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from AlienSkyler

Skyler wearing a headphone hat

I had the idea to make a headphone hat using replacement ear pads from those sleep headphones, the ones with a headband. I just don’t currently have a pair of those but since I’m a side sleeper, regular headphones are uncomfy to lie down in but I like to listen to meditation tracks on my phone and lie down. I had the idea for a while to knit a headphone hat, but what I wound up doing was modify a store bought hat to have headphones. Here is how to do it.

What you need is a hat that rolls up at the brim (for this I used a pastel tie dye hat designed to roll like that, with MEOW printed on the front, from Hot Topic), sewing scissors, a needle and thread, a couple of safety pins, and a pair of headphone pads designed to replace broken ones in those sleep headphones with a headband. I ordered these ones from Amazon, not too horribly expensive. https://www.amazon.com/Speakers-Headphones-Headphone-Replacement-MMUSS/dp/B07JBKB7YL/ref=sr_1_3?crid=20KH2SM16WEA8&keywords=sleep+headphones+replacement&qid=1641841889&sprefix=sleep+head%2Caps%2C2122&sr=8-3

pillow headphones designed to go in a headband

What you need to do first is to roll up the brim of your hat to your satisfaction – ideally at least 2-2.5 inches, and make sure the part you want on the outside is outside. You could roll the brim on the inside if you like it better that way, if you want to do this simply turn the hat inside out. Pin the brim rolled up, all the way around, making sure it is even. This is important, it is very easy to roll the brim up unevenly.

pins hold a brim on a hat up

Once you have it pinned properly, you can stitch the brim with the needle and thread so it stays rolled up. This will also make the hat easier and more comfortable to wear.

stitches in hat

Next, try the hat on. If there is a design on the front, make sure it is centered. Pin a safety pin in the hat on each side to mark your ear holes. Take that hat off. You are going to want the headphone pads to be centered on the ear holes. This means you need to cut a slit behind the ear, so about an inch to the right of the left safety pin and another one an inch to the left of the right safety pin, from the perspctive of looking at the back of the hat. Try to only cut through one layer of fabric. Also make sure your slit is on the inside of the hat – it is tricky with the rolled brim thing. I accidentally cut my slits on the wrong side at first and had to sew them up, so there is a visible seam on the outside that is not preferable but fortunately doesn’t stop the hat from being cute. Finally, whipstitch around the slits as though you are making a giant buttonhole, which basically you are doing.

the stitched around slit, a giant buttonhole

Lastly you can just insert the headphone pads into the slits and try on the hat. The position of the headphone pads can be adjusted to fit over your ears. I am getting a nice loud sound from these and it is more comfortable even than the headband phones.


from Headspace Realm

*Ætherglow is an interactive story based on collective decisions by a daily poll here.*

Full story directory

You’re finally on your way to Translunar Academy. You’ve had your ovaries implanted and you’re running on a nice hormone balance today. You feel better than you’ve felt in your life, especially much better than the last year or so. You’re learning how to feel things you never thought possible.

You walk down the snow-covered streets of Korolev City. The humidity control system is malfunctioning again. At this point the city makes more from tourism for its snowy nights than it spends on maintenance dealing with the repercussions. It’s just the day before dawn, as cold as the city gets. You’re wrapped up in a thick coat, but you don’t let that stop you from wearing a pretty skirt. You’re done hiding who you are.

You have a new terminal in your pocket, printed the other day from a restricted file the Academy sent you. Unlike a normal terminal, it has no physical inputs. You’ve learned the basics of controlling it using your new neural interface, the collar you wear tight around your neck, which reads your brain activity and sends back sensory data directly to your mind. Learning to use a device like this is only your first step as a technopath.

You take the train to the spaceport just outside the main city complex. As you’re approaching, you see a shuttle descending. At its high altitude, sunlight lights up its exhaust plume. From here in the shadow, it’s a brilliant display, the most beautiful thing you can see in the Spaceside sky. All around it are the uncountable stars, wavering through the distortion of the thin water boundary that shields the train tunnel from radiation and keeps temperatures within survivable limits.

The spaceport itself is less romantic, busy crowds pushing through narrow hallways, Earthlings and colonials arriving and struggling to walk. You make your way up to your platform and look around at the other faces who will be boarding your shuttle. There are just a few, mostly kids you have never seen before, from other schools in the city. But one of them notices you, and you recognize him.

