7/6/2020

Holy shit, it’s been a little while. I meant to have some posts up on here, but I was way too fucking busy with life, so uh, I didn’t. Plus a lot of recent events put me in a bad mood, and I didn’t really feel like making another angry post. I’m a lot less busy/upset now, so here I go.

I don’t remember the context of it, but I was having a conversation with a friend about “light” trauma. I don’t mean trauma in the sense of abuse or seeing a dead body or anything. I mean “trauma,” in the sense of walking into a room during the worst part of a horror movie as a kid. Or, probably the most relatable one if you’re in my age group, turning the page in any volume of Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark and getting an eyeful of Stephen Gammell’s even-as-an-adult unsettling artwork.

the picture that gave every millennial nightmares

There’s always at least one piece of media, whether it be a movie, book, TV show, video game, that you can look back at fondly and say, “yeah, this scared the fucking shit out of me as a kid!” Sometimes it’s something that, in retrospect, was kind of stupid. For me, it was the poster for Les Misérables. I could not see that poster on the street, or in a commercial, without completely going hysterical and crying. I could not for the life of me tell you why, exactly, this was the case, but it was.

I guess when you’re only five years old, and your eyes and brain haven’t fully developed yet, any otherwise innocuous image can be absolute visceral horror.

Then you have stuff that I absolutely should not have seen as a kid. For example: to any parents who are reading, don’t let your 7-year old rent a copy of Splatterhouse 2 from the video store. That’s not a good idea.

Also maybe don’t let your kids watch MTV. Probably shouldn’t let them watch that bullshit now, but definitely not in the mid-90s. The time period where MTV was actually willing to be experimental with its programming, mostly in regards to its animation. Of course, I watched a lot of Beavis and Butt-Head. No, it was not scary. I was way too young to understand most of the jokes, instead laughing at two idiots calling each other “fartknocker” and then getting into a fistfight. Aeon Flux? Way too complex for my simple brain to handle at the time. At that age, you can’t even spell “surreal,” let alone watch some high-concept animation full of it.

Then there was The Maxx.

The Maxx absolutely should have been right up my alley. A cartoon based on a comic book character? A character that looks like every other badass anti-hero of the day? Of course, I hadn’t actually read the books first. The Maxx, simply put, is a story of horrifically traumatized people, one of them an amnesiac who believes himself to be a super-hero, dealing with life in the big city, as well as a serial rapist with magic powers constantly stalking them. That shit is not for kids. In addition to the extremely heavy subject matter, Sam Kieth’s dreamlike art style can create some really fucked up looking visuals, which were recreated to the dot in the animated series.

I rewatched all 13 episodes yesterday (episodes are about ten minutes a piece). They hold up really well. I found the show while digging around on Soulseek, because YouTube and even the almighty Internet Archive were no help in looking up classic MTV animation (though the IA does have Liquid Television quick click this before Chuck Wendig gets it shut down). Adult me recommends it.

Back on topic, though, holy fucking shit did this show ever take a toll on my small brain. I could have, you know, stopped watching after episode 2 or 3. But no, I watched every last one as a kid. I was not a smart child.

And even if I were to stop watching, MTV’s advertising department made sure you knew that The Maxx existed. In their campaign to promote the second half of the series, the commercial opened with a severed fucking head.

A bit of context: in episode 2, the primary antagonist, Mr. Gone, is killed, via his head getting cut off. However, due to his mystic powers and ability to travel between dimensions, he’s still able to exert his will, and gets his head sent to the apartment of the woman who killed him several episodes later. Now, because this is a rotting body part, the smell is bad enough that she discovers the package his head is in, and opens it, to her horror.

Now, before I continue, I want you to imagine something here. It’s 1995. You’re about 8-9 years old. You come home from school, and you turn on your TV in your bedroom. Because you’re impressionable and doubly susceptible to marketing, you turn on MTV. You’re watching some music videos. Maybe you’re watching Nirvana’s acoustic cover of “The Man Who Sold The World” (for my money, one of the greatest live performances of all time). About 2 or 3 videos play, before it’s time for a commercial break. You don’t think much of it; sometimes commercials tell you about something you want to watch, or toys you want for Christmas. This one, though, opens with this:

Be sure to watch new episodes of “The Maxx,” only on MTV!

It’s funny. I feel like I’m coming across as a media watchdog crusader, asking someone out there to please think of the children, because I definitely should not have been allowed to watch this. But I suppose I should also be thankful, because being exposed to all this weird, terrifying shit as a kid had a pretty direct influence on my art, and overall aesthetic choices. So uh…

…thanks?

internet seclusion

Been a while since my last post. A lot has happened in the IRL since then, which has kept me very busy. Busy with things that frankly, the internet doesn’t need to know about. It’s nothing bad, but it’s no business of certain segments of the internet.

I’ve also been in a lot of physical pain as of late. Serious back pain that’s kept me up all night, in some cases even considering calling an ambulance, which I definitely cannot afford to do. My mobility issues with my knees and ankles have been acting up more than normal, barely able to walk the last couple weeks without wishing I was dead with every step I took. On top of that, I have a really shitty immune system that leaves me sick a lot, so even if I could, it’s still not a good idea to go out into large groups of people while the worst global pandemic since AIDS kicked off in the 80s is happening.

Needless to say, it’s been three weeks of stress and pain. I’m sore. I’m tired. I’m all beat up, covered in cuts and bruises and rashes that my allergies have caused me to break out into. I’ve been swarmed with paper work and phone calls and meetings with guys in suits to get real life shit worked out. I’ve barely had good internet; hell, didn’t even have power most of the weekend. I’ve been fucking busy.

