Another day like today.

 “Caramel corn does not rember me” - Tim Rogers 

Who is m1a1… Drew freak… Mason Andrew Freak… he is me and he is not me.

I am performing at the keyboard for myself to myself. These stream of conscious thoughts more than a decade of experimentation on the question what is a limit? Is the past one of them? And why do we give it so much power?

I am now moving forward with this as a near daily blog (again!) I miss typing and sharing my neurotic rain man idiot savant mediations on identity. If I am trying to be evasive it’s because I want to forget and all I seem to do (darn it!) is remember.

Like gunstar heroes life is something more fun to think about than something to play and finish. I have played gunstar heroes a hole bunch and finished and can say with out a doubt it is very much awesome but my memories of it are far more interesting because I created that bs in my head with an anticipation  of what the game could be rather then the reduction of what it could have been once I finished it. I don’t like endings. I dont like how blatantly this paragraph and the one before it contradict each other…

I have spent most of the last decade rewatching Hunter x Hunter… that more of my adult life spent rewatching an anime that is an adaption of manga I have read since I was thirteen or fourteen. I can say with very little BS I have spent most of the sane part of my life trying to numb myself… to a get as far away from myself as possible.

I have done other things with the last decade or so. Read quite a few books but when I wake up I tended to put the good hunter x hunter on my television to kill brain cells… not because its stupid not because I have said it is unironically the hamlet of battle manga.

No because I want to get lost in otherness… to day dream. I think about a handful of games from my childhood memories of a Sega genesis. Memories are more than what the happy console gamer forces down our feed as we cling to a those handful of video games I google to numb myself from my sense of progression towards the obvious conclusion of a life melodramatically and frustratingly lived trying express something I can not articulate…

Except maybe this: the birds are not singing they crying out in pain (and yet most of us find it beautiful).

What will you find on this blog? Crap like this, hundreds of poems three or four novellas some good short stories and one particularly bad one I refuse to delete about my therapist biting my dick off (which I consider a crying out of my subconscious about her taking the most interesting thing about me my madness [my diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia the only thing that defines me as much as hunter x hunter is kept in check do to her diligent help of high doses of medication]).

I would like to think I am stable but have doubts after typing this  last couple of rambling blocks of text.

What else will you find on this blog? Some rules for miniatures skirmish games I am working on. (I have published quite a few of these flawed mistakes on my itch page along with some twine demo games I have made).

And memories existential nightmarish pain I often type about using the metaphor of a toothache. 

This toothache follows me even though I have had my dentures for close to two years.

Once I told my uncle “when I die flush my ashes down the toilet as symbolic gesture” a week later in front of his girlfriend she asked me what “they gonna put you in a nameless grave when you die?” “No they will flash ashes down the toilet.” My uncle who I can only hope is formally diagnosed with Asperger’s added “Symbolic gesture I think.” No shit Sherlock.

He also told me a while back I told my coworker you drink three energy drinks at once the guys said you was a pussy! Then he started laughing. I said “if you’re gonna tell stories about me you could at least tell the truth.” 

What is the truth? I had drink so many energy drinks one day I blacked out. I can’t remember the exact doses of caffeine but it was well over a thousand.  The whole business was spooky and dangerously stupid. Just like venting about his stupid is more frustrating than my own. Though my tolerance for it is what frustrates me.

I am stuck with and in the past I cannot escape or numb myself from. Reverberating a message like that time I beat my head through the hall way in my parents home when I was sixteen I crawled away and cried on the floor.

I have no nostalgia for this crap. I use this projection of the past to reflect on my understanding of this moment… the past isn’t changing, it does not even exist. We’re all a magic trick vessels of dead souls we perpetually act out in sacred ritual because there is not much else to life. The crayon box of colors we playfully try to turn into a masterpiece. Are universal, the same colors with different names.  The trick is we somehow think we matter enough to change whispered names of someone else’s crayons. Hxh is the color that defines my life. Though it is just another name for the same crap we want to numb and replace the world with.

Shelby was a girl I loved I told myself spent my hard earned mowing money to buy her a birthday present to a party I wasn’t invited to and was asked to leave after I left the gift. she was sixteen or something. I was fourteen. It was about the time I started reading Hxh there may be a correlation between toothache cringe of objective reality. And kitsch and artistic ambition. 

My once best friend told me “watching Hxh everyday sounds like hell”. He wasn’t my friend he was my brother. I think trying to understand all these words and reflections is me wanting to tell you I love you. maybe because he is reading this thing again or maybe not maybe that door has closed. I love all of you. There is decades of nuance between the binary state we exist within.  And the ultimate choice can embrace the confusion of a choice of blessings and curses and choose blessings.  

In this moving from pain and towards hope. I am sitting here uncomfortably with because, well, I would not want to be any where else.

Peace and love.

Be safe out there friends.