brightrosefox: (Default)
Okay, first thing:

Bad day bad day. Brain misfires, pain everywhere, spasticity, OCD episode, distractions, hypersensitivities, gut issues. I will say, however, that probiotics and omega-3 supplements of specific kinds are actually doing good things to my brain. It's not really evident in any of my outward behavior, but I can absolutely feel something going on.
Dear neuroweird science students: Is impulse control mainly frontal lobe? I have a Thinky Thing I'm thinking about, but I need medical professionals and medical students to confirm. I know of Things that can help me personally and specifically, but I need to make sure I'll be doing it properly. Also, this means staring slackjawed at my MRI photos and calling my neurologist.

***

Unrelated, copied from Facebook.

Well, this person said what I was thinking.
https://www.facebook.com/thautcast/posts/830987393625539?fref=nf&pnref=story
My personal need for disability labels is personal. My need to be able to relate to people via stories and fiction. So many people have told me things like how they "don't see disability" (sorry, I have to laugh at that) and don't see labels... and that's cool. Really. That's fine. But that is not how I see the world and that is not how I view myself. Being able to say, "Yeah, I'm disabled, and these are the medical issues I have" is indescribably relieving, even powerful; it gives me a power to choose and know my own self in a very intense way that I honestly can't describe.
My disabilities are not really eccentricities or special powers; they are painful and they will get worse as I age - and I'm talking about the comorbid, co-occuring, associated syndromes and symptoms. Eccentricity? Gift? Er. Yaaa...aay? I mean, sometimes my seizures cause wicked euphoric hallucinations when I close my eyes? That's... fun? And I suppose having severe anxiety and ADHD-PI and OCD and SPD could be my mind working out itself and it's environmental relationship?
So, um, so far I'm not seeing eccentric quirks and gifts. But I don't see myself the way someone who thinks that way would see me. I've met disabled people who say they aren't disabled, and a part of me marvels at the cognitive dissonance, a part of me wonders if they're completely rejecting the medical model of disability, a part of me wonders what they do when symptoms and syndromes kick them around and act truly disabling. I say nothing to them because I know it's their thing. The only time I'd want to try to sway them is if they want to spread their belief that disabilities are not disabilities, because that can become harmful and dangerous to the social model. As Stella Young said, no amount of smiling at a staircase will turn it into a ramp. So, as much as someone refuses the disability label, I really need them to consider it beyond their beliefs.

I'm just saying. We all have very different ways of talking about, discussing, portraying, coding, and having disabilities. I'm just glad that right now, I am able to very very openly discuss mine the way I want without being punished for it. And so should others, particularly those who think differently than I do. That's what makes discussion.

***

Also? I find it funny that so many people are like "OMG aliens, what if aliens come here, wouldn't it be amazing, we should learn alien languages, I bet they don't even communicate like we do, so we should be open to new communicative experiences!"
And then they're all like "WTF autistic people you're so weird we don't want you weirding us up we don't like you why can't you be normal like us!"
And I'm all, "*throws hands up* WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US, YOU JERKS!"

***

I am having A LOT of thinky thoughts on why people reject the term disability in favor of eccentricity, quirk, gift. Not just abled folk but people with mental illness like bipolar or schizophrenia. I am still determined to wrap my mind around visibly physically disabled folk, like with cerebral palsy, who say they aren't disabled. It fascinates me because that view is so so alien to me. As long as the conversation is civil if course.

***

http://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/just-try/
http://webcast.ucdavis.edu/llnd/467b5ad7?channelId=0abfe11894d742c7b159a535058c09ce&channelListId&mediaId=29f030d8c24a4b718c1c2936187278b8

***

I don't do Twitter. But lots of my friends do. Fuck Autism Speaks. I'm not pushing anyone to do the #Notmssing thing. But I do believe it is vital to send Autism Speaks the crucial message that autism is not a "thieving disease to be eradicated" because IT IS OUR BRAINS. WE are autism. We are born with a different operating system that doesn't really comply with the standard. People laugh about meeting alien cultures with other ways of communication, and yet we are right here, a metaphor, and they not only turn away from us, they actively seek to erase us. So. No. Bad Autism Speaks. No. Stop it. Nobody is missing. We are right here. We are staring right at you, angry and sad. We have been here all along. We have been speaking out all along. You just haven't listened.