These preceding paragraphs were to help illustrate the point of this post: in that, at least for some time, you’re only going to be seeing or hearing from me on this web site. No social media bullshit. Twitter has done everything in its power to drive every trans artist/activist worth their salt off the platform. The break-up of Black Dresses was the last straw for me, so I took a hike from that bigot-ridden sinking ship. The Mastodon “Fediverse,” something I would have sung the praises of last month, has since degenerated into an ableist shithole where rich white kids have spent the last three weeks yelling at every disabled person they can find for not “pulling their weight” when it comes to anti-fascist activities in American. In other words, calling disable people racist for having the audacity to take a break and play Animal Crossing for 10-20 minutes, instead of turning Super Saiyan and murdering every cop in the world with a sick-ass Kamehameha or some shit. Daring to have a personal life; to try and find some semblance of joy in this world, instead of becoming a human news ticker broadcasting a 24/7 feed of human suffering makes you a monster, apparently. At least in the eyes of performative, clout-chasing jerk-offs who got their concept of “justice” from a My Little Pony shipping blog on Tumblr back in 2011. And one of the people leading this charge literally said a year ago that places like Kiwi Farms “provided a good service,” so you know that this shit is all being done in good faith.

Just because someone is not talking about something all the time does not mean that they stopped caring about it, or that they never cared about it, or that they support the exact opposite position. Sometimes, it’s not about certain people, or even certain groups of people, putting in their two cents. Black Lives Matter means Black Lives Matter, motherfucker, not, “white people need to feel good about themselves in the most self-righteous way possible.” Something I learned long ago, when the stakes were significantly lower than they are now, is that you are not going to change the world by Posting Online. If screencapping Ian Miles Cheong everyday and saying “imagine being this much of a douchecanoe, ya’ll” actually solved racism, the world would look like this:

But it doesn’t. It’s on fucking fire. Yelling at people for having broken bodies and immune systems that could turn them into a living chemical weapon that will definitely not help Black people accomplishes nothing, especially when the opposition walks around with guns and lung-destroying tear gas. Who would I be helping in that situation? Nobody! Have I at least donated money to bail funds and programs centered on helping Black people? More than once! Do I wish I could give more? Of course! Do I wish I had legs that worked and a body that doesn’t break down like a used car so I could go out and do my part to dismantle centuries of unjust cruelty via my use of sick wrestling moves? Hell yeah! But realistically speaking, there’s only so much I can do. Only so much other people can do. And I don’t bring up giving what money I can as a way to feel good or to prove some sort of “cred.” I don’t need applause for helping someone; that’s the bare minimum that should be expected of you. It would be like me needing Twitter likes because I washed the dishes or took out the trash. These are just things that you do.

People who have actually protested, donated, or at least tried to help are not the ones harassing people for nearly a fucking month now. Which says a lot about the shitty nature of performative activism. Another thing I learned long ago is that I can’t change the world on my own, but I can maybe change the world for others by being a better friend. Someone who will listen. Maybe someone who can provide a light-hearted distraction for my PoC friends/followers, rather than an endless display of images reminding them just how cruel the world can be for non-white people. To my fellow white people: fucking shut the fuck up for five fucking minutes, motherfucker! It’s not about us. It never was, and it never will be. Video games and Star Wars lied to you.

Anyways. All of this just to say I’m sticking to my blog from now on. Or at least until people can learn to act like regular fucking human beings again. Maybe I’ll do a post about video games. I mean, I know that talking about games is more problematic than at least five Contrapoints videos according to people who think that Kiwi Farms provides a valuable service (but you know, racism is totally like, bad, and stuff), but whatever, it’s my site and I’ll post what I want.

trains rights

Thought I’d break things up a bit, and post about something that wasn’t about video games for once. I’ve been watching a lot more TV lately. Lots of shows about trains in Japan. Something I’ve discovered recently is that I really fucking like trains. Not so much the internal specs; what engines they run on or fast they go or whatever, but simply watching them cruise along the gorgeous countryside, or even in a bustling, well-lit city. Don’t really know why it tickles that feel-good part of my brain, but it’s incredibly relaxing to watch a train go by. Of course, I know about the magic of television editing, and that trains and their stations and their passengers have problems. Well aware of that last one. But the core of locomotion is appealing to me. Spending 20-40 minutes at a time watching them ride the rails is a no-brainer.

There are two shows in particular I’ve been binge-watching, the way normies do with Netflix Originals: Japan Railway Journal, and Train Cruise. Japan Railway Journal is more of a “news” type program, focusing on new lines and the economic side of things, with the occasional “let’s have fun actually riding these things.” And now that Russell Totten is no longer the host, the show lost its personality; everything just feels so fake and put-on now. With the older episodes, it felt more casual, with the cast cracking jokes and at least looking like they wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. Like, for fucks’ sake, episode 2 was filmed in a bar, not some stuffy news room. That’s pretty cool, actually.

These days, there’s not much of a reason to watch this one, unless you’re really into the business side of things (and don’t mind some episodes being blatant advertisements for private train companies), and not like me, where my whole thought process is “train go vroom.” Or maybe you want to get really angry at the fact that some company thought it was a good idea to charge seventy-five fucking dollars for this:

it’s a fucking slice of bread with some tomatoes on it!
pictured: a man enjoying his meal

Train Cruise, on the other hand, is the show to watch. It’s far more casual. A revolving door of hosts, each an actor or a musician, traveling down an entire line, all while showing off various sights/restaurants/museums/etc along the way.

It’s very clear that the hosts are having a good time on these trips, which in turn, is fun to watch.

There’s been at least one episode that was pretty serious. It covered how people and local businesses have recovered (or attempted to recover) from the devastating Tohoku tsunami of 2011. But for the most part, these are just some fun shows to watch and relax to. If you took a Benadryl for Summer allergies before watching, you will pass out mid-way through, thanks to all the lingering shots of scenery, and that ambient music in the background.

At risk of being one of those IN THESE UNCERTAIN TIMES dickheads, it is kind of a bittersweet thing watching all of these during quarantine time. Because with the way things are, travel is going to be a no-go for some time, if ever. I mean traveling between states, forget about international travel. Even though these shows are obviously edited for TV; riding a train is not nearly as magical in real life, it still looks like a lot of fun being able to go out into the world and see all the cool sights and eat at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I haven’t been able to do that in a number of years, and I might not be able to do that ever again. But at least I’ll be able watch these and live vicariously through the hosts, as sad as that honestly kind of sounds.

