart does not belong here
None seems to care
I wouldn't rather be here in this place
I keep building up to get spat in the face
That my feelings were always killing someone
I watched the light behind their eyes fade just now
Then recover in shiver like my lack of loving was the cause of death
It was my first priority on paper to find the replacement
"Until then we can game in my basement"
FOOL!
Time marches forward forever
It's why I put this hole on my face
And it would make me think of you too, and that is a plus for me
Because if I don't think of your eyes and your face
They start to fade just as fast
Blanketed by your pained silence
And that, more than anything, rattles the foundations of my courageous soul
Willing to go down into that small dark place unafraid
Patient and kind and giving love away every day
Until what remains doesn't look the same
As the boy you sang your vows to
I don't know what's changing next I am
Codependant on an unintentionally cruel person
Where the hell did I go? The Lost Woods at home
I hide it well that I can tell when it's you
Not just the vacancy
Or no, I hardly hide it at all
I often ask if it's you I've found and
I didn't need to know I guess
It was a leap of faith that I couldn't take
I had dashed myself on those rocks before
Now I hardly care for my corporeal form
I will run to the edge and leap as far as I can
Let my bruised and aching corpse pay the toll
Midair asleep I dream of Icarus wings
Better than caught in the tower behind me
The ones bombed in the eighties or nineties
I hurt you first
Voices in the sussurus please hear me
I don't have the words to explain just how badly
I wanted things to change
Up against unflinching poor behavior
Words said in reality that stopped my heart
Words I said with lethality
Kneeling and sobbing over the death I wrought
EMS please save this love
It wasn't all my fault
I truly believed you were better without me
And I kept seeing you begging and pleading
My stoney bones crumbled under stoic indifference
A cutout which promised to be the "right thing"
Telling the worst most horrible truth
A javelin through my skull roof
Hit number 3 on this porch hoping one of these sticks can just finally kill me
Woa woe is me
Surprising my external calm with crisis
Where a gun to someone elses head is the same as pointed at mine
And that behavior never died
'We talked about this Jesus Christ'
Stigmata lo my noble sacrifice
A bum hillbilly martyr
Described to onlookers as far from nice
Prosecute me my darling for dialogue sliced to ribbons
I was one of those dogs, Jess
Your torn blouse on my snout
And like the freedom of sheer loneliness
I stopped the chase
I was afraid
Afraid
Holy god damn I was so
Afraid
That my teeth would meet your neck
We would tumble over laughing
As I tore you to shreds
To shreds you say
I couldn't handle killing you a fourth, a fifth, an nth time
A projection on the inside of my mind
So I stayed in fresh brine with mutilated lips
How many times have we said goodbye
Will we be saying it all our lives
Well I broke the border and shot the letter-arrow up to your tower
Castle of harmony blocked my own arrow
I'm so tired of lying!
You'd say I am where I want to be but you're mistaken
I'd be dying in your arms tonight if you asked me
I would fly to 50% on one knee (scoff scoff, I hear the murmurs from the furies scoffing)
I would. I would. Charge headlong into the place where angles doff their wings.
Seraphim court escort me to the bricks outside
Where I would contine to cry;

 I love you. With my whole heart. There is no kiss nor touch I could accept that would ever be enough without you though I tried, I tried. I don't want to love someone else and I never did. I made promises to the dying just as I was bid. I hid from you embarrassed that my choices took me this way. Let me not hide anymore. Whether your gaze unshackles me or burns me to a crisp. I find there is little difference. 

I don't repeat what I've read sometimes
So I don't give you away
But you stopped hiding 2 years ago in october
The tenth anniversaries I missed
I saw in the mirror a victim and prayed for salvation
That can never come
Fuck this dehumanizing love
I am sarah in the junkyard
Goblin king goblin king
I am Toby in the escherian
Yes I remind me of the babe
I cast my voodoo on the internet til mother slaps my wrist
And my joyful grin is replaced by a vacant stare
God damn I care. I care about you.
And evening knowing your masks I won't let myself know
Who is who
You are you
Whatever I do
I can't make your dreams untrue
Do you still dream of me,
Is it unwillingly?
What to do, not who.
Dorm tower floor bending and collapsing under me
This place has been abandoned since the eighties or nineties
This is a love poem
Improvised on a summers morning with cool wind and hazy clouds
The peonies are nearly gone now
Cosmos and black-eyed susan
You take forage up a slippery ridge
A road they call suicide
And susan is there all around, yellow petals beaming against the old-growth forest
If you write on reddit and your phone dies the comment isn't saved
You would laugh at the frequency that it's happened
Number four fuels the following words whatever they might be
In mind of Klaus talking to Ben
Lets start a cult in the sixties
Drown my ghosts in seas of buddah leaf
Electricity, nicotine, extacy, fleeting reliefs
This wasn't who I wanted to be!
Woe woe woe is me.
Whatever you might read between lines here,
Which is why I didn't space that paragraph,
I'm not angry. No not at anyone. Not even me.
I did the best I could with what I knew at the time
Which was nothing.
I only assumed from anonymous letters what you felt for me
(And you know what assuming does to me)
I want to believe
Bojack and DS9 are still in my watch-list
Waiting to be seen by your side
If ever there comes a time
Just as long as my rhymes are sufficient
Is that right?
No... you are a prize
But you'd regard me coldly for starting a fight
Challenges issued and not acted upon
Editing bay waiting for just the right song
And a full hour to pull my bleeding brain along
Woe woe woe woe... I did it all to myself
While my coffee went cold
Emotional discharge prompt
Watching you get onto the plane
And one of me stands stock still shocked.
One of me is dialing every number.
One of me is
One of me is running begging saying "Wait"
I swear I can love you more.
I think my affections are a chore.
Did you ever see them like that, too?
"I just want it to be easy," I said breathless
Just outside your departure gate,
"I know how much you love me and I love you too
Please," I wait for your answer
But I don't know if you can hear me
Looking up at the ring
And your gaze goes back and forth,
What do your diamond eyes see?
A man completely emptied
Or a boy smiling and pleased
Just to see his favorite person again
Not really knowing why we're at the airport
The details and plot lost on his fragile egg-shell mind
I contemplate number 5
Once I go inside I'll need to hide my own eyes again
Or let them be seen to my homies devestation
"If she was comfortable talking to you I wouldn't get in the way"
Yes it was my fault that I acted that way
I let a lifetime of pain roll me over devour my entire ribcage
I would edit my post if I knew what to say
But here is as much of my ugly truth
As can be depicted in an hour of tearful thumb tacking
I was going to roll off the roof
When I knew just how I had punished you
For loving and loving and loving me truly
How could you
Too long; didn't read:
I don't want to live my life without you and only the challenges I face can prove that
I was mistaken when my charge demanded I remove that piece of me that keeps my mechanisms ticking
I can't ever ask you to stay in pain
But this is only over if you want it to be.