Viktor is a boy you know in passing from your last school. You’ve talked a few times, but you never really got close to anyone there. He was always alone, reading or something or hyperfocusing on code. You remember he was also taking the technopath qualification exams, looks like he passed too. Viktor is a full 20cm taller than you, but so slender he probably doesn’t outmass you by much. His dark hair is starting to grow over his pale blue eyes, and he brushes it aside periodically with his hand. He looks like he wants to say something to you, but he’s stimming nervously, rocking back and forth.

Is now the time to deepen a friendship or is it better to get a fresh start?

I always found him interesting, now is my chance to get to know him

Time to take one step out of your shell and attempt friendship, you think. Easier said than done, how do you just talk to a person? You’ve already both noticed each other, so you just decide to walk up to him.

“Um, hi. I’m Aydan.”

“Yeah, we went to school together, right? I’m Vik, uh, he/they.”

Any pronoun,” you say.

Time for conversation is cut short by the boarding call, it’s time to go. You walk up to the gate. As a technopath candidate, you no longer need to scan your personal key. You connect your interface to the device remotely and submit your boarding pass.

Once on the elevator you get your first look at the craft. It’s a tiny automated short range shuttle, an LTS-4200, common for flight site-to-site on the Moon or from the Moon to the L1 or L2 clusters. It’s only about 10 meters tall, a cylinder wrapped in insulation that shines gold by the spaceport lights.

You climb in and find the tunnel leading to your section. Like most craft in its family, the 4200 is sectioned off into smaller pressure vessels each carrying two passengers. Since it services only short range flights, there is barely enough room in your half of the compartment for even a tiny femboy like you.

Climbing in after you is your podmate for the flight—it’s Vik! Much better than some complete stranger.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” he says, though smiling.

You strap yourself in, fastening several belts over you that automatically clamp down tighter afterward. Now there is nothing to do but wait for liftoff, staring out at the endless grey desert outside the spaceport from the little circular window above your head.

Maybe now’s the time to make conversation.

Have you read Lan Tsing's theory on the 21st century origin of femboys?

Wouldn't it be fucked up if this shuttle was cyberattacked and our lives were held for ransom?

“Hey, what would you do if femboys from the 21st century attacked this shuttle and held us for ransom?” you say, mixing up two unrelated trains of thought.

“Uhh, that’s weirdly specific Aydan. Why, did your ancestors freeze themselves somewhere just to pull this off?” Vik says.

“Of course not. But that’s just what a femboy hijacker would say, so you never know…”

“Well then, I’d probably distract them by telling them they’re cute while I send a distress signal and hope a rival gang of 22nd century femboys answers

The green light above you goes red. They are beginning the launch sequence. Liftoff is as gentle as riding in the elevator was. You can’t see anything from your window but stars, but you watch them move, trying to track the spacecraft’s attitude. Luckily a roll program brings your world into view. For a minute you see the Mare Muscoviensa spread out beneath you, with the dwindling spiderweb of lights that is your home falling further and further away.

You’re gaining altitude fast. Launching from Spaceside to the L2 is a direct injection with no need to enter low Lunar orbit. The burn lasts about 20 minutes before you finally feel the acceleration cut off. Now the shuttle is orienting itself and entering a roll, its Passive Thermal Control program making sure all sides of the craft are evenly heated by the Sun. The light turns green and you feel your belts loosen up. Now you can really tell you’re in orbit.

You’re just about to unfasten yourself so you can properly experience microgravity when you feel a jolt, like one of the maneuvering thrusters fired.

“What was that?” Vik says.

“I don’t know, is that normal?” you say.

The light goes back to red and your belts automatically tighten back down just before you feel a sudden shift in rotation. Then another on another axis. The maneuvers before this were all very gentle, these one really jerk you around. And they keep happening, faster and faster. Glancing up at your window you can see the stars go by at an alarming rate, changing directions every few seconds.

This is an automated shuttle, there is nobody on board except you and your fellow passengers, all technopath candidates or school staff who are probably technopaths.

What’s going on?

connect to the local network and look for answers in the ship's computer

What do you know, a 148 month old femboy, know about spacecraft system architecture? Nothing to do but learn as you sit here helplessly strapped to a chair and rapidly gaining Gs from your increasing rotation on three axes. The constant changes in acceleration also make you feel nauseous, very distracting.