Tetsudo English is the YouTube channel where I’ve watching these. I’m sure there are plenty of other channel out there that can be found with a simple search.

sailor and the 7 ballz: hyper fighting

I’ve been continuing my quest of finally being able to chill the fuck out. Keeping my head down and trying to relax. So naturally, this means I’ve been spending a lot of time playing competitive fighting games.

giving alisa bosconovich the “k dash” look

Normally, that just means playing a bit of Tekken 7. I’ve said numerous times that it’s the only fighting game I’m even remotely skilled at. Me trying other games has resulted in disaster. Playing Street Fighter 4, for example, and getting destroyed by teleporting Seth players and Dee-Jay cross-ups, not knowing how to react. Then searching Google turned up fuck all, instead telling me how to do a Hadouken, something I’ve known how to do since I was 8 years old. So I would give up, uninstall the game, and then repeat the next year. This would happen in other games, like Guilty Gear or Dragon Ball or Marvel or whatever. So to have any skill in Tekken was nothing short of a miracle.

But, in playing other games with friends who know what they’re doing, I’ve actually been able to sit down and learn their mechanics. I’ve even been able to win a few times! Convincingly, even! Which is, you know, great.

But what I’ve really been digging on is Dragon Ball Fighter Z. Or Dragon Ball FighterZ? Whatever. The one with Goku in it.

What I’ve liked about it (aside from being, you know, good), is the feelings of nostalgia it brings. I have not watched an episode of Dragon Ball in over fifteen years. But when I did, it was a big deal. I don’t talk about it much these days, mostly because I don’t watch a whole lot of it anymore, but anime was the thing for me as a teenager. Especially on Saturday night. By that point, my home life had gotten a lot rougher, so going out was not really something I could do without there being problems afterward. As such, I spent a lot of time staying in. And I stayed in during the big anime push in the US. Anime on TV. Manga in bookstores. The internet was getting bigger and better, and fansites and fan communities were thriving. For a lonely kid in a broken home, watching anime on Cartoon Network and downloading Japanese Mega Drive ROMs was the most fun you could have.

And of course, Dragon Ball Z was at the forefront of that big push. Not that I had never seen the series before; parts of Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z had aired on Fox a few years earlier (6 AM Saturday mornings). But now it was a different, much more impressionable time. Sure, I liked stuff like Sailor Moon, Gundam, and Cowboy Bebop. But this was a show about big dudes screaming at each other for 30 minutes. Every five episodes, they would actually hit each other! It was very compelling at the time.

Anyways. My Saturday nights would see me watching long blocks of anime on TV (with reruns of Forensic Files and WWE Velocity in-between), while looking at anime fansites/forums, and playing ROMs on my shitty eMachines. Now, I definitely spent a lot of time with the Mega Drive Sailor Moon (a really awesome side-scrolling brawler), and Treasure’s 4-player YuYu Hakusho, but I also spent an inordinate amount of time with DBZ: Bu Yu Retsuden. I say “inordinate” because the game fucking sucks. It looks like shit, sounds like shit, plays like shit; a cynically made shitshow designed to take money from naive Japanese children.

but hey, at least you could play as cell

Actually, Dragon Ball games of that time were all fucking garbage. That shitty NES game. The Super Butoden series on Super Famicom. The bad RPGs. Except for one, one very good standout. That was Hyper Dimension. That game was sick.

i like cell

So getting into DBFZ is giving me all these warm and fuzzies from a different, maybe not better, but still formative time in my life. All the big screaming dudes are here, shooting huge fireballs at each other and obliterating mountains in the middle of an empty field somewhere. Makes me want to reinstall WinAmp, put on some skins that make it hard as fuck to see any of the text, and listen to some Malice Mizer while playing it. It’s great. Fighting games are great. Dragon Ball Z is great, at least in theory. Original Dragon Ball is actually great, and you should watch that.

3/17/2020

Haven’t done a blog post in a bit. I’ve been meaning to do a write up on why I love Space Invaders as much as I do, but it’s been kind of hard to put together, mostly the format and how I want to go about it. So fuck it, I’ll just make a post for postings sake, as I’ve been way too quiet on here as of late.

It’s been fairly uneventful over here. Plugging away at my work; getting more work done on this Patreon-exclusive game, with bug testing and sound composition making things take longer than I’d like. Also been drafting up Girl Zone #3, the art/poetry zine that I’d like to make a monthly thing.

In-between all that, I’ve been dealing with my brain. I know I’ve been holding back on opening up like this, but I think I can do it once in a while: every so often, you’ll be doing fine, able to manage your symptoms with a nice bit of THC. Then you wake up one morning, and everything is bad and you want to crawl into a hole and wait for the world to die. Even if you vent privately, you still feel bad for having felt that way, and having your negative emotions take over like that, so then you spend a couple days feeling like shit about yourself. I’m currently doing okay.

I finally got a new Saturn controller. The ones that Retro-Bit make are fucking shit, to be honest, falling apart after a few months because they’re built with cheap plastic. So instead, I spent an extra $10 and got an 8BitDo M30. Only had it for a few weeks, but it seems to work a hell of a lot better. Time will tell if the D-Pad breaks after you look at it too hard.

Taken the time to get back into all the Sega Mega Drive/SG-1000 and PC-Engine stuff I’d been unable to play for several months. Need to start downloading some Saturn ROMs soon.

Really, that’s kind of been about it. Been pretty boring while doing my best to stay indoors because of all the shit going around. Maybe next time I’ll have something more exciting to talk about.

Fuck it, I’ll post a song too.

i hate camera- the bird and the bee

the 2010s

I’ll open this post with an admission: I’ve been torn on how I’ve wanted to go about writing this. The last few days have seen me writing, rewriting, scrapping and coming back to this space, trying to figure out the best way to talk about this past decade. There were a lot of great things that happened to me. There was also so much more terrible shit that went down. Things that have changed me, and not for the better. Making me want to be less of an “approachable” person, more of a recluse who doesn’t like to share their feelings. Because, for all of the great relationships I’ve made in this time, there’s still that part of me that knows how I came in to the 2010s as a relatively care-free dude making video game gif’s on Tumblr in an attempt at drawing a crowd towards the short stories and music reviews I was writing, and I came out of the 2010 a bitter trans person that everyone hates, and I hate twice as much. There are days and sometimes even weeks where I would love to drop everything and disappear into a fucking cave. And yes, I know it seems silly and maybe even hypocritical that I would make a post opening up about myself after making a big spectacle over never wanting to open myself again, but I feel like I can make an exception this one time.