I am not even talking about scriptural problems within the bible, You don't have to open a single bible to start seeing the problems,
1-) The Problem of Salvation and Faith (Why the plan of salvation is ridiculous, and has failed)
I.The ridiculousness of the plan
A. Demanding blood for remission of sins Heb 9:22 - Why is this the terms that god insists upon? Isn't he the architect of the parameters regarding sin, punishment, and forgiveness? Is he not able to forgive sin without blood sacrifice? Can he not say, “No blood sacrifice necessary, I just forgive you?”
B. God sacrificing himself to himself to save us from himself by creating a loophole in the architecture for condemnation he engineered in the first place? This is your solution for a problem in which you yourself are the problem. It’s like a doctor stabbing people to be able to operate and save them.
C. Dying for someone else's crime does not equal justice in any court.
D. The sacrifice was not a sacrifice at all :

1. Jesus is said to be eternal
2. He spent a few days in misery out of his billions of years plus of existence
3. He spent a minutiae of a fraction of his existence suffering knowing he would be resurrected after the ordeal and spend eternity in divine luxury, and that somehow provides him justification to sentence us to trillions of years of eternity suffering without end?
4. Jesus is a supernatural immortal who suffered temporary mortal punishment and then sentences mortals to supernatural eternal punishment if they do not receive his sacrifice.
5. Why is three days of punishment followed by eternity in glory sufficient for all the horrible deeds any man has ever committed, but billions of years suffered in hell by a good moral person who does not believe due to lack of evidence is not sufficient?

2-) Nature of The Christian god
I. He is supposed to be an all Powerful and All mighty being and yet he died on a cross by his own creation (If you see someone claiming to be god and then you saw him hie before your very eyes, How on earth are you supposed to conclude anything else other than "This guy is a liar"?)
Modern Christians would respond to this saying "Only the Human part died, The Divine part wasn't affected"
Which again, doesn't make any sense :
A. Even when assuming a human sacrifice is somehow necessary for salvation, The sacrifice of 1 Human being can never be Enough to atone for the sins of all of mankind since Adam and Eve till the return of jesus.
I found a Coptic pope explaining this issue in detail, Here is a link to his book, https://st-takla.org/books/en/pope-shenouda-iii/nature-of-christ/propitiation-and-redemption.html
Quoting from it : "The belief in the One Nature of the Incarnate Logos is essential, necessary and fundamental for redemption. Redemption requires unlimited propitiation sufficient for the forgiveness of the unlimited sins of all the people through all ages. There was no solution other than the Incarnation of God the Logos to offer this through His Divine Power.
Thus, if we mention two natures and say that the human nature alone performed the act of redemption, it would have been entirely impossible to achieve unlimited propitiation for man's salvation. Hence comes the danger of speaking of two natures, each having its own specific tasks. In such case, the death of the human nature alone is insufficient."
It's very clear that saying only the human part died doesn't make any sense, Even according to the Christian theology itself.
B. The Trinity is based on a false idea
I know, It's a classic Argument against Christianity but you can't deny that it's an actual damning argument against the Christian theology.

1. God is all knowing but Jesus wasn't all knowing (mark 13:32)
2. Jesus is supposed to be god, but he is praying to himself to save himself with cries and tears?? (Luke 22:41-44)
3. Jesus is god but we can't say he is good because only god is good?? (Luke 18:18-19)
4. God can't be tempted by evil (James 1:13) but yet jesus was tempted by satan?? (Matthew 4:1)
5. Jesus is god but he can't do a thing on his own?? (John 5:31) 6.Jesus is supposed to be the same as the father, But their teachings are different? (John 7:16)

And so many more, Throught the bible i can't help but notice the intense number of verses which clearly states Jesus can't be god.
3-) The Problem of a Historical Jesus (Why we don’t know the actual historical Jesus)
I. No contemporary historical evidence,
A. No historian alive during Jesus day wrote about Jesus despite ample opportunity

1. The kings coming to his birth
2. Herod’s slaughter of baby boys
3. The overthrowing of money changers
4. Jesus triumphant entry into Jerusalem where he is declared king by the whole town.
5. Darkness covering the whole earth for hours on Jesus’ Death
6. The earthquakes at Jesus’ death
7. The rending of the temple veil at Jesus’ Death
8. The resurrection of Jesus that was seen by 500 witnesses.(Only Paul claims that, even tho he never met jesus)

II. The Gospels are contradicting, late hearsay accounts
A. Mark, the earliest gospel, was written at least after 70 A.D. (referencing fall of temple) by a non-eyewitness, and makes numerous cultural and geographical errors that a Jewish writer would not have made such as locations of rivers, cultural customs regarding divorce, locations of towns or Jesus quoting from the greek Septuagint etc. (see geographical and historical errors in this link, https://holtz.org/Library/Philosophy/Metaphysics/Theology/Christianity/Criticism/Bible%20Problems%20by%20Packham%201998.htm#ERRORS )
B. The other gospels all copied from Mark. Luke and Matthew contain over 70% of Mark and mainly make changes in attempts to fix blatant errors made in Mark and to correct Mark’s poor grammar.The writer of Luke even reveals to us in Luke 1:2 that he was not an eyewitness, but that the story has been passed down to him.
C. Four where chosen by the church father Iraeneus because he believed the earth was founded on four pillars and so too, should the gospels be founded by only four accounts.
Iraenus also revealed the names of the Gospels in the late second century, without any reason to assume they where the authentic authors - no one knows who actually wrote them!
D. John was initially considered heretical by the early church because of its variation from the synoptic but was overwhelmingly popular amongst Christians and so was included.
E. The book of Revelations was also considered heretical by many :
For centuries The Revelation was a rejected book. In the 4th century, St.John Chrysostom and other bishops argued against it. Christians in Syria also reject it. The Synod of Laodicea: c. 363, rejected The Revelation. In the late 380s, Gregory of Nazianus produced a canon omitting The Revelation. Bishop Amphilocus of Iconium, in his poem Iambics for Seleucus written some time after 394, rejects The Revelation. When St.Jerome translated the Bible into Latin, producing the Vulgate bible c. 400, he argued for the Veritas Hebraica, meaning the truth of the Jewish Bible over the Septuagint translation. At the insistence of the Pope, however, he added existing translations for what he considered doubtful books: among them The Revelation. The Church in the East never included the Revelation.
4-) The early church did not seem to know anything about a historical Jesus. Huge amounts of disagreement over Jesus in the first hundred years :