Also, hells no we're not ready to meet any alien cultures. Not if we keep trying to erase members of our own.



***
http://webcast.ucdavis.edu/llnd/467b5ad7?channelId=0abfe11894d742c7b159a535058c09ce&channelListId&mediaId=29f030d8c24a4b718c1c2936187278b8
(Nick Walker is awesome)
Autism as a neurocognitive variance. Indeed. It's a disability because it hinders how we interact with life all the time. But there is nothing wrong with us. It's just a rewiring of our brains before birth or at birth.
Like, with me. I was born a fetus. I was a 26-week-old fetus when I was "officially born". My developing brain didn't have time to pick and choose. It just grabbed whatever it could, crammed stuff in, got a random shiny new operating system that was able to work around all the dead white matter, and figured it was good enough because I still needed to finish growing into being a baby, you know? Like, "Fuck it, we'll deal with this brain damage later, just keep the body going, okay? Move it move it move it avoid the gaps in the dead parts, come over this way, this construction project is gonna take a few more months than planned, so we don't have time for sick days, guys. What's that OS? It looks kind of tangled. That's fine, it's shiny, build it in, hook it up, whatever. Hey! I told you guys to avoid the dead zones! Awww daaamn, somebody get a new team over there please? No workman's comp here, this is preterm, okay? Just go go go..."
And that's where I got my brain.
So, dear allistic and neuro-typical assholes who question my right to exist, who insist that kids like me are missing, stolen, lost, forever silent: Fuck off. My brain worked hard to be itself, and just because my OS isn't yours doesn't make me lesser.
brightrosefox: (Default)
"Sometimes the only way I know how to work through something is by writing..."
Hi.

"Now I know that the number one rule to being cool is to seem unfazed, to never admit that anything scares you or impresses you or excites you. Somebody once told me it's like walking through life like this. You protect yourself from all the unexpected miseries or hurt that might show up. But I try to walk through life like this. And yes, that means catching all of those miseries and hurt, but it also means that when beautiful, amazing things just fall out of the sky, I'm ready to catch them. "

I need this. I've spent my entire life catching all of those hurts, and sometimes those hurts are beautiful and amazing - because they live inside of me. Even the painful parts. Even the Monsters. I don't always declare war on the symptoms, I often imagine myself using psychological coping mechanisms, transporting my quiet self to a Zen garden with cats and sunlight and wildflowers, as the warrior parts of my brain battle those Pain Monsters with spears and war cries. It is a mind over matter dance that does not erode the symptoms, but helps me work with and deal with them. I apply creative writing to cope and to run to other worlds in my mind.

It is seen as Positive Thinking. But I tend to flinch at that term, because it is usually followed up with a sunshine up the ass platitude. I do apply a method of positive thinking to my conditions, disorders, and disabilities. But it is my own personal method, and whenever someone tries to insist that I use a different method, I naturally stand firm and stare them down. This is why I am happy that all of my doctors, specialists, and therapists are extremely willing to help me achieve my own positive thinking, because it is my own, and I know exactly what I want from it.
Unfortunately, it also makes me extremely vulnerable to criticism. I am probably Doing It Wrong. I am probably Wanting To Be Chronically Ill All The Time. I am probably Magically Convincing Myself That I Am Getting Worse. I Obviously Am Not Thinking Positively Enough - because my biggest coping mechanism is to write it down, and to share my newest findings with people I love and with people who understand my situation. At least, those are my assumptions. I made a few poor assumptions and lost a few acquaintances. But I moved on. Now, I am still writing, still speaking out. Now, I am determined to hold on to my personal method of positive thinking no matter who tries to change that method.

That is why I love this message from Sarah Kay. No one else can work inside my mind like I can. Each of us has the power to think positively in a way that works for us and us alone.