I had dreams once. I had goals. I was idealistic. The desire to make things that people care about; to make my mark in a world that told me I would never amount to anything. Now? Now I just make shit because I’m too stubborn to quit now.

Let me go way back to the early 2010s for a moment. I had just left my shitty job with the weird hours that kept me from having any kind of social life. I had gotten back in touch with my old high school friends, several of whom were playing in bands. So for a good couple years or so, I would go to their shows, we would hang out, get drunk, and have a good time. Then I got the bright idea to write about the shows that I went to. Not just as music reviews, but as pieces of non-fiction about the things that went on at these venues. The people I met, the things I saw, or whatever was on display at the small art museum next to the concert hall. That’s when things started to change. I was no longer an old friend, but looked at as someone who would write glowing reviews to help make them more popular. And when I wouldn’t do that, my phone stopped ringing, and my calls were no longer answered. I was no longer useful, so I was cut out. My entire social network more or less evaporated immediately. My Bipolar diagnosis came shortly after this, so I was not in a good place around this time. One day, I stopped feeling angry and sorry for myself, and swore that I would never find myself in a position where my friendship was something to be exploited.

Then I met Zoe Quinn. And I think you all know how that particular story ended. I found myself in the same spot I swore I would never be in again. I’ll be carrying that particular guilt over being manipulated and used for a long time to come, I think.

Though, there is at least one thing that keeps me from completely losing it: unlike your Zoe’s, or Randi’s, or anyone else who thought it would be a good idea to exploit me and my friends for a few bucks, my name is not built upon pity. See, the thing about all of them, is that no matter they do, there will always be that specter of being “the Gamergate Girl” following them around. When people buy or support anything that do, it’s because they feel sorry for all of them. It’s why Goddess Mode’s sales dropped 53% in one month. My name is built on respect. When people support me, they do it because they actually like me as a person, or they think what I do is actually really fucking good. Nobody looks at my art, or plays my games, or watches my streams, or listens to my podcasts, or wears my shirt designs because they feel sorry for me. I will never rely on trying to sell my shit by saying “hey ya’ll! Play my game and trigger the alt-right today!”

It’s not much, but it is at least enough to hang my hat on.

The last five years alone have been an endless shitshow, the memories of which still plague me right fucking now. Nobody believes in anything. For all the grief that South Park (rightfully) gets for its “caring about things is stupid” message, there sure are a lot of people out there that have no problem with using it as their core belief. The people who will adopt socialist or communist language and ideologies in a cynical attempt at capitalist brand-building. People who will claim to be allies, but instead give $200 to some C-List celebrity to mumble out “uhh trans rights” on Cameo while ignoring the dozens of GoFundMe’s being shared around the internet on a daily basis. The same ones who will make empty platitudes about standing up for you, but then turn around and call Chelsea Manning a “monster” because she went to a couple of parties to try and dox Charlie Kirk. Or they stick up for Wil Wheaton after his bigoted ass got rightfully driven off of Mastodon. The same ones who will use their platforms to tell their audience to “shut the fuck up about Gamergate” and “pay attention to the real issues” while 8chan and Milo Yiannopolous are in the middle of targeting every trans women they can find en masse.

You got people who will yell, scream and carry on about sticking up for sex workers, and that SESTA/FOSTA was bad. These are the same people who gleefully turned their collective back on Alison Rapp, because she might have done some escort work in the past. Escort work, the “gross” kind of sex work; the kind that’s a bit more complicated than closing the PornHub tab after you’re done jerking off.

People who will demand that you put a content warning on a picture of your lunch, but will think nothing of sharing an uncensored video of a child getting his skull caved in by the butt of an M16, commenting, “this is like, bad, and stuff.” YOU THINK? Now, maybe I’m too old. Maybe I’m some outdated fuddy duddy who doesn’t know shit about how things work anymore, but I feel as though war crimes and police brutality are a little more distressing to look at than the grilled cheese sandwich you had today.

How about a recent thing that happened? How about having to watch a bunch of people that you care about panicking and freaking out after putting themselves on the line to try and expose Ben Judd and all the bullshit he was pulling off with Dangen Entertainment? How about seeing a bunch of notable names in the games industry immediately shit on it and say who fucking cares? We need to talk about Vinny Vinesauce! You know, because I guess doing a funny Super Mario voice in your apartment at two in the morning while playing The Legend Of Zelda is so much worse for marginalized people than abusing your position of power to expose your dick to women half your age.

Believe victims, except for these select victims, because some guy at Amazon none of them have talked to in about four fucking years said “Allyzone” once, and that’s enough to ensure that they should never be believed or supported for the rest of lives and beyond. Class solidarity, ya’ll…unless your podcast is funny or popular enough, in which case it’s totally cool to hassle retail employees on Christmas Eve; we all know that marketing and executive decisions are made by the miserable guy behind the counter. Corporations aren’t your friend, which is why we all need to strike back in the most radical of ways: buying a copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 as soon as possible. Sure, the working conditions on that game were toxic and abusive as fuck, with all the profits immediately pocketed by its execs, BUT THE COYOTE PHYSICS ARE PROBABLY DOPE! And if you aren’t talking about every issue plaguing the world right fucking now, a bunch of rich white girls in the Bay Area will call you “privileged” before going back to dilating the pussies their dads bought for them and referring to anyone who transitioned in or after their 30s as “men in dresses.”