1. Some churches didn’t even believe he had a physical body, prompting Paul to write about that very issue.
   
2. There was an enormous debate between all the major early churches as to whether Jesus was divine or not, this was settled at the council of Nicea by the Roman Emperor Constantine.
   

5-) Which Bible?
A. Over 450 English versions of the bible All are translated using different methods and from entirely different manuscripts
B. Thousands of manuscripts disagreeing with each other wildly in what verses and even books they contain.
C. Different translations teach entirely different things in places, some often leaving out entire chapters and verses or containing footnotes warning of possible error due to uncertainty about the reliability of the numerous manuscripts.
Take a look at this example, 1- Revised standard version 2- Revised standard version Catholic edition 3- NEW revised standard version Updated edition 4- NEW revised standard version Catholic edition 5- NEW revised standard version, Anglicised 6- NEW revised standard version, Anglicised Catholic edition
How many attempts would it take to finally get it right ?!
6-) The Morality of the bible
I don't like using Morality as an argument because i believe it's a subjective thing, But I cannot help but notice how the morals of the OT and the NT are completely contradictory
In the OT god was Angry, Vengeful, Demands war, order genocides, Ordered the killing of children and even the ripping open of pregnant women.
But in the NT he somehow became loving, a father figure, saying if anyone hits you you shouldn't even respond back.

• In Conclusion: I don't think Christianity can be accepted as the truth by any logical person (Even most convert stories i heard were basically "I saw jesus in a dream" or "The holy spirit held my hand")

There is so many Theological confusion, A salvation idea that makes 0 sense, Lack of any form of historical critirea of knowing what is true manuscripts and what is hearsays (The authors of the gospels are all Anynomous),
There is even disagreement within Christianity itself about what stories go into the bible (Many stories have been found out to be false like John 8:1-11 and Mark 16:18)
https://textandcanon.org/does-the-woman-caught-in-adultery-belong-in-the-bible/
The lack of consistency on literally everything makes it one of the least convincing religion in my opinion.

"Has the Kingdom of God Come?"

The Scriptures seem to imply that the kingdom of God isn't exactly synonymous with what is called "the Church." The Church was a temporary eschatological community of believers that existed on earth in preparation of a kingdom where God Himself would reign, and said community had Christ reign over them in the meantime. The head of the Church was Christ, with the Father serving as his head (1 Cor. 11:3). The Scriptures teach that, when all Christ's enemies were to be made his footstool, he was to give back all authority to the Father (Psa. 110:1, 1 Cor. 15:22-28), and it is this page's belief that this happened in 70 AD.
The following quotation is from the above hyperlink:

As for the "1000 years" mentioned in Revelation, they are apocalyptic metaphor for the 40 years Christ "reigned" (triumphed) over his enemies both human and spirit, with the final triumph being the judgement of apostate Jerusalem. The "1000 years" began with his ascension, and ended with this judgement.

Thus, the community to replace the Church on earth was to be the kingdom of God. But, what even is the kingdom of God, and why did God have to reclaim authority of His own creation in the first place?
To be as succinct as possible: Man sinned, and so both immortality (i.e., access to the tree of life) and the great level of authority God initially granted us ourselves over the creation were stripped. As a result, death and sin reigned and had to be defeated for God to allow us to reign with Him in the way that He originally intended for us. God has always been sovereign, of course, but He seeks the good of man to make us stewards over His world with Him, as that was His original plan and this was His original view of what a kingdom of His truly looks like: a kingdom characterized by man's love for Him and love for others.
When Adam sinned, humans fell under the tyranny of death, corruption, evil heavenly powers, and sin itself. When Jesus came, Jesus was the new and exalted human, the new Adam, through whom humanity could now realize their original destiny that was laid out for them in the Garden of Eden. Because Jesus, being a man, obeyed unto death, he has defeated the powers which held sinners so long under bondage; sinners are now offered liberation so long as they simply place their faith in Christ's sacrifice to wash them of their sins and participate with the Spirit of God that is promised to all who exercise this faith.
The Bible isn't just about individual salvation. The goal isn't just 'go to heaven when you die.' Humans were created to be part of God's creation project and can build for His kingdom now. God puts His people in the right (i.e., "justifies" them) as a means to that end.
Humans were made to be stewards of God's creation. Their enslavement to sin and death undermines that role. But rather than giving up on humans and restoring creation by some other means, God, via the death and resurrection of Jesus, rescues the humans from sin and death so that they can fulfill that stewardship role.
We often think of ‘the gospel’ as the part that brings the forgiveness of sins (and of course, that is part of the idea), but ‘gospel’ is the announcement that everything has changed in the coming of Jesus and it leads us to a new kind of living.
The gospel Jesus preached and the gospel the apostle Paul preached were different, in that Jesus preached of a kingdom where God reigns directly and with all His faithful subjects as participants in that reign. The gospel Paul preached was about the exaltation and reign of Christ, and because Christ reigned, the consummation of the kingdom of God with earth could now finally take place (Col. 1:12-13). This consummation was put on hold during Christ's "millennial" reign, which transpired between his ascension and his return. However, the consummation has come to full fruition since that return.
We will be arguing for some of these claims by pointing out how central the kingdom of God actually was to Jesus' earthly ministry and message, and demonstrate what Jesus taught about how it actually looks like.
The term 'kingdom' appears 53 times in 42 places in Matthew, 17 times in 13 places in Mark, and 41 times in 29 places in Luke. When the 'kingdom' is qualified, Luke always refers to the 'kingdom of God' (32 times) and Mark follows this pattern (14 times). Matthew, on the other hand, prefers the term "kingdom of heaven" (31 times), using the phrase to refer to the same idea "kingdom of God" only four times: 12:28, 19:24, 21:31, 43.
The Gospel of Luke records an event where Jesus responds to the population that lived near Simon Peter's house who believed in him after he had done his miraculous work there, but saw that he was leaving them:

"And when it was day, he departed and went into a desert place: and the people sought him, and came unto him, and stayed him, that he should not depart from them. And he said unto them, I must preach the kingdom of God to other cities also: for therefore [i.e., for this pupose] am I sent." (vss. 42-43)

The Greek word euangelion is often translated as the word 'gospel.' In the Bible, this word is always used whenever it concerns the announcement of the reign of a new king. And in the New Testament, the Gospels themselves use this word or the phrase "good news" to summarize all of Jesus’ teachings. They say he went about “preaching the gospel [good news] of the kingdom [of God]” (Matt. 4:23).
There’s this beautiful poem in the Old Testament, and it’s in chapter 52 of the Book of Isaiah. The city of Jerusalem had just been destroyed by Babylon, a great kingdom in the North. Many of the inhabitants of the city have been sent away into exile, but a few remained in the city, and they’re left wondering, "What happened? Has our God abandoned us?" This was because Jerusalem was supposed to be the city where God would reign over the world to bring peace and blessing to everyone.
Now, Isaiah had been saying that Jerusalem’s destruction was a mess of Israel’s own making. They had turned away from their God, become corrupt, and so their city and their temple were destroyed. Everything seemed lost. But the poem goes on. There is a watchman on the city walls, and far out on the hills we see a messenger. He’s running towards the city. He’s running and he’s shouting, “Good news!” And Isaiah says, “How beautiful are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings [news]” (vs. 7a). The feet are beautiful because they’re carrying a beautiful message. And what’s the message? That despite Jerusalem’s destruction, Israel’s God still reigns as king, and that God's presence is going to one day return with His city, take up His throne, and bring peace. And the watchmen sing for joy because of the good news that their God still reigns (vs. 10).
Jesus saw himself as the messenger bringing the news that God reigns. Jesus also claimed to be the Son of man. This was Jesus' favorite self-designation, being used some 80 times in the Gospels. Notice, not just a son of man, but the Son of Man. Jesus was directing our attention to a vision described by the prophet Daniel:

"I saw in the night visions, and, behold, one like the Son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of days, and they brought him near before him. And there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages, should serve him:"-Daniel 7:13-14a

At Jesus' trial, the Jewish high priest accused Jesus: "Art thou the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed [God]?" His answer left no room for doubt. "I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven" (Mark 14:61-62). Because Jesus was rejected and killed for threatening the power the religious authorities had over the people, the consummation of God's kingdom with earth had been put on hold until all of Christ's enemies would be put under his feet after his ressurection and ascension.
But again, what is the kingdom of God? What does it look like exactly?
Well, the way that Jesus described God’s reign surprised everybody. I mean, think about it. A powerful, successful kingdom needs to be strong, able to impose its will, and able to defeat its enemies in physical combat. But Jesus said the greatest person in God’s kingdom was the weakest, the one who loves and who serves the poor (Matt. 23:11-12). He said you live under God’s reign when you respond to evil by loving your enemies, and forgiving them, and seeking peace (Matt. 5). To us, this is an upside-down kingdom. But to God, it's right-side up. This was what God had originally planned for us: a kingdom where God reigns in our hearts.

"Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."-John 3:3

Jesus was being quite literal here. You can’t see the kingdom until you’re born again and have the life of that kingdom. When you’re born again, you start 'seeing' differently. You see what others don’t see, you hear what others don’t hear, you know what others don’t know. And yet you may be physically in the same earthly location as they.
The kingdom of God is the totality of God’s influence that covers the world and heaven. It’s everywhere, but its manifestation isn’t everywhere. It manifests on earth wherever there are those who are born again and live as if God reigns in their hearts.
Before Jesus, John the Baptist announced to all people, “The kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (Matt. 3:1-2), as he saw a soon coming kingdom of God that would be ushered in by the Messiah. Notice that John the Baptist didn’t say that something “like” the kingdom would come and he didn’t say that the real kingdom might be thousands of years away. He said over and over that THE kingdom was at hand! Do you believe him? Did God inspire him to give a clear and accurate message or a mistaken one? If we dare to believe him, things might become surprisingly clear, simple and exceedingly optimistic.

"Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven."-Matthew 6:10

Jesus taught his followers of his generation to pray that God's kingdom come and that His will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Why pray for something that will just inevitably come by force, unless it was actually through our willing participation? That is, unless God's will is carried out through us "in earth, as it is in heaven"?

"Now after that John was put in prison, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, And saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel."-Mark 1:14-15

It's very telling that these are the very first words the Gospel of Mark chooses to record Jesus as saying.
The kingdom is NOT something to wait for. Jesus says the kingdom is NOT something visible, and it is NOT something in the sky. The Kingdom Jesus taught is a spiritual reality that comes into the world through us. Considering that Jesus even said the kingdom was in and among the Pharisees in Luke 17, which seems almost offensive to consider, perhaps it is like a spiritual seed that has been planted inside each of us, and that activating faith in God makes it grow.

"Then said he, Unto what is the kingdom of God like? and whereunto shall I resemble it? It is like a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and cast into his garden; and it grew, and waxed a great tree; and the fowls of the air lodged in the branches of it."-Luke 13:18-19

Jesus talked about the kingdom as if it would be a present reality, yet one that was growing in the world like a seed grows into a tree.

"And again he said, Whereunto shall I liken the kingdom of God? It is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened."-Luke 13:20-21

To Jesus, the kingdom was something growing in us like yeast through dough, increasing in effectiveness.

"For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost."-Romans 14:17
"For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power."-1 Corinthians 4:20

Paul says the kingdom isn’t something you taste or touch like physical food. It’s not even saying the right words. But rather the kingdom comes in the realities of righteousness, peace, joy and power that flavor our lives when we live empowered by the Spirit of God and God's Spirit in us.
Since Jesus the Messiah returned only 40 years after his earthly ministry, putting all enemies under his feet, the complete consummation of earth with the kingdom of heaven has finally taken place.
The kingdom of God has come, and it continues to come through us as believers. It makes progress like light shining into the world and dispelling the darkness.

"Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."-Matthew 5:14-16

Eternal Life Is Now

Most Preterists affirm that we are in the kingdom of God now. That is, we believe that through faith in Jesus Christ's atonement we enter into the kingdom of God, which is spiritual. We speak of the spiritual nature of the kingdom. We speak of God dwelling with men. We affirm God’s presence with us. We even affirm that we are in the new heavens and new earth. But the question remains: If we have all of this now, how does this translate into a proper view of “the afterlife”? (Hereafter this term will refer to consciousness and the new body after physical expiration of this body in this mortal realm.) In other words, how does this translate into a hopeful view of the afterlife?
We must dispel a dismal doctrine floating around that this is all there is. There are some Preterists who teach that we are in the kingdom in the here and now, but when we physically expire it is all over. We simply return to dust. What follows will prove this idea to be dreadfully wrong. This will be evident not so much by proving what we will not have after our body dies; rather, it will be evident by proving that what we have now is eternally enduring, because we have immortality.
“He who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” Jesus said this to Martha after her brother Lazarus had physically died. She was a real woman who had a real conscience and a real life experience. Lazarus was physically dead; therefore we must take this into consideration as we try to make sense of Jesus’ subsequent words:

"Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?"-John 11:23-26

The Jews obviously believed in a resurrection of the dead. Martha did too. But Jesus tells her that he is the resurrection and the life. However, he doesn’t stop there. He begins to both qualify and quantify this life: “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (vs. 25b). At this point we might still infer from his words that he is referring to physical life, but his next words contradict that idea: “And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die” (vs. 26a). Let’s paraphrase his words to elucidate his view of resurrection: “I am the spiritual resurrection and life. Your brother has died physically, but he will rise with a ‘better resurrection’ (Heb. 11:35). He who believes in me, though he were physically dead like Lazarus, yet shall he spiritually live. And he who is presently physically living shall never die spiritually.” Some try to convolute this text by inferring that Christ was speaking of two resurrections. But his statement that he is the resurrection and the life prohibits that concept. Finally, he is obviously not stating that he who lives and believes in Christ will not physically die. If this were his meaning, then we would have to conclude that no one today ever truly believes in him, for all of us still physically die; or we would have to conclude that he was mistaken or was lying, neither of which is an option within the parameters of the Biblical faith.
Obviously those who question this idea will ask questions like, “So this is heaven?” By “this” their minds usually gravitate back to what they see, hear, and feel and not to what the Scripture says. They fail to make a distinction between the physical realm and the spiritual realm. We must remind them that even they will confess that God dwells in their hearts. They would never say that this is a physical dwelling place. In fact they will gladly tell us that our hearts are the spiritual dwelling place of God, a fact with which we would agree. So it should not seem a strange thing that all the blessings mentioned in Revelation chapters 21 and 22 are bound up in the affirmation that God dwells in our hearts, presently. God does not cease to dwell in our hearts in the afterlife. He merely continues to live out His presence with us both here and hereafter.

"If God Reigns, What Do I Do If I Sin Again?"

With all this established, if God is truly reigning in the heart of a believer, what does it mean for us if we sin again in this unglorified body? Further, what did Jesus mean by the following statement?:

"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect."-Matthew 5:48

This statement is the conclusion from his introductory statement in verse 20 of the same passage:

"For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven."

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is pointing out how outward actions and behaviors are not enough to be approved by or to fulfill what God requires of us. He argues that the condition of one's heart is primarily what God is concerned with, and the scribes and Pharisees with all their legalism and their exclusively deontic approach to interpreting and practicing the Law was not enough to merit entrance into the kingdom of God. They were not spiritually mature enough to consider the intents and motivations that drive one's actions in the first place.
The Greek for "perfect" in Jesus' statement could also mean "complete," "whole," or "mature." There's a high standard one should strive to attain; and striving, and actually practicing righteous conduct, is indeed attainable. We are to strive for spiritual maturity, and this is possible.
Said in a similar context, the Gospel of Luke clarifies Jesus' statement in Matthew 5:48:

"Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."-Luke 6:36

God's absolute kindness, nothing lacking, is being stressed in the passages in reference. The whole Sermon on the Mount (chapters 5–7) was designed to bring God's covenant community to spiritual maturity. It is not enough for them to love people who love them, for even the unbelievers love those who love them. Spiritual maturity concerning kindness is they should love those who hate them! As the Creator, God deals gently with people who despise His words and refuse to believe them (going so far as to give these people material sustenance such as sunshine and rain; Matt. 5:45), so believing Israel was to deal tenderly with their persecutors.
The following is taken from a user named u/ArchaicChaos, who speaks here on the subject of justification. I've edited what they said wherever there are brackets to better fit the views of this page, for grammar, and to fix some of the formatting from the original comment for greater cohesiveness in general. If one wishes to view his original statements, they can click here.

[To put it simply:] You are saved by faith [from past sins (Rom. 3:25) but] then judged by [...] works (Jam. 2).

[...]

[W]e [who live today] aren't under the [L]aw of Moses, we are under the law of the Spirit, which is necessarily not a law written in ink. [(]See 2nd Corinthians 3.[)]
"Oh, if you don't follow the Law of Moses, does that mean you can go and kill, since you don't believe in the law that says not to kill?"
The law of the Spirit is centered around love. God's love, through His Spirit. We don't kill, but not because Moses said so. We don't kill because the Spirit we have and are under the law of says not to.

[...]