The next time somebody tells you that you need to stop doing it This way and start doing it That way, think long and hard about it before you even reply. Some things are just not worth debating. Sometimes all you can do is smile and nod and say "Thank you for the advice" - and move on. It is your mind, after all.

http://dotsub.com/view/e8f7d701-e410-464d-9051-eeae8a1ddd44/viewTranscript/eng

http://www.upworthy.com/watch-the-ted-talk-that-inspired-two-standing-ovations?g=2

I will probably listen to this video enough to memorize or recite most of it, and my poor memory will do its best to hold it close.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Hmm. Still heavily outlining the second novel.
Clara no longer has a healing factor; she has quantum phasing - aka phase shift, intangibility ghosting, limited Kitty Pryde power. Amber has a more specific type of telepathy, which connects more with quantum consciousness than actual thoughts - aka soul communication, extreme telempathy, spirit communication, highly limited Rachel Grey power; and Amber's telekinesis is far more developed, including limited healing touch and limited emotional healing on others, which can weaken her without shielding or channeling, but still limited Rachel Grey power.
Clara's hypermobility and joint pain symptoms eases during her phase shifts. Amber's cerebral palsy with its comorbid syndromes eases during any major psychokinetic procedure, but once they're finished, the pain hits them twice as hard, leaving them weakened for at least several hours.
I like that enough to work with it. *nod* But I need advice, opinions, and consultations to make sure I'm Doing It Right. For example, since both Amber and Clara hace mild autisms, I have to wonder how their perceptions are affected by their powers.

Also! Thoughts on surnames. Since Clara has full Indian heritage on her father's side, her surname will be probably Atma (and her mother has Siberian and Swedish heritage). Since Amber has full Greek heritage on her father's side, her surname will probably be Spiro ( and her mother has Norwegian and Hungarian heritage). "Soul" and "Spirit" as meanings seem to work for me. I'm not sure if I want them hyphenated or separate.

At the start of the story, they've been legally married for just under one year and are in their late twenties, share a birthday one year apart, and have family members with disabilities and superpowers. Amber is on SSDI but is works part-time at Clara's office, which is (for now) Transdimensional Research and Exploration. Clara and Amber are among the very few paranormals who can open and enter the interdimensional portals without harm. I'm going to be focusing on one or two alternative worlds, perhaps a Fae dimension and an astral plane.

Sometimes I see Amber and Clara as Deanna Troi and Will Riker, a version of Imzadi for life, on and off for so many years before finally just saying "fuck it" and getting married and embracing their intense connections. This novel takes place well after the wedding but I plan on doing flashbacks.

Writing. Writing. Breathing. Breathing. Calming. Calming.

Many thoughts. Many Worlds Theory, indeed.

Rrrgh.

Aug. 3rd, 2013 05:20 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
So, this entire week was spent in a hideous, horrid, horrific, vicious fog of pain and histamines and fatigue and weakness and etc. But right now it is slightly better. I finally managed to get some headway on the Amber/Clara story that will turn into a novel. I got officially rejected by TOR themselves. Hee. I've sent the main novel to other editors in the meantime. I will be changing the title, since Adam informed me that a new video game has that title. /shrug.

It's those things you don't ever give up on, no matter how much you want to, until you breathe and meditate and take Klonopin.

Lammas was lovely, and now it is raining once again. August is going to be weird.
brightrosefox: (Default)
You guys, I amaze myself. I've been writing helter skelter all over the place: Novel, stories, novellas, blogs, facebook, notebooks with various pens, everywhere... in the middle of a postictal migraine and insanely horrific agonizing chronic pain flare-up following recovery from a panic attack. If I didn't have a computer or paper I might write on the walls. I hurt so badly I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel half fire and half water. Wild and raging, and all I want is a crackling bonfire and a rushing river.
I doctored up a photo of myself and it came out half gold light and half blue light. It looks inhuman. But part of me adores it so much. My face is two different parts. I am two entities in one. When I burn, I am cool. When I am cool, I burn. It is ying yang, dragon phoenix, up and down, left and right, I don't even know. I don't speak out loud except to my cats, I just speak through Story. So much Story inside me.
That rock. That rock that my husband gave me, the rock that he held while standing in Room 217 of the Stanley Hotel, in which Stephen King wrote "The Stand" and used as an inspiration for "The Shining". That rock is still next to my laptop. I am covered in words. I am filled up with Words. I may disappear into Story. I may not even see the world until I have to.
Is this what it is like to live in the land of the Fae and then come back to the land of humans?