The decade is coming to a close, and I’m fucking exhausted. Ten years- ten years of being fucked over, used, treated like shit by abusive assholes, having my name and reputation dragged through the mud over things I’ve literally never said or done. Doesn’t matter if you’re a shitty pop-punk band in Denver, or a shitty game developer who’s biggest talent is dating the worst men, fuck you. I’m using this space to finally get all that anger out once and for all. And my goal for the next decade is this:

I just want to be left the fuck alone.

That’s it. Aside from a couple of exceptions, you probably noticed I wasn’t naming a whole lot of names in this post. This is because I don’t care about fighting anymore. I just don’t care. I simply wish to exist and continue making cool shit. You don’t like me? You think I’m an asshole? Great, I don’t care. All I ask is that you leave me alone. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even think about me, and I’ll be more than happy to extend the same courtesy to you. I spent so many years waiting for an apology that would never come, and I don’t need the headache anymore.

All I ever wanted was a place where I could feel like I belonged; despite my web site’s title, being alone isn’t such a great thing. I have that now. I have my friends. I have my partner(s). I have the small communities I’m a part of. I have Black Dresses. I have Tsuchinoko Radio. I have Tekken 7. I have Bitsy. I have AEW. I have a sick new computer that runs Gamecube ROMs. I still have my creative spirit (Slimegirl Adventures 2020). I don’t need anything else. I definitely don’t need the constant bickering, or the performative bullshit, or the constant hypocrisy that gets people hurt. I don’t need the fighting, and the discourse. I don’t need the memories of the past haunting me anymore. I know I’ve said “time to move on” like a million times, but if there was ever a time to repeat it, it would be now. Will the world still be a shitty, festering hellhole? Yeah, it will. Can I do anything to change that? No, not really. I can’t be Superman, but I can at least try to do my part by being Ramona.

To everyone who has stuck by me all these years, thank you. I’m going to make 2020 and beyond my time.

12/10/2019

Hello everyone. This is going to be a serious post. I know in my last post I was feeling pretty good, and looking forward to not being a dumb shit ass mentally ill mess. But a couple weekends ago, the shit flared up again. As always, stress is the trigger. What stressed me out was seeing some right-wing douchebag out in the wild, using my words and my thoughts about things that had happened to me involving Zoe as a way to dunk on the “SJW’s.” I know that I said that if anyone did end up doing that, it’s not my problem, and that’s true. That doesn’t mean, however, that I have to like it. Then, because I hate myself, I went down that particular rabbithole of alt-right misinterpretation. Let me tell you, it’s not cool or fun to see your abuse be ignored (and in a couple of cases, outright mocked), left to fester, and be reduced to a laughable right-wing conspiracy theory. Let’s be real here: what happened to all of us in that particular social circle was abuse. Just because I wasn’t physically assaulted doesn’t disqualify it from the term.

Of course, this all leads to my brain being a fuck, and telling me horrible shit and making me relive older traumas and not having a good time. But during all of that shit, something did come up in my tortured introspection that I can’t ignore. I’m sure that by even bringing this up can make me seem like I’m ungrateful or selfish, but you know what? Fuck it, I’m going to be selfish. I spent nearly half a decade sticking up and standing up for people. At great personal cost, even monetary, at times. People dealing with harassment. People dealing with doxxing. People dealing with swatting. All these terrible things. But when it was my turn, when my head was laid on that chopping block, I did not get a fraction of the support that I gave and continue to give. When I was getting doxxed, or all the shit that went down with Randi and Zoe. Maybe because I wasn’t the perfect victim; I’m sure (mistakenly) yelling at Scott Benson last year was the equivalent of me taking a sawed-off shotgun to what remains of my credibility. But it’s still shitty. Not even a solidarity “like” on a social media post? Again, it’s something I’ve accepted, but I also don’t have to like that, either. I am resentful about this, full stop. Putting myself out there, and getting fucking nothing in return is fucked. And you all know it’s fucked.

This next part may seem unrelated, but like every rambling post I make, it ties into a greater point. In addition to all of this shit that’s been happening, people- strangers, really, have been leaving some weird shit in my messages lately. Like, people I don’t know telling me about their day in my comments box, as if we’ve known each other our whole lives and not randos who follow me on Twitter. Real people, even, not some sophisticated bot. Getting weird ass questions at two in the morning about subjects I’ve literally never spoken about. It’s strange, it’s creepy, it annoys me. I’m getting tired of it. I guess I’ve put up with it for so long because I’ve been trying to be approachable; I didn’t want to be one of those people that comes across as intimidating. But now I’m starting to understand why people want to be intimidating.

The reason for being so approachable is because of my mental health. The shit that I’ve got? Very isolating. The kind of shit that makes you think that you need to be alone for the rest of your life, keep people away because why would you want to expose anyone to your bullshit? Of course, that’s not healthy. You need a solid support network, because you are in no position to know what’s the right thing to do. So I tend to be open, whether it’s here or otherwise, about how I’m doing, because I know how much it sucks to feel alone. And obviously, that has not been good for me. It invites a lot of bad shit my way. It’s either going to be the tranny chasing creeps with no boundaries like I mentioned earlier, or my dedicated group of stalkers that like to keep tabs on everything I do and say “look at this faggot being insane lololololololol” and posting a picture of like a rage comic or something.

All of this shit combined together has left me really feeling like, well, like shit. Like, opening myself up and showing vulnerability was clearly a bad idea that I ended up getting nothing out of. Or at least, no net gain to speak of, unless you count being left behind to eat shit and like it to be a positive. So it’s time to draw some boundaries. After this post (obviously), maybe don’t expect me to be so “out there.” Because, in doing all of this; the anti-gamergate bullshit and the mental health awareness bullshit, I ended up losing sight of who and what I really am.