When Paul says that a man is saved by faith and not by works, he means specifically "works of the law." The [...] mitzvah. When [the apostle] James said that a man is not saved by faith alone but by works also, he is NOT talking about the Mosaic [L]aw. Paul and James agree, but not in the way Protestants have typically understood.
When Paul speaks of faith, he means your entire walk as a Christian. Your thoughts [and] your actions. So when he says ["faith without the deeds of the law" (Rom. 3:28)], he's implying your actions under the Spirit [are also included in faith]. Most miss this.
When James speaks about faith, he means a mental proposition [(Jam. 2:24)]. So, just earlier in chapter 2, he talks about how the demons know that God is one. In other words, the demons have 'faith' (mental knowledge) that God is one and yet they have no works because they don't act like it. They serve another god, that is, Satan.
James is directly addressing the issue of Paul. When Paul wrote [his epistles], people of the time thought when he said "not by works," Paul meant all works. So, they didn't need to help the homeless, feed the poor, etc. Those works "won't buy your salvation." Sound familiar? James is addressing this issue. That's not what Paul meant. Paul meant that works of the [L]aw won't save you, because if you read Romans 7, [...] you'll see that the [L]aw died in Christ, and ["we are married to another" (vs. 4)]. A faith that is dead is what the audience of James' letter were doing. They saw a man hungry and said "I have faith you will be well." But they did nothing. No deeds. James is saying that your knowledge of God isn't going to clothe that man or feed that woman. You must do works. You are not saved by faith alone[, "faith" here] meaning your beliefs. But to Paul? Faith meant the man who sees someone hungry, and then acts according to the Spirit of the law. Not under obligation by a written law in tablets of stone, but by the Spirit law on the heart.

So, being a proper subject of the kingdom of God is not merely about affirming mental propositions, neither is it about actions by themselves, but rather a walk defined by faithful covenant obedience. This is what it's all been about, and willing participation with the Spirit of God is necessary for us to be conformed to His image as He originally intended.
I will now add to what's been said so far with a quotation from another post of mine that I feel is quite relevant here:

Righteousness is not an impersonal, abstract standard, a measuring-stick or a balancing scale. That was, and still is, a Greek view. Righteousness, Biblically speaking, grows out of covenant relationship. We forgive because we have been forgiven (Matt. 18:21-35); “we love" because God “first loved us” (1 John 4:19). Love is the fulfillment of the law (Rom. 13:8, 10, Gal 5:14, Jam. 2:8). Paul even looked forward to a day when “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad” (2 Cor. 5:10), and he acknowledged that his clear conscience did not necessarily ensure this verdict (1 Cor. 4:4), but he was confident nevertheless. Paul did in fact testify of his clear conscience: “For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have had our conversation [i.e., behavior] in the world, and more abundantly to you-ward” (2 Cor. 1:12). He was aware that he had not yet “attained” (Phil. 3:12-14), that he had to subdue temptation in his body, yet he was confident of the value of his performance (1 Cor. 9:27). These are hardly the convictions of someone who intends to rest entirely on the merits of an alien righteousness imputed to his or her account.

Finally, I will be concluding this teaching by quoting from another user named u/Pleronomicon, who also has some very relevant things to say concerning this subject. Again, like before, I've edited where appropriate and made obvious where I did. If one wishes to see their original statements, the reader may click here for the comment thread where I get most of this from. I also pulled a paragraph from another comment here that was in a separate comment thread that they were in.

I believe sinlessness is not only possible, but necessary for maintaining justification, sanctification, and ultimately salvation. First John 5:4 specifically says that Jesus' commandments are not burdensome.
Biblical perfection is synonymous with maturity.
Salvation is deliverance from the bondage of sin through Christ, and walking in obedience to God by the power of the Holy Spirit, [to inherit] the kingdom.
The Exodus generation was our example for this. The Israelites didn't have to fight their way out of Egypt, but were delivered with a strong hand by the Lord. Nevertheless, most of them walked in disobedience and fell in the wilderness. Only Caleb, Joshua, and the sons of the Exodus generation were allowed to inherit the Land.
If there is anything we can learn from the Exodus generation it's definitely that if one is delivered from bondage and later seeks to return to bondage, they should not expect an inheritance.
IF we sin, we may repent [(1 John 2:1)], but it must not become a pattern. Sin is like sudden death, and repentance is like CPR. How reasonable is it to expect to need CPR on a regular basis?
[[1Pe 4:1-3 KJV] 1 Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, *arm yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the flesh hath CEASED FROM SIN; 2 That he no longer should live the rest of his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God. 3 For the time past of our life may suffice us to have wrought the will of the Gentiles*, when we walked in lasciviousness, lusts, excess of wine, revellings, banquetings, and abominable idolatries:]
Adam introduced sin into the world through death. All who feared death over God inevitably sinned and thereby became slaves to sin.
[[Heb 2:14-15 KJV] 14 Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; 15 And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.]
The flesh prompts within us the inclination to fear death, but that is not the same as a sin nature. Before the fall, the flesh was pacified by the tree of life, so there was no fear of death without an external temptation - the serpent.
Nevertheless, we all do possess the flesh, but sin does not come alive until the commandment is given.
[[Rom 7:9-10 KJV] 9 *For I was alive without the law once: but **when the commandment came, sin revived, and I died. 10 And the commandment, which was ordained to life, I found to be unto death.*]
So I would not say there is a sin nature apart from the [Mosaic Law]. After Abraham was called, he was able to live his life in obedience to God with an unwavering faith.
[[Gen 26:5 KJV] 5 Because that *Abraham obeyed my voice, and kept my charge, my commandments, my statutes, and my laws.***]
[[Rom 4:13, 20 KJV] 13 For the promise, that he should be the heir of the world, was not to Abraham, or to his seed, through the law, but through the righteousness of faith. [...] 20 *He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief; but was strong in faith, giving glory to God;***]
I think the confusion surrounding ideas like Original Sin, Total Depravity, and Sin Nature arise from departing from the BIble's own semantics.

[...]

I would say that the closest thing to a "sin nature" would be a synthesis of the Law of Moses superimposed upon the flesh. That does seem to be how Paul explained things in Romans 7:7-25 and Galatians 5.
As Paul explained, the Law of Moses is what provoked disobedience from the flesh, thus revealing sin.
Nevertheless, those who are in Christ and obeying his commandments are not under the Law, but have crucified the flesh with [its] passions and desires, so that Law-flesh paradigm is not supposed to be an issue in the Spirit.

[...]

Israel didn't struggle to leave Egypt. Likewise, ceasing from sin should not be a struggle either if we're keeping our minds set on the Spirit; [Again,] Jesus' commandments are not burdensome (1John 5:3). God provides a way of escape from all temptation.
[[1Co 10:13 KJV] 13 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.]