jowitchzen2

Maybe it was the super moon. Maybe it is the heat from the sun now. Maybe it is anything.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Why is it that, in most dreams where I am in physical danger, I am unable to scream or move quickly?
My last dream involved a bad fall and crash at the top of the stairs, while a large group of people were downstairs having a small quiet party. Something supernatural was with me, something insidious. I grabbed the stair ledge and pulled myself up to a kneeling position. I yelled my husband's name, but it was only a whisper. I couldn't call for help, not with the shadowy creature surrounding me. I was moving so slowly. It felt as though nobody was in the house but me, me and the cats.
And abruptly, I realized that nobody was in the house. Adam was at work. There was no party. The cats were all downstairs. It was only me and the shadow entity. I struggled to call on my internal resources, my spirit guardians, but even my psychic voice was muffled. I was not afraid. I was determined. I was badly injured, and I only had myself, and my powers to create weapons and defenses were drained. I stopped trying to stand. I knelt there and mouthed words, calling on the water in the bathroom, the air circulating around the house, the earth under the house, the fire downstairs used to light the gas stove. I pulled in all into me, and with a desperate burst, I unleashed it. The shadow creature shrieked and vanished.
Without any warning at all, the house filled with presence again. There was that quiet downstairs party. I whispered my husband's name again, struggling to turn it into a cry. Someone must have heard. Adam came up the stairs and found me, sagging against the door of the bathroom, my nose bleeding. He spoke to me. He half-carried me to the bedroom and helped me lie down. He brought damp towels and tissues and water with electrolytes. I managed, somehow, to tell him that a negative spirit had entered the house and stole my strength, and I pulled all the elemental power I could to drive it away. He was very proud but also puzzled, since the house was supposed to be powerfully shielded and guarded. I was crying but I didn't mean to cry. It was just a reaction without intention. He stroked my hair and curled up with me, and me took my hand and fed me energy and power and strength, and he said, "Go to sleep, my darling. I'll be monitoring you through our psychic bond and everything will be okay. I will strengthen the wards." He needed to check on our friends. He would back be up soon.
The dream ended there.

It has been something of a recurring thing: My slowness in dreams. My exquisite agony in dreams. My whispering words in dreams. Sometimes I can barely walk for the pain in my hips and knees. Sometimes I can only speak with thoughts instead of physical words. Sometimes my body is wrapped in a floating translucent shell and it is the only way I can move. In my dreams, the pain is so much worse than in reality. But I have access to weapons of all kind and I feel safe, even if something horrible grabs me.

When I was a child, I had flying dreams every night. Even astral projection. Like my father and cousins in their younger years. And if a harmful person appeared, I just waved my right hand fiercely, shouting "Shoo! Shoo!" to make then disappear.

When I was a child, I dreamed of dragons, of ancient tortoises, of unicorns mixed with white tigers, of phoenix birds with feathers of every color. Dragons have never been dangerous to me. Even if some were, there were always other dragons who were benevolent.

It is why I always bristle when I read an article comparing chronic pain to dragons. The only way I can see such battles happening is dragon against dragon. And I am a human amalgam of dragon, phoenix, tortoise, unicorn, white tiger, and fae, wrapped in the skin of a moonlight witch.

Then, why do my dreams cripple me? The only reason I can think of is to teach me to use the insides, the powers coming from my spirit and not my body. My body is very important and vital to me. But perhaps not so much in my dreams.

And I think this piece of art, beyond anything, is one of the greatest ways I can understand myself. Every time I look at it, I weep. I even have that same cane. I know Shinga and I barely know each other, but she knows chronic pain. She knows what being a warrior means. She was in the US Army and was badly injured and treated so poorly during therapy that she has severe PTSD. She is disabled badly. She knows battles. And I want to hold her and hold her and tell her what this means to me.

http://shinga.deviantart.com/art/Awaken-Warrior-and-Rise-378439320
awaken__warrior__and_rise_by_shinga-d69b9nc
(Note: Please please refer to Shinga before borrowing or using this image. Please use the Deviant Art link. This is her work. Copyright Shinga. The only reason I displayed the actual image was in case someone can't click on the link.)
brightrosefox: (Default)
A wild anxiety attack. The beginnings of a migraine. Muscles actually feeling loose and relaxed in a fabulous way, which is probably in part due to the baclofen and tramadol, but close enough. A twinge of ulnar nerve entrapment. Some right knee swelling. A bit of hemiparesis. Some eczema and xeroderma itchiness. The beginnings of a mild major depression episode.

I will go snuggle my cats as much as they will allow. Several online acquaintances just dealt with the deaths of their cats (some peacefully in sleep, some hurried to the emergency vet). Sometimes I force myself to imagine what would happen if Jupiter, Luna, or Rose died. Owning a cat is owning a tragedy waiting to happen, as my parents say. But love... love lasts. Loving a cat is beyond anything in the universe.