I am a simple person. I like to crack jokes. I like to make cool shit. I like to talk about cool shit like video games, and music, and anime, and pro wrestling. I like having fun with my friends, even it if means being up until sunrise, which is probably a bad idea at my age. I don’t like getting into fights. I don’t like being angry and holding grudges. I don’t like being a sad sack that could only aspire to be inspiration porn. Being able to live life on my own terms, with the people I love and care for is all I really want. Obviously, I lost sight of that a long time ago. I think setting these boundaries of keeping my private shit private, in addition to actually maybe sticking to my plan of being away from places that seemingly only exist to show you upsetting and distressing things, keeping to my own website, or to any forums/discord groups I’m in, will help me in the long run. At least here I can control what goes out, and what comes in. Hopefully this helps.

i guess this a call out post

I had a bit of a meltdown today that led to me finally just outright saying this: Zoe Quinn is an abuser. They are a liar, a manipulator, a racist, a TERF, and just a generally shady person. A side effect of me getting mad is that I foolishly made a Twitter thread about this; the exact opposite of “getting a blog.” So I’m going to post about it here.

Another problem is that I don’t have any hard proof. I used to have a series of private messages that would confirm a number of things I’ll be saying here. They disappeared when my previous Twitter account was mass reported to hell, and ultimately suspended, coincidentally, the last time I had planned on making my thoughts Zoe known. As a result, everything I’m going to say is now circumstantial. Whether you choose to believe me, I don’t really care. I’m not writing this because I want this to go viral, or because I am looking for internet clout, or some other stupid reason. I’m writing this because I am sick and tired. Sick and tired of having to keep all this private. Sick and tired of having to be looked at like I’m the asshole because I dared to say that the internet’s golden child is in fact, a shitty person.

I’m also sick and tired of every alt-right scumbag coming out of the woodwork and thinking that it’s okay to put their metaphorical arm around my shoulder as though we’re friends. To have these nazis fucks talk to me like one of their own. Like, “Yeah man, I’m with you! She’s a whore who fucked a bunch of guys for good game reviews and literally killed the Night in the Woods guy! You know, Joe? Or Fred? Or whatever his name is. I’m obviously very torn up about this!” My problems with Zoe are actually real, and not some made up bullshit that came because some incel on Youtube was mad about the titties in Dead or Alive being slightly smaller.

So let me get this all out of the way now: no, Zoe is not censoring your games. Zoe did not sleep around for positive reviews of Depression Quest. And no, Zoe is not at fault for Alec Howlowka’s suicide.

Zoe did, however, exploit the labor of transgender women. Zoe did lie and convince us all that any backlash they got from “Punk Games” was out of jealousy and transphobia, not because it was a garbage article that tried downplaying the work that people of color had put in to pull the indie games scene out of the dark ages of Jonathan Blow and other interchangeable white men with bad politics who thought they were too cool for Halo, in favor of promoting the work of two alleged sex predators. They and their friends used a series of coincidences, misunderstandings, and a couple of actually shitty people’s actions to do this. I mean, hey, who’s going around calling me a retard over something I didn’t even write? Certainly not this group of people suddenly appearing all at once to tell me that I’m good, and trying to get me fired up at some community I had literally never heard of prior to all of this!

And this is where the anger starts to kick in. I’m more angry at myself for this than anyone else. Because I let myself get lovebombed and ultimately be the shield for someone to escape any negative criticism that they’re a fucking racist asshole. I let myself be used. If you’ve never been in a situation that left you feeling exploited or betrayed, know that it fucking sucks. No matter what you do, or what anyone says, that guilt stays with you. It’s one thing to have a shitty friend, it’s another when you don’t realize that you’re being conditioned into becoming a cult member until it’s too late.

Something I had been thoroughly convinced of by Zoe and friends for so long was that a game dev by the name of Soha El-Sabaawi had created a Twitter blocklist designed to target trans women who were fooled into believing Ian Miles Cheong when he was still pretending to be a leftist, pre-Witcher 3. Now, I’ll be real with you, here: I’m not entirely sure if that’s a lie or not. All I know is, I was told that she hated trans people, then we’re all suddenly getting blocked by people in games I’ve never heard of, let alone ever interacted with. Maybe she really did come up with the first trans-centered mass blocklist. Or, maybe it was all bullshit to hide Randi Harper creating her own “anti-Gamergate” list that, you guess it, targeted trans women first and foremost.

But, I will say this, and give credit where it’s due: Soha and I, we’ll probably never be friends; too much shit has happened in the intervening years that I don’t see that as ever happening. However, she was dead fucking right in telling Zoe to fuck off all those years ago. I just wish I was smart enough to have realized that then.

I was not a member of Crash Override. However, I’ve been friends with a number of people who were. Every single one of them, even the ones that don’t even like each other, all say the same thing: that they were promised to be paid to sift through people’s death threats, image spam of gore and child pornography, and given nothing. No money, no support when Breitbart and 8chan and Kiwi Farms all came knocking on their doors. No support when Zoe’s game industry peers were going around calling them pedophiles, nazi sympathizers, and abusers. Just a post on their private twitter that they were “glad to be rid of people I never want to talk to again.” I should have taken a screenshot of that. And while I was not involved with Crash Override, I can tell you that Zoe privately messaged me to let me know that they were the only “employee” involved with the project. Nobody else, not even their partner at the time, was involved. Just Zoe, tirelessly fighting online harassment using such brave methods as “telling people to change their email passwords.” Zoe also told me something else through these DM’s, which I’ll get to later.

And by “later,” I mean “right now.” Zoe also lied to me about CO’s involvement with Randi Harper, and the shameless fraud that was the Online Abuse Prevention Initiative. There was NO association, I was told. They didn’t even like Randi! It was totally fucked up that she went off on some bigoted power trip, teaming up with message boards full of school shooters to dox trans women! Totally sucked that you got your own thread on Kiwi Farms because you told her and Wil Wheaton to go fuck themselves!

Well, we know what the truth was:

Yes, Zoe’s username is “Shrek.” We used to be on each others’ friends list.

My personal info is posted online. I get an eyeful of society’s worst talking about wanting to kill me every day. I get to spend years worrying about whether or not the shit I’m dealing with will do any splash damage to the people in my life. I’ll spare you all the details of the full year I spent having a panic attack that one of my friends or partners would have to deal with their own doxxing thread.

And someone who I thought was a friend is off playing a shitty video game with the person responsible.