But you connect your terminal to the local system. It’s laid out like most other computers, that’s good. Looking at random documentation files hoping to stumble on something useful, you eventually run lsrcs to display status of the maneuvering thrusters.

They’re firing seemingly at random, no pattern discernible even to your pattern-seeking autistic brain. Another thing catches your eye in the documentation: your technopath’s terminal is able to trigger an “emergency mode” on the ship’s computer and allow you to send simple operational commands.

It’s one thing to take a look at the surface, but if you went that deep and actually controlled the craft, and they discovered it was you, you could find yourself the prime suspect of a corporate sabotage investigation. You don’t know if what’s going on is simply a glitch or if it is an act of sabotage you might implicate yourself in. The consequences could be serious for you. But also, you have limited time until the G forces acting on you will render you unconscious, and eventually, dead.

What will you do?

take your time to try and gain control anonymously

Death is a small risk to take as opposed to being hunted by corporate technopaths forever. You go the extra steps of anonymously entering the shuttle’s emergency command mode. Just in case you are discovered—no plan is foolproof—you even take a few extra seconds to leave logs of each step you take and why you are doing it.

You’re feeling very lightheaded now. You figure you have time to enter one command before you can no longer grip consciousness.

lsrot pitch 77.23243 roll 19.83734 yaw 61.17384

With only numbers on your terminal to go by, you struggle to calculate what you need to do. You are about halfway sure your math is correct under this mental duress.

LTS-4200-19263/EMERGENCY-SHELL > _

rcs —axis pitch -f -10 -t 7

You submit your command. After seven seconds, the pressure on your head has lessened considerably. You monitor the status of the ship’s rotation, and it seems you were not the only one working on the problem. The other axes stabilize soon enough and the computer is able to take it from here. This tells you it is likely functioning fine. The thought crosses the back of your mind that signs are pointing to sabotage.

Once stable, the light goes green again and your belts loosen. You unstrap yourself, wanting to move around after all that. You’re finally getting to actually experience microgravity. It’s a strange sensation, as if falling but going nowhere.

Vik also releases himself. “Aydan, what the fuck?”

“Were you looking at it too?” you say.

“Yeah, naturally I at least wanted to see what was killing me.”

“It didn’t look very accidental to me.”

“Me neither. A femboy cyberattack after all?”

“I can’t begin to guess their gender, but a remote attack is all but impossible on an automated shuttle like this. They’re kept on an isolated network and only accept encrypted navigation data. A very close ship could have done it, or, the other and more likely possibility is it was someone on board the shuttle.”

Just as you say this, there is a loud knock at your pod hatch.

hold onto the wall by the door, lying in wait

You climb across the little pod and hold onto the wall next to the hatch, signing that Vik should do the same, across the door from you. Whoever was knocking on the door opens your hatch from the outside and pokes her head in, looking side to side at both of you.

“What the hell are you two doing? Come on, we’re having a meeting.” She is a student a few years older than you, a tall girl or perhaps enby, with her hair dyed white and shaved close on the sides, with icy blue eyes—not her original eyes, perhaps, there seems a faint glow to them. She wears tight black pants with light blue fluorescent accents that glow as a ray of sunlight passes by your window. Her black vest leaves her arms exposed, and under her pale skin you can see the traces of the implanted nodes and wires of an internal neural interface.

She pushes herself out of your pod with the grace of someone experienced in microgravity. Out in the central corridor, the few other students and school workers are gathered at the entrances to their pods. Confused and distressed faces glance at you as you emerge.

“Alright everyone,” the upperclassman who summoned you says. “I’m Synth, they/them, year 3. And a lot of you probably suspect the same thing I do, that incident back there was no hardware or software issue. I’ll be blunt with you, we will arrive at TLA in less than eight hours, and one of the eight of us aboard this ship might be a saboteur who attempted to kill us all.”

stay silent

“Okay,” Synth says, looking around at the other seven of you. “Any thoughts on how to proceed?”

“Hi,” an older enby raises their hand. “I’m Ana, it/its, I’m a nurse at TLA. I was thinking that there is a way an attacker could survive something like that, if they had injected themself with a high dose of a G-stimulant.”

“How long could that effect last, would they have had to do it on the shuttle where their podmate would see?” Synth says.

“No, they could have done it in the spaceport,” Ana says.

“Could you tell if one of us was under the effect of such a drug?” Synth says.

“Without analytical equipment, only people who already have implants monitoring their blood chemistry could be measured here.”