I'm still reading "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern. It is so beautiful. I still need to finish less heavy books, like "Between" by Kerry Schafer, "Dead Ever After" by Charlaine Harris, "The Darkest Kiss" by Gena Showalter, a new copy of "The Tower And The Hive" by Anne McCaffrey (all my Rowan series books have fallen apart by now), "The Winter Oak" by James Hetley, "Twilight's Dawn" by Anne Bishop. I'll probably get some kind of inspiration for stagnant stories somewhere.

Speaking of stories and characters, I've quickly fallen in love with Amber Kass and Clara Kim even more than with Dana Ryan and Ian Morgan - and Dana and Ian as a couple have been with me since my teen years. Sometimes I see Amber and Clara as Deanna Troi and Will Riker, a version of Imzadi for life, on and off for so many years before finally just saying "fuck it" and getting married and embracing their intense connections. This story takes place years after the wedding but I plan on doing many flashbacks. It will probably just turn into a big novel. That is fine.

Writing. Writing. Breathing. Breathing. Calming. Calming.
brightrosefox: (Default)
bluelotusglow

bluedarklotus

bluelotus4

***
You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
***
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
***
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
***
It is the way she looks at you, with that quirky smile and those gleaming dark green eyes.
You hold out your cupped hands, trying not to tremble, trying not to disturb the velvety white lotus nestled against your fingers.
"Is this your gift to me?" she asks.
"Yes," you say. "You have helped me so much... and I know you always have these, but I found this one right where I live, and, I mean, I know they're so rare, but..."
She holds up a hand, smiling so widely. "It's okay, sweetheart. I understand." She very carefully takes the lotus from you, holds it to her lips, and kisses the petals. "Thank you. It's perfect."
"Maybe... maybe tomorrow," you say shakily, "we can go to the swamp and... you know... talk to the other flowers?"
She tilts her head and her eyes fill with compassion. "Oh, darling," she murmurs. "Don't be so nervous. There's no need to be shy. This is your world. We will do anything you wish."
You nod, your throat thick with tears. You have no idea what to say next. You realize you don't need to say a word. You watch as she holds your white lotus gift to her breast, and you watch as the lotus turns into golden light, and you watch as the lotus melts into her bronze skin, and you watch as she draws a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. Suddenly, you feel a massive weight lifted, spiraling away from the top of your head. Energy fills you starting at your feet and moving in a rush until it reaches the same top of your head. You feel absolute and complete ecstasy, euphoria, tranquility, and serenity. You draw a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. You want to laugh, so you laugh. And she laughs with you.
You feel how deeply the universe lives inside you. You laugh, and you embrace everything you can reach, until you feel yourself glowing. You dance and dance, and she takes your hands and joins you, and the universe dances with you.
***
This time, you are standing ankle-deep in a swamp at midnight. Everything is glowing blue - the sky, the water, the lotus flowers, your skin.
The Lotus Woman is sitting in front of you, cross-legged, surrounded by blue and white lotus blossoms all in full bloom. Her bronze skin, her black hair, her green eyes... everything about her is shining with pale blue light.
You feel comforted and serene in a way you have never known at such a deep level. You carefully sit down in the same position, letting the mud flow against you. You and she are both dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, no shoes, your hair both unbound. The mud sinks effortlessly into your skin.
Neither of you speak. After a few minutes, one lotus blossom floats into your lap, white and blue and covered in dew drops. You very gently pick it up and it dissolves into your skin with an intense burst of blue and white light.
She grins and laughs, clapping her hands. "Oh, yay! I was hoping you would get that one. It's been waiting for you."
You smile and shrug. "I guess I've been waiting too."
The dozens of flowers float and spin around you both, several touching your skin and her skin, merging with you in tiny light bursts that feel like soft winds. She holds out her hands and you reach out and you grasp them tightly.
You don't know how long you sit and meditate, but it doesn't matter. Forever can fit inside a single moment, after all.
The white and blue lotus blossoms swirl around you, lifting your soul, until the entire world is filled with light, and you feel completely at peace, bursting with serenity.
***
brightrosefox: (Default)
Hey, [livejournal.com profile] naamah_darling. I couldn't find that old post with Amber's original origin story, so I'm just copying it as a new post. This Amber is kind of the same Amber, and she was supposed to go on to meet Clara and they would save the world, etc. I'm cherry picking right now.
Also, the vampires are not exactly the vampires we think of when we think of vampires. They have sharp teeth because they are predatory, not really because they need blood to survive.