To say I was angry would be an understatement. I had spent the last couple months being told by my friends that they all got fucked over and ripped off doing Zoe’s “anti-abuse” work, and now here they are, rubbing their and my misfortune in our faces. Ironically enough, playing as a fucking healer, when all Zoe has done is hurt people. I let loose on Twitter, ranting and raving. Other people made their Medium posts about the shit they had dealt with (now deleted). And what happens next? Zoe lets everyone know not to “believe any conspiracy theories you may have heard,” and goes running off to everyone’s favorite transphobic sack of shit, Jesse Singal, to run defense.

Do you know how insulting it is to see your face on that asshole’s timeline? To have it captioned, “these are the people who want to reignite Gamergate,” straight up telling people that I became a neo-nazi because I got tired of Zoe Quinn’s bullshit? The man has twenty something thousand followers, and, despite any degree of common sense, still gets work in a number of publications. That’s a lot of people who saw a synonym for “bigot” labeled under my face. Fuck that.

And you know what? A problem with writing this? Why on Earth would you ever believe me, or anyone else who has come forward with their own horror stories? Like, who would you rather listen to: someone who, despite everything I’ve written, actually did and does deal with shitty harassment on a day-to-day basis, or a group of people that includes Ian Miles Cheong, Peter Coffin, a guy who was run offline after being outed a sex predator, and a group of autistic trans women who spent the last couple years getting into it with a community primarily made up of queer people of color? Of course you would go with the former! Why would you ever want to listen to me? I’m a white person who was utterly convinced that some Arab woman I’ve never met was some kind of anime supervillain with a grudge against anything outside the gender binary. There’s a paranoid part of me that thinks that was done by design. That we were all useful idiots for a con artist to make a few bucks. And now that Zoe got what they wanted, who gives a fuck? We’re all discredited. All people that you’ve been told never to believe or support. It’s perfect!

It makes me fucking sick to see someone try to show me whatever pity party Zoe is throwing today. Like they’re not stable enough with their Marvel money and book sales, while everyone who got strung along and left to eat shit are still barely clinging to life, even four years later. You know who’s a victim? The trans women you fucked over and left to pick up the pieces of their lives. You know who’s a victimizer? Zoe. I mean, yeah, I got left with PTSD and a complete inability to trust people and everyone thinks I’m a racist scumbag, but at least I didn’t lose my fucking home! I didn’t have ostensibly leftist people buy into right-wing horseshit that I’m a pedophile or a domestic abuser, despite demonstrable proof to the contrary, because someone with a platform refused to stick up for me because it was too inconvenient for their bank account. I got off fairly easily by comparison.

We were all nothing more than people who wanted to do the right thing. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I can tell you that I got involved because I was tired of right-wing assholes in my backyard (that backyard being “video games”). I was working on a group project a month before GG kicked off. Half the team left, in fear that they would be a target because of their own marginalized status. That was the final straw for me. Nazi Gamers Fuck Off was my state of mind. I wanted to help people; to change things for the better. I also realized I was no longer a cis man, and I was looking for a place to belong. In the end, I got fucked over, and most of it is probably my fault. I don’t mean to turn this into my own pity party, but I do sincerely believe that it’s probably too late for me to actually make amends; to properly atone for hurting others. I said a lot of horrible things. I did a lot of petty shit that did me no favors. I know that I’ve said “sorry” on multiple occasions, but I don’t think that’s going to be good enough. And I don’t what will be good enough, if anything. That’s something I have to take responsibility for.

But I can leave you all with this: Do Not Trust Zoe Quinn. Let me say this again, but in all-caps, for emphasis.

DO NOT TRUST ZOE QUINN

That will lead you down a path of pain and misery that you do not want to go down.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want money, or an apology, or anything like that. All I want is my life back. A time where I lived in blissful ignorance; where I only knew the name “Zoe Quinn” because supergreatfriend played Depression Quest on his stream, and I didn’t watch it because Bully Demise and Undertaker (Retro) weren’t involved. A time where I wasn’t a fucking cult member who lost any sense in my head and became a pawn in someone else’s grudges and bigotries. I want the time where I was marginally happier back. Of course, I’ll never get that, and I’ll probably always be mad about that. Always be mad about the lies, the gaslighting, the endless heart emoji’s, the “I love you”‘s, and rhetoric about trans pride that meant nothing. It was all bullshit.

Again, whether or not you believe me on this is up to you; I’m not really in any position to demand trust. I’m just making my feelings known, because I’m tired of having to relive it in my head, over and over.

get a blog

Something I’ve been trying to push and get over for what seems like the last few years is a return to the days of Web 2.0. As it turns out, I’m actually a pretty big fan of a time where everyone had their own space to express their thoughts and showcase their talents and personality, without having to do so on the same three or four web sites run by nazi jerk offs that nobody likes to use.

Realizing lo these many years that I really, really, really don’t like social media. I bang on about it a lot, but it’s true. Now, I can’t say that social media never did anything good for me; met a lot of my close friends, met my girlfriend, found a larger platform for my artwork and game development. But for all the good, there is so, so much more bad out there. A lot of heartbreak, a lot of betrayal, doxxing, lots of headaches and bullshit. Like yeah, without social media, I wouldn’t have as many friends, but I also wouldn’t have a 20+ page Kiwi Farms thread. I wouldn’t have a girlfriend, but I also wouldn’t be hated by a bunch of people I’ve never met because I was dumb enough to fall for a white woman’s tears when she got backlash over a shitty, racist-in-retrospect article.

And on top of all that, I’m just tired, dude. I’m tired of the quote-tweeting, and the screen capping, of whatever stupid bigoted shit HitlerGamer69 said today. I realized way too late that being an independent watchdog does nothing for nobody. You’re not going to end white supremacy by sharing Richard Spencer’s Facebook posts and saying, “get a load of this guy!” I don’t care what transphobic shit was spouted by Graham Linehan, or Jesse Singal, or Ricky Gervais, or Meghan Murphy, or Leigh Alexander, or who the fuck ever. That shit fucks with my mental health, which we all already know is extremely fragile and tenuous to begin with. Doesn’t help that, despite my best efforts, I’m still stuck in that 2015 mindset of checking my timelines first thing in the morning, and hoping that I don’t find a fucking suicide note.