TL;DR Mawage. Mawage is what bwings us togethah today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wifin a dream!
Our Chairman and these Regarded APES have come here to make this tweasured agweement in front of their family and fwiends, pwomising their commitment in this holy and magnificent pwace, today and each day fowawd.
We would not be here today without wuv. Wuv, twoo wuv between these two. Twoo wuv will follow you forevah, so tweasure your wuv, Mr. Chairman with your Highly Regarded Apes, always.
My spouse of 21yrs is pursuing her doctorate in Psychology to enhance her Marriage and Family counseling practice. We watched the events in 2021 unfold in real-time on TV and in a recent discussion concerning market manipulations and the media's role in it all she shared some unexpected psychological insights about narcissists, divorcing a narcissist, and the tactics of navigating them in your personal and professional lives.
Miracle Max: “'To blave.' And as we all know, 'to blave' means 'to bluff.' So, you're probably playing cards and he cheated…”
Did you know that there are divorce attorneys who specialize in dealing with cases involving narcissistic spouses? These attorneys are typically well-versed in high-conflict divorce scenarios and understand the psychological dynamics that can arise when one party exhibits narcissistic behaviors. They focus on strategies to manage manipulation, gaslighting, and other tactics that a narcissistic spouse might use to control or prolong legal proceedings.
Specialized attorneys in this area offer guidance on how to maintain clear and documented communication, set firm boundaries, and protect oneself legally and emotionally. Their expertise is particularly valuable in helping clients navigate the complexities of custody battles, financial disputes, and other contentious issues where a narcissistic spouse may attempt to use legal strategies to their advantage.
During our conversation my highly regarded ape-ette, outlined a total of 7 “Acts” in the Narcissist’s playbook.”

1. Denial
2. Minimization
3. Deflection
4. Rationalization
5. Displacement
6. Generalization
7. Victim Blaming

If you have ever had dealings with a Narcissist you know all to well these acts are rarely played in any kind of orderly fashion. Infact, their “playbill” is so well known that a short poem was created by Dyana Craig called “The Narcissist's Prayer”:

1. That didn't happen.
2. And if it did, it wasn't that bad.
3. And if it was, that's not a big deal.
4. And if it is, that's not my fault.
5. And if it was, I didn't mean it.
6. And if I did, you deserved it.

For the purposes of this post and to fully wrap our heads around the manipulative actions by those in the media, the financial system, in government, or our personal lives, we expanded upon the above as follows:

1. "That did not occur."
2. "And if it did, it was not that severe."
3. "And if it was, it is not a significant matter."
4. "And if it is, it is not my fault."
5. "And if it was, I did not intend it."
6. "And if I did, there were extenuating circumstances."
7. "And if there weren't, you provoked me into it."
8. "And if you didn't, others would have reacted the same way."
9. "And if they wouldn’t, the real issue is being blown out of proportion."
10. "And if it isn't, everyone makes mistakes."
11. "And if they don’t, I am under a lot of stress."
12. "And if I did, you deserved it."

These 12 narcissistic acts can be grouped into these stages that reflect a progression in the way responsibility, blame, and reality are manipulated by the media.
Stage 1: Denial

• "That did not occur." - Absolute refusal to acknowledge the reality of the event.

Stage 2: Minimization

• "And if it did, it was not that severe."
• "And if it was, it is not a significant matter." - These steps serve to downplay the severity and importance of the event, suggesting it is unworthy of concern or reaction.

Stage 3: Deflection

• "And if it is, it is not my fault."
• "And if it was, I did not intend it." - Shifts focus from the act itself to the intention behind it or external factors, deflecting responsibility away from the self.

Stage 4: Rationalization

• "And if I did, there were extenuating circumstances."
• "And if there weren't, you provoked me into it."
• "And if you didn't, others would have reacted the same way." - Attempts to provide reasons or excuses for the behavior that justify it or align it with normal responses.

Stage 5: Displacement

• "And if they wouldn’t, the real issue is being blown out of proportion." - This step attempts to shift the discussion from the actions to the reactions of others, suggesting an overreaction.

Stage 6: Generalization

• "And if it isn't, everyone makes mistakes."
• "And if they don’t, I am under a lot of stress." - These steps attempt to dilute personal responsibility by invoking common human faults or personal stress, suggesting that any errors are part of broader, understandable human conditions.

Stage 7: Victim Blaming

• "And if I did, you deserved it." - The final step, which shifts all remaining blame to the victim, positioning them as deserving of the actions or consequences.

These stages reflect a progression from outright denial to subtle and overt forms of manipulation, ending with a complete inversion of blame. Each stage is designed to protect the narcissist’s self-image and deflect any responsibility for their actions onto others or external circumstances.
For those of use that have been around since the beginning and has endured all of the above reminds me of one of my favorite parts in the Princess Bride:
Westley: Aha! Your pig fiance is too late! A few more steps and we'll be safe in the fire swamp. Buttercup: We'll never survive. Westley: Nonsense! You're only saying that because no one ever has. Westley: It's not that bad...Well I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here but the trees are actually quite lovely.
We begin unwinding all financial and manipulative aspects of the now very dead relationship that once existed. We document everything and those weary and nervous and we pick back up with…
Buttercup: We'll never succeed. We may as well die here. Westley: No, no. We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too…
We navigate the shills, the media pundits, and hedge fund market making Mayo loving thunts, aka the R.O.U.S’s. Through it all, we arrive at the events of the day! Our mascot triumphantly returns and now the Media is pulling a Prince Humperdink as if we are going to fall for it.
Buttercup: We did it! Westley: Now, was that so terrible? Humperdink: Surrender! Westley: You mean you wish to surrender to me? Very well then, I accept. Humperdink: I give you full marks for bravery. Don't make yourself a fool. Westley: Ah, but how will you capture us? We know the secrets of the fire swamp. We can live there happily for some time, so whenever you feel like dying, feel free to visit.
Navigating and enduring the demise of your first narcissist relationship is, in my opinion, the fire swamp. Reading all the DD ( • )( • ) DD and easily recognizing all of manipulations and cheating tactics being used and not reacting to them is what makes apes say “We can live there happily for some time, so whenever you feel like dying, feel free to visit.”
Last but not least… our current marriage to our chairman, is bliss compared to our prior sham marriage where belief in a free and fair financial system once existed.
I hope this helps spur further discussions and help everyone understand the kinds of people we are up against. They will never change, they will never care, and if they are fined or even found guilty of a crime, they will always and forever play the victim.