Blood And Soul )
brightrosefox: (Default)
"Only Glass"

It was shortly after she had woken to the sound of glass breaking that she began to investigate. It was two in the morning on a Sunday – or Saturday night, still, technically. She sat dangling her feet over the side of the bed, stretching and slowly preparing to move more fluidly. She took the metallic blue cane that was always propped against the wall next to her nightstand. She kept canes in various rooms for that sort of reason. Her wife was away on business again. People might say that a young disabled woman home alone should never go out at night. Those people were background static. She had been born like this and it had never stopped her.
Slowly, she dressed fully: socks, panties, jeans, bra, tee shirt. Hiking style pull on boots. Her arms shook a little from the spastic hypertonia. She considered at least bringing a couple of daggers. Of course, if it wasn’t a physical kind of danger, the daggers would be somewhat useless. She grabbed a charoite wand and a black tourmaline wand and put them in her back pocket. Next to the daggers.
The sounds had come from well outside the house, so she turned on the hall light, went casually downstairs, and unlocked the door.
Taking a deep breath, she said out loud and mentally, “I am armed in both manners. I am willing to face you. If you represent a threat, you must understand what I will do to you.”
In the utter silence, the sound of glass breaking came through much louder and much closer.
In her front yard.
She opened the door, hands at her sides, right palm open to the wind while her left hand kept a firm grip on the rubber head of the cane. The glass-breaker seemed to hesitate.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said verbally and mentally. “I don’t need the cane all the time. Now. You woke me up. But you haven’t disturbed my cats yet. So you may just want something. I’m willing to talk.”
The leaves on the maple tree in her yard rustled. The entity made the sound of a wine glass striking a wood table and materialized.
“Ah,” she smiled. “It’s just you again.”
brightrosefox: (Default)
Weird searches lead to weirder finds.

A link of Facebook leads to a funny article. A link near the funny article leads to another funny article. I found myself reading about all the films in which actor Sean Bean plays a character who dies. Hint: It's a lot.
And so I read one of the synopses, "Far North" - and the way the writer described it made me decide to search for it. It was based on a short story set in an anthology of "Dark Tales" in which the author retells folk tales with grim outlooks. But I wasn't sure what made "Far North" grim other than than Sean Bean's character freezes to death naked in the Arctic.
I read a few spoiler reviews on IMDB that explain that at the end of the film, the jealous older woman kills her adopted daughter, skins her face, and wears the skin during sex with Sean Bean's character, which he doesn't even realize until a few minutes into sex, which is presumably what leads him to be naked in the snow and dead. And then I had to find the short story, because holy shit what.
And then I found the entire story text reposted. Interestingly, the male character finds time to put all his clothes and snow shoes back on before running away.
http://bean-daily.livejournal.com/968345.html
Also, I... don't think facial skin works that way. Also, I get that the husband was all caught up and lustful and barely looked at her face during the sex, but still. No matter how smooth she made the skin, wouldn't it just not fit properly even with her pinning it? Maybe I'm just missing something about how to skin an animal skillfully.

***

Also, the fish tank has been relocated upstairs to my work room, and other bits and pieces from the dining room are now upstairs. Before we know it, the room will be empty and ready for carpeting. Neat.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Started on Facebook. Copied to Livejournal because Facebook is not a blog.
Inspired by a painting. Actual recurring dreams. Stream of consciousness, free form.
Will be updated as the dreams continue.



****

You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
*
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
*
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
*
brightrosefox: (Default)
Some people have been asking me why I wear so many specific bracelets in varied order. It isn't because the stones are beautiful, though they are. It is for neuromuscular and sensory processing balance. See, since my left arm, affected by spastic ataxic cerebral palsy, often feels ghost-like, I wear multiple gemstone stretch bracelets to give weight to that arm, so I can feel that weight, look at my arm, and think, Oooh, pretty stones, and oh, right, I should use this arm. Raw amber, charoite, lepidolite, kyanite, tourmaline.
On my right wrist, the balancing act is more of a counterweight. The raw amber, polished amber, fluorite, and lepidolite help me concentrate on my total physicality. I am inside my mind too much. My body needs me just as much, even more.
It is the same reason I wear gemstone rings: charoite, lepidolite, seraphinite, kyanite - the gemstones that work best for me, alongside amber resin. On my left hand are my green gold wedding ring and my inherited yellow gold band. On my right hand is my heirloom engagement ring. I need balance, once again. So I wear a ring on my left index finger and two rings on my right middle finger. Balance is vital for me with my particular set of neurological damages. It helps that all these stones have metaphysical properties that work perfectly for me.