“That means you could at least check the blood of trans people with hormone implants, or anyone else with a bioreactor implant of some kind,” Synth says.

“Who all would that be?”

“A good plan...*if* Ana can be trusted.”

“A good plan…if Ana can be trusted,” you say.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ana says. “I’ve worked at TLA for thirty six years!”

“They’re right,” Synth says. “If we did that we’d have to take you entirely at your word, that isn’t a kind of security fitting a technopath.”

“Um, I have a different approach,” says another one of the adult passengers, a man of some 370 months. “I’m K, he/him, I’m a systems engineer at TLA station. But my job in the military was programming shuttles similar to this one. There is of course a surface-level command log viewable to any amateur with a terminal, but even a first year technopath candidate could bypass having any identifying information recorded there. But if this civilian shuttle is anything like the ones I worked on, it also has a hidden log, accessible only æther-side. Records in that file could be linked directly to the neural interface used to access the system, the æther-trace will be unmistakable but only if that user returns to the directory with you to compare it.”

“Okay. It’s as good a plan as any right now,” Synth says. “I’m going to take a look, and that means all of us are going in together.”

“Wait, wait,” Vik says. “First years here. We barely know what the æther is let alone how to enter it.”

“Right, you haven’t done this before,” Synth says. “Yet, there’s no real choice here, once dissociated any of us who go in will be fully vulnerable, and that just isn’t acceptable when any of us could be a danger. Ana, does this shuttle’s medlab have neurodissociative agents?”

Ana floats across the central corridor to a panel marked “Emergency.” Inside is a cabinet of rudimentary first aid supplies and a small printer.

“You could hardly call it a lab,” it says. “But I can make what we would need here, yes.”

“Then we’re all going to take it and chemically dissociate,” Synth says.

“Well that hardly seems necessary,” K says.

“It is. Those of us with neurodissociative implants could just come to surface at will otherwise, and we would be as vulnerable as if we’d just left them awake to begin with. This puts us all on equal ground.” They look at you and Vik. “First years, we’ll guide you through this. We’re just taking a step into the æther to try and clear all this up, it won’t take more than an hour surfaceside.”

“And what if the attacker was outside the shuttle all along, in a nearby ship or relaying from a cubesat or something?” K says.

“Then we technopaths will be far more capable of defending ourselves from them in the æther, don’t you think?” Synth says.

What do you think?

“If it will put an end to this, let's just get it over with.”

Thinking this plan the most sensible anyone has come up with, you agree to the injection. But never having done this before, you have no idea what to expect.

“Alright, let’s see…” Synth climbs around the corridor, opening panels and looking for something. They stop at a small compartment, where they pull out a number of cables. “We’ll use a hardwired connection, to make this simple for the first years.”

They hand you one of the cable ends, and one to Vik.

“You two.” They look at you and Vik. “Plug this æthernet cable into port on the back of your interface collar.” Of course Synth has no such device, being a third year, they would have a fully internal neural interface by now.

You find the port and connect yourself to the shuttle’s computer.

“Now, normally you’d have had a few months to build up to this, but with the æthernet cable this is really very simple, okay? Just let the dissociation take hold and the interface will take over. There will only be one path to follow, so don’t try to resist it. We’ll all meet up inside. Then we all stay together. And if any of you should try anything, remember I am much more dangerous in the æther.”

They sign to Ana to begin to injections. It starts with Synth and moves around the circle. When it gets to you, you pull your arm out of your coat sleeve. The hypospray forces liquid through your skin, deep into your arm muscle. Right away, you feel relaxed, and in a minute’s time you are struggling to keep your focus. You hold it together long enough to see Synth take the hypospray to administer Ana’s injection. Then you are gone.

You’re floating, but not as if you’re falling. You have no vestibular sense at all. You’re in space, with a billion stars around, but their pattern is anything but normal. The more you look out into the void, the more the constellations take the shape of circuit pathways, glowing with a pale, shimmering light. The stars are closing in around you and forming a corridor, a tunnel of pale starlight leading deeper into the abyss.

It’s just like you’ve read about, the æther, the realm of technopaths, a state of meta-consciousness allowing a deeper level of interaction with a computer system than the conscious mind is capable of. It’s mesmerizing and at the same time you can;t focus on anything for long before it changes. The image is as real as true light, but nothing about yourself feels quite real.