1. Jeez
2. [22:37]I think I'm gonna become obsessed with these night walks
3. [22:37]Y'know, buy myself a drink and be on my way
4. [22:37]Type shit
5. [22:38]It's kinda addicting to me in a way..
6. [22:39]It is what it is
7. [22:39]I'll be naturally getting better at running and stuff anyway
8. [22:39]Not that I couldn't do it..
9. [22:40]Still, I keep on having daydreams of things that could have been
10. [22:40]Different circumstances, same people
11. [22:41]I guess in a fucked up way it gives me hope to think of things and what could be
12. [22:41]Maybe they will be, who knows
13. [22:42]Posted my rant on reddit.. still hasnt gotten much traction
14. [22:42]Oh well.
15. [22:42]I guess I'll keep watch of it
16. [22:43]Maybe make another one
17. [22:43]We'll see how long it gets this time
18. [22:43]Either way, I won't expect much of it
19. I have been wondering though
20. [22:44]When I go back to australia
21. [22:44]what if I pop by the old judo place I used to go to
22. [22:44]Got a green/orange belt there
23. [22:45](here it would count as a green belt, I like to think of it that way)
24. [22:49]Also, heard boxing and judo are an incredibly good combination of martial arts/sports
25. [22:50]Aside from what I've already been told
26. [22:50]it seems judo can provide benefits where boxing comes short: grappling
27. [22:50]Some people also think of judo as practical wrestling
28. [22:50]Which I guess makes sense
29. [22:51]Even though certain wrestling can be practical anyway
30. It's pretty cool to think about seeing I'm going to a boxing gym with my dad on monday to check it out.
31. [22:54]Y'know, just thinking about it gives me hope
32. [22:54]I might make something out of myself yet.
33. [22:56]I'm definitely gonna make the most of my summer holidays spent back in australia
34. [22:56]shits gonna be fun
35. [22:56]Just itching thinking about it..
36. [22:56]My calves are aching a bit today
37. [22:56]guessing that will go away as these walks become more common
38. [22:56]However..
39. [22:57]I look up at the sky and see the stars
40. [22:57]I can't help but feel a little sad
41. [22:57]Then I wonder about my rights and wrongs
42. [22:58]And sometimes it feels a little bad
43. [22:58]Then next thing I know I'm punching my door
44. All in a fit where I get all mad
45. [23:00]After I sit down with my head in my hands
46. [23:00]As I think about all I've had
47. [23:01]Neat little poem right there
48. [23:01]Made it up on the spot
49. [23:01]"I'm not a rapper B)" (edited)
50. [23:02]Maybe one day I'll be reliable enough
51. [23:02]We'll see if my efforts so far come to fruition
52. [23:03]Better put my stuff on the table now before I have to catch up when I'm old
53. [23:04]If there's one thing fight club has told me
54. [23:04]It's that the media can be a little rotten
55. [23:04]Not that I didn't already know..
56. [23:05]My last night walk rant expressed that fact well enough.
57. Y'know, that little arrangement of trees I was talking about before at the back of the field?
58. [23:06]Doesn't look the same from affar
59. [23:06]Just looks like an even smaller cluster of trees
60. [23:07]VERYY deceitful
61. [23:07]Funny how that works
62. [23:07]Well, at least If I murder someone I'll know where to bury them
63. [23:07]But that's like
64. [23:08]the least of my concerns
65. [23:08]Cause I'm not a murderer obviously
66. [23:08];)
67. [23:08]Just realised
68. [23:08]I'm already starting to fall into a routine with these walks
69. [23:09]Could be very beneficial in the future
70. [23:09]Or not
71. [23:09]Depending on who I meet while on this incredibly dark field with no-one around..
72. [23:09]If I meet them in the first place
73. [23:10]Ahh.. I wont think about it too much
74. [23:10]Maybe if I do this at roughly the same time everyday I'll find a pattern
75. [23:10]Some beauty in the monotony as some like to say
76. I might be on the slightly taller end
77. [23:19]But sometimes I wonder if I could be an inboxer
78. [23:19]as it has felt more natural to me
79. [23:23]Walking through the rich part of town again lol
80. [23:23]Gonna take a different route
81. [23:23]Cause why the fuck not
82. [23:24]may as well get myself acquainted with this area
83. [23:24]Y'know, not many people out here at this time
84. [23:25]Ahh, make sense but I guess I'm just not used to it
85. [23:25]not sure if I'm just being weird
86. [23:26]but I'm hearing a constant rumbling noise in the distance, probably a helicopter or plane
87. [23:26]But it sounds like it's in the same place
88. eh, it' whatever
89. [23:28]Still notice how common planes are in the sky here compared to australia
90. [23:30]Thinking about pulling an all-nighter
91. [23:31]Got a monster after-all
92. [23:31]Maybe I'll crack it open when I feel tired
93. Might go see the goldfish again smh
94. [23:37]Shit
95. [23:37]I forgot about playing pokemon go
96. [23:37]I only really play it seeing my uncle and cousin do
97. [23:43]Anyway
98. [23:43]this walk has been uneventful so far
99. [23:43]So idk what to say
100. Chances are if I wasn't already in a relationship I would be thinking with my dick rn
101. [23:46]Not that it would get me very far
102. [23:49]I just remembered
103. [23:50]last week I was on one of the college arcade machines playing 3rd strike with my friend josh
104. [23:50]I managed to parry his WHOLE super while he was playing ryu
105. [23:51]Lost the set
106. [23:51]BUT that's the first whole super I've ever parried (edited)
107. [23:52]Was pretty hype
108. And I mainly lost the set BECAUSE I fucked around so much
109. Anyway
110. Goldfish are there
111. [00:00]Really good investment plan if you want to distract a customer like me
112. [00:00]Cause it works even when I'm not a customer
113. [00:00]That being said
114. [00:01]It's midnight now
115. [00:01]should think about making my way home
116. [00:01]Welp, didn't talk about much today
117. [00:01]Oh well, it is what it is
118. [00:02]That's about it, seeya in the morning.
119. FUCK
120. [00:59]Just finished watching Fight Club
121. [00:59]Great movie holy shit