braceletsleft

braceletsright



ringsleft

I do wish my left hand would not tremble so badly, even when propped against a surface. But that is what I live with and I respect it while I seek to improve and strengthen it.
brightrosefox: (Default)
I'm leaving this here just so I remember.
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WesternAnimation/Futurama?from=Main.Futurama

Also, this:
Benefits and Healing properties of Baltic Amber:
*Alleviates pain and symptoms associated with teething
*Reduces arthritis pain
*Reduces and prevents migraine headaches
*Reduces acid reflux, heartburn
*Reduces and eliminates eczema, psoriasis, and acne
*Balances digestive system and GI tract
*Improves sleep cycles
*Lifts overall mood and feelings of depression
*Amber prevents the aging of human cells, which use succinic acid as an inhibitor (an agent slowing down or totally stopping the loss of) of potassium ions and an antioxidant.
*Amber changes ionization, positively influencing our frame of mind and rebuilding the disturbed electrostatic field due to electrical devices which affect our organisms.
*There are so many ways in which you can benefit from Baltic amber. It has a substance – or ingredient – called succinic acid. A powerful antioxidant that helps fight toxic free radicals and disruptions of the cardiac rhythm, succinic acid has been shown to stimulate neural system recovery and bolster the immune system, and help compensate for energy drain in the body and brain, boosting awareness, concentration and reflexes, and reducing stress.

The magical things 3 mg Klonopin can do when combined with 350 mg Soma.
My almost nervous breakdown, and my hypertonic insanity, has eased considerably.
You see. Apparently, a Thing may be happening that has me more terrified than excited when I should be insanely happy and excited.
And in the meantime, I have to finish something that has eluded me for a very long time, which I cannot seem to convey to anyone without frustration.
So, Klonopin and desperation it is.

If you are a published writer, especially regarding urban fantasy or science fantasy, please please message me privately. Particularly if you have written novels and novellas.

I am writing the final chapter of the novel, just to see if I can fill things in and tie things up. Oh, I hope this works.

Note to self: Sale at CVS.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Ah, a story to flesh out. With... help, maybe?
This is a story I've been tinkering with for a bit, which I put away for a bit, and I found it again, and and and I really want to continue it and finish it. Short story, novella, small novel, I don't know. Would someone be willing to help??

Read more... )
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh, those little moments, those brief windows of choice and chance...

I took the bus to the Redland Road shopping center, walked to the post office to drop off a care package for an online friend, and walked back into the shopping center to get an eyebrow wax at Karen's Salon. As I walked past Hair Cuttery, I figured it was time for a new look. I asked for a mix of Redken's Cappucino and Maple, a light and dark brown. The wonderful lady who took care of me suggested light, textured layers at the ends of my hair instead of my usual standard blunt straight trim. Biting my lip really really hard, I went for it. She flat ironed my hair, which had never been done, and then I held my breath as the scissor and comb gently fluttered through my ends. The results were stunningly astounding. I gave her a large tip.
I posted photos to Facebook and received so many compliments that my little ego flailed trying to figure out how many ways to say "thank you." People's jaws were dropping through comments like "Stunning!!" and "WOWZA" and "Rawr!" and "It really flatters you and it really brightens you! It really perks you up! Your features and gentle skin tone really stand out! Fantastic color! Layers take getting used to, but you add so much body when you add them in!!! I think you look incredible!"
And then... Naamah said this: "You look like a brilliant and tough librarian about to go on some crazy time-travel fairy-tale totally awesome journey. AWESOME look."
And it took off from there. And now the seeds of a story are planted not only in my head, but in Naamah's head. I'm going to scratch out a quick, simple outline, and someday actual flesh out a story, but it will happen.

The first photo that planted the story seed.



The next photo, which made me consider whispering, "I know all your secrets. I can see into your soul."



The last photo, which featured a voiceover by a witchy librarian.