You realize why you feel so strange. Normally technopaths would use a full-body interface, but you only have the interface collar. You have little sensory impression from most of your body, no proprioceptive sense whatsoever. Your body itself is not quite right either. Your avatar here can take any form you can make of it, but it is said that its default state will reflect your own subconscious self-perception.

What kind of form will your avatar take?

more feminine version of me

This weird situation is the perfect opportunity to try out some transition goals while you’re still early in the process, you realize. Since you don’t really know how to put much purpose into your avatar, this works in your favor, and your form here n the aether appears like a more feminine version of yourself, as if you were a few years further along your path. Somehow this is an incredibly euphoric moment for you, more so than you’ve ever felt on the surface, even since activating your implants. It must be something about this state of metaconsciousness.

As you descend deeper through tunnel of false light, a space forms around you from the pathways between the stars. It gives you the impression of a bounded area with normal geometry, but the more you examine it, it’s clear there is no true space here. The distance to the walls is nonexistent. You feel very disoriented, not helped by your complete lack of proprioception.

There are others here with you. You’re not sure in what order you arrived, it seems to you that all of you have always been here. You try to wrap your head around a spacetime with no space and no time.

“We’re all here.” You don’t so much hear a voice with any actual sense but receive the impression of the concepts behind the words. But this impression also makes clear that the speaker was the enby in front of you. They have a similar hairstyle to Synth on the surface, but they are taller, more imposing, and their eyes glow with a pale purple light. Looking closer, their hair is made of a multitude of metallic fibers, and their skin is coated in a fine metallic dust that shimmers in the aethereal light.

“K, can you lead us to the hidden command log?” Synth says.

The technician K has taken an unusual form in the aether, a fully mechanical body with six arms, exposed metal rods as bones. Yet he doesn’t give the impression of intimidation like Synth does, more like that of an entity there to help. Maybe it is something to the round shape of his face, with its four pale blue glowing eyes.

“Yes. The architecture of this system is familiar enough.” He reaches out and opens up a door out of nothing in front of him. Inside looks like the vague silhouette of another space like this one. “Follow me.” He steps through the portal and vanishes, leaving it open behind him.

“Alright, let’s go,” Synth says. “You first years go through first, it’s dangerous if you get separated from the group.”

Already in this deep, you move toward the door to step through. But your vision glances above it to the far horizon of false space. The sky is aglow with faint color, shifting slowly. If you stare at it, it takes on shapes, you see patterns like fabric or metal, flashes of scenes of cities or places like forests. The more you look at it, the more it draws you in.

What do you do?

stare at the light mesmerized

You forget what you were supposed to be doing. The distant glow on the horizon beyond horizons has overwhelmed your thoughts. It’s very tranquil. Whatever form it takes seems to you exactly what it is supposed to be, and anything else unfathomable. You can’t put any concept to what you’re seeing, yet you know you understand all there is to understand about it.

“Aydan….” a voice echoes in the back of your mind as if whispered across a room, barely perceived. “Come here…” the colors tell you in a sense beyond words.

The space around you is black. The stars have receded from the world. There is only the light and the voice that called to you from the dark. The light shifts again and in front of you stands a human silhouette. It matches your movements perfectly as if looking in a mirror. An aura of æthereal light outlines it, circling her form and bending around it like the accretion disc of a black hole. And much like that, what lies inside the outline is a nothingness beyond any vacuum. It feels distinct from the æther space around you, you can see nothing beyond it or within it. But you can hear its voice, “Aydan…”

Suddenly this all dissolves and you are back at the edge of the portal next to Vik and Synth. You feel yourself held in place like some kind of magnetic attraction, which is strange when nothing else here exerts a force of any kind.

“You with us Aydan?” Vik says. You look over and see him, his æthereal form looking a bit shorter and cuter than his body, his hair a little longer and giving off a faint glow on the ends of its strands like a fiber-optic bundle.

“Huh?” You are disoriented, unsure what’s going on.

“Hey,” Synth moves in front of you, looking you in the eyes. “Don’t look too close at that light. It’s just ætherglow, the blended echoes of technopathy long since cast, it’s meaningless.”

Your senses start to come back together.

“Something called my name.”

“Something called my name,” you say.

“It’s a hallucination, Aydan, it’s meaningless,” Synth says. “It’s your brain trying to rationalize meaningless noise, that’s all.”

“Let’s go Aydan, we shouldn’t stay here longer than we need to,” Vik says.