So, why get a blog? Well, for one thing, I don’t have to see all that shit I mentioned up above. Another thing, it lets you say whatever you want, for as long as you want. Some of you motherfuckers out there like to use Twitter to write a whole damn essay. I don’t want to read theory or whatever in 180 character pieces. And you can put that whole thing down in a blog format, and you don’t have to worry about being interrupted by bad faith arguments mid-way through. They have to read the whole thing to give you shit first. No more of this “part 1/484” shit, put it all down at once.

The great thing about having your own space on the Information Superhighway is that you can just post whatever the fuck you want, dude. Want to post a screenshot from Sonic Jam on the Sega Saturn, then follow up with a picture of a butt, with no rhyme or reason? Go for it! Hell, I’ll do it right now.

yeah you’re welcome

Post about games. Post about music. Post about food. Movies. Books. The local Chinese restaurant down the street from your apartment. Your latest haul from the thrift store. Design the look of the site to match your personal aesthetic if you want. It’s all about you, here! In a time where so much of the internet is consolidating to a rigid corporate structure, maintaining your own individuality is more important than ever.

In creating your own space, you get to make the rules. You don’t have to worry about being mass reported and having your shit taken down. Unless you’re posting like child porn or trying to recruit people into the klan, in which case you should consider going offline and doing a Swanton Bomb off a very tall height into the nearest pile of broken glass. Fuck you. But yeah, otherwise, you don’t have to worry about terfs and The Gamers trying to silence you.

I think the point I’m blindly groping for here is to just kick your feet up and have some goddamn fun on the internet. I can only imagine how tired the rest of you are at always being at someone’s throat, and vice versa.

Now I’m going to post another song at the end of this entry, because fuck it, I can.

maritime- parade of punk rock t-shirts

11/1/2019

Been a while since I’ve done a “life” post. Mostly been talking about games or getting mad at wrestling (update: the last several episodes of AEW Dynamite have been pretty sick, so I’m willing to forgive that egregious misstep on their first episode). So what the hell, let’s talk about me here.

Almost a month ago, I officially became a sex worker! Nothing too exciting, I just work on a phone sex line. It’s been pretty alright. I’m not making enough for it to become a full-time job, but it’s a good source of additional income, and I can always use that. Plus I can always laugh at the really weird calls, and silently fist pump when people tell me I have an effeminate voice.

I’m still away from home on business for two more weeks, and I’ve been going crazy. Not being able to work on my game or on any kind of cool art shit has been immensely frustrating, doubly so because there are people who support me via Patreon to do that shit, which I have not been able to do since goddamn September. It sucks. I’ve been trying to find other creative outlets I can do from here, like trying to do some writing, but I have immense writer’s block that comes from the realization that I have not written anything that wasn’t a blog or a video game article or a Twine story in about a decade now. In fact, I found that last piece of writing a while back, during a conversation with Maddy about poetry. I wrote a bad poem about, you guess it, outer space:

It’s dark outside.

This cold, terrible blackness seems to stretch on for eternity.

No sign of light.

No sign of life.

No sound.

No movement.

A huge weight lifted off of me, I float about this darkness with awe and fear in my heart.

Then they pull me back to reality.

Come in Major. Come in.

Sorry, Ground Control, but I’d rather stay up here.

Yeah, it wasn’t great. Probably why I haven’t done anything like that since. But I need to do something creative soon before I completely lose my mind.

And hey, speaking of my mind, my last subject for tonight. I’ve been doing a lot of internal fighting with my shitty ass bipolar head recently. Like, I think anyone who knows me knows that I was I spent the last few years in a really bad, messy, confusing situation where myself and entire communities were played against each other by some bad actors and led to stupid in-fighting that went on for way too fucking long and probably could have been nipped in the bud if we realized that things were all a misunderstanding, and if certain people with platforms used them responsibly, instead of egging everyone on like a bunch of gay paranoid Pokemon. Trying to get past all those bad feelings; those trust issues, the bad shit, the constant social media sniping, all that crap, has been really hard. I’ve been going through this pattern of feeling pretty good, having some hope that I won’t be emotionally trapped in the past. Then someone will say something or something will happen and it causes me to spiral my ass all the way back to square one. That sucks. But the last couple of weeks? Barring like one day, it’s been a lot better.

Maybe it’s the sobriety finally taking effect (14 months on the 7th). Or losing contact with people who would encourage my bad, self-destructive mental habits. Or being forced to sit alone, annoyed by my own thoughts until I finally had enough. Or a combination of all of those things. But whatever the case, I just got fucking tired of the anger and the bitterness. I’m forcing myself to close the book on that part of my life.

I’m pretty sure I’ve said this like a hundred times on here, but I need to reiterate it for myself because I clearly did not get it until now: I’ve spent so much time fighting. Having this mindset of needing to take a side in everything. Not looking at the bigger picture. The bigger picture is that I have people in my life that I care about, and vice versa (I hope). I don’t need to focus on anything outside of that circle. Is that maybe a privileged view, ignoring anything outside of my immediate vicinity? Yeah, probably. But I don’t care. I’ve finally decided that it’s a privilege that I’m going to use. Like, I could go on Twitter and take some potshots at someone who claims to be a trans activist, but does nothing but harm to her fellow trans women, OR, I could be happy and proud as fuck that my friend’s first album is coming out soon. I could see whatever dumb ass shit Jesse Singal said today, OR, I could sit back, remember that my girlfriend is kicking her addiction problems’ ass as hard as I am, and be over the moon with joy about that. It’s fucked that it’s taken me 33 years to realize this, but why have I been so focused on things that upset me, when I could have focused on all the good? I mean, I know the answer: I’m mentally ill. But I think you understand what I’m getting at here. I don’t always have my good days, but I need to remember all the beauty that I have in my life, instead of trying to die by a thousand cuts. I can’t let that darkness win.

Oh right, I should post a song before I hit “publish.”

“eagle’s nest” by caroline smith and the good night sleeps