"Why yes, the bizarre and arcane and occult books are here in this section. I must warn you: Some of them are hostile toward new people in our library. That's why I'll be coming with you. Only magic practicing librarians can handle the really strong books."
Oh, my jewelry? Nothing major. That's a ring of round lepidolite stones around a silver nickel pentacle with a round clear quartz stone, and the other is a round charoite stone that I can spin. And the other necklace has an amber cabochon in a pentacle circled by an ouroboros; the pendant behind that is a vermeil lotus mandala butterfly pentacle charm. I'm a soul healer and a dimensional seer; the stones help me see things beyond the veil that most people are never aware of. That's why the other librarians call me the Moonlight Witch. Oh, don't touch that book. It's skittish and full of languages that humans were never meant to comprehend. If you tell me exactly what you're looking for, I can open it and translate for you."

Two new photos, which my Facebook friends are raving over for some reason.

Posing with paintings by my father and my husband.
librarianwitch


A less shaky version.
librarianwitch2

"Just your friendly magic practitioner librarian in a library that holds portals to various worlds, realms, dimensions, and universes. Can I help you find something? I specialize in the interdimensional metaphysical magic section. The children's room there is probably the simplest place to start."

Stories come from everywhere. Just keep looking.
brightrosefox: (Default)
I think I've figured out exactly why "My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic" entertains, amuses, and delights me so much: It reminds me deeply of Warner Bros. and Looney Tunes and other slapstick humor cartoons from my childhood. The consistent cocktails of wackiness, ensuing of hijinks, and humorous winks to adult themes make me laugh wildly. And so I wonder why so many people actively hate even casual fans of the series.

I am a casual fan of "My Little Pony." I still refuse to get involved in the actual fandom (certain things cannot be unseen or unknown, beyond Rule 34; in conclusion, some people are extraordinarily creepy when it comes to cartoons). But the TV show, characters, and concept as a whole has a serious little place in my heart.

Say what you will, some cartoons are just that cool.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Okay, Internet. Here is what I want, and here is what I don't want:

I DO want someone to tell me that they are holding me from afar, that they sympathize. I want someone to say, "Oh, wow, I really understand. This is how I feel. This is how I've been feeling. Let me tell you what happened to me! And then let's talk about what you're feeling and we can trade stories about disabilities or fantasy or anything you want! And then we'll watch cartoons and eat chocolate!"
I want to be told stories. Especially fantastic stories and healing stories and comedic stories and disability stories. I want to lose myself in someone else's words, to pretend for just a little while that I am not weak and ill and fatigued and in so much pain. I want to really know that it is not just me.

I DO NOT want anyone to say, "Oh, that sucks, hey, have you tried X or would you try X or could you talk to your doctors about X? X could be a great treatment. In fact, this person I know just tried X and got better in a month! It could help you so much. Just try it!"
Guess what? I really don't care right now. In fact, right now I don't give a wild fuck about X to such a degree that if giant cures for everything were dropped in front of me, I would stare at them and mumble, "Come back tomorrow, I'm napping."

See, I myself have made suggestions and given advice, but I will try to only do that if a person has asked. I am not a hypocrite. What I am is really really tired, and not well, and exhausted, and irritated in general. Someone can give me advice forever, and I will roll my eyes and turn away right now. Because I don't feel well. And someone poking me and shaking my brain like a bulldog with a stick and insisting "Did you try this yet? Did you do that yet?" will make me snap and growl and possibly draw blood.

In conclusion, I just want to be told that I am loved, and that I will be better soon. It doesn't matter how I will get better, it just matters that I will feel better. Because guess what, Internet? I already know how to make myself feel better, and nothing happens quickly.

One more thing:
Dear Internet. Please stop trying to debate with me right now. My personal opinions, thoughts, and beliefs are currently immobile, and you will not convince me to join your side. I am far too weak and ill to bother with you. Go pretend you won. Here is your cookie. I'm taking a nap.
brightrosefox: (Default)
My townhouse has been named "Wonderland" - it is perfect.

We are all mad here. But I am Alice, and I have been completely twisted from my years of Wonderland journeying, and my madness is the control center.

Luna is my Cheshire Cat.
Rose is my Dinah.
Jupiter is my White Rabbit.
Adam is both my Mad Hatter and my Caterpillar.

I am very glad and grateful that I created the character of Alicia as a psychic guide to help me through seizures and pains. I have no idea what part of me invented her, but I thank that part.

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