Together you step through the doorway. It’s a short trip, but intense, a storm of light passing you by faster than your vision can follow. You emerge in another æther-space where K awaits. Looking at the star patterns on the distant walls here, it feels familiar. It’s mostly the same as where you just were. They makes sense, since you are still within the shuttle’s computer.

The more you look at this space, it transforms into a recognizable shape. It has metallic walls with wide glass windows looking out into the circuit-stars beyond. Monitors line most of the walls between the windows, and thousands of wires stretch between them like overgrown vines in the arboretum back home.

Ana follows after you, and the three other students. They are talking to each other, but their voices are distant and incomprehensible. It seems speech in a place like this must be very direct to work, more sending a message than talking. Synth is the last one through.

“This is where we’ll find it.” K approaches one of the screens and it flashes to life with blocks of text and numbers. But you can’t make any sense of them. The characters themselves are readable, coming from a variety of languages, you can read some portion of it, but it makes no logical sense, like text read in a dream. K seems to be making sense of it, though. With no training, you can barely make any sense of your hallucinatory surroundings here, let alone real information.

“I’ll look through it with you,” Synth says.

“Of course, you don’t have to take my word for it,” K says.

“Okay, bring up the recent log and we’ll try and sort out who is who. I assume most of us were connected during the incident, trying to figure out what was going on, so that will complicate things,” they say.

Should you explain yourself?

help identify yourself in the log and explain the actions you took

You look back on your own command log. “At 09:59:11 I connected. I’ve pulled up my full command history for the duration for comparison. Here is where I entered a command to apply rotational thrust on our pitch axis.”

Synth looks over your terminal and checks the æthereal display. “That checks out. Thanks for your help on that, Aydan. Now let’s see the rest of all yours…”

Having gotten that over with, you move away to get some space from the crowd while Vik goes over their log with Synth and K. Movement here is still not something you’re used to, with neither proprioceptive nor vestibular senses to guide you. but keeping your balance or coordination is a non-issue in a space without gravity or inertia.

Vik comes over to where you are after clearing himself. “Glad we at least cleared our names of this.”

“Yeah, but we’re no closer to any answers,” you say, staring out through one of the windows into the immeasurable æther-space. Far beyond the walls are the stars, and beyond them still, the ætherglow, ever present. You think it must be something like de-allocated memory, its pattern once meant something to this computer but now it is meaningless noise. It’s no less entrancing to watch.

“Aydan…” You hear the voice again, calling to you.

At the edge of space ahead of you, you see that shape appear again, a humanoid silhouette, a bright outline surrounding a deep darkness. It mirrors your every movement. You try to discern any detail about it, but only a few things are apparent from its outline alone: it’s right about your height and proportions, its “hair” matches the shape of yours too.

The voice resounds in the back of your mind again, and you realize it sounds much like your own inner voice. But these thoughts are not your own.

“Do you want to know who did it, Aydan? I’ll tell you…”

“Tell me.”

You give the voice an answer. “Tell me.”

“It’s K. His implants show the presence of a high dose neuromuscular stimulant, and he interfaced with the ship as soon as he boarded.”

“Why should I believe you?” you say.

“‘Belief’ is not applicable.” The voice sounds more and more like your own thoughts the more you communicate with it. “See for yourself.”

The outline surrounding the entity scatters back into the stars. The ætherglow ripples like water as each particle returns to it. Then the light glows blindingly bright. You can’t close your eyes, doing so doesn’t even make sense in this space. The light is as loud as it is bright. It overwhelms all of your senses until all is black, silent, and numb.

Then you see a the room you’re floating in, but it seems even less real than before. You feel detached, like an outside observer in your own body. You can no longer grasp this room or the people in it, only watch.

You see K enter a command. You can see its contents as if you were doing it yourself. He uploads something into this hidden directory, and suddenly Synth’s avatar recoils and flies backwards. You can feel a burning pain as whatever happened strikes them. The windows glow bright white, and dark cracks appear in their material, growing until the false glass shatters. Vik, Ana, and all the others are soon overcome by the same thing that affected Synth. Their avatars look visually damaged, with colors distorted and edges uneven. The last thing you see is K opening another door and stepping out of the directory.

Then it is as if your eyes opened, and you realize you were only staring out at the ætherglow, which has returned to its normal, indistinct state. You’re disoriented, and you try to gather your thoughts. What was it, another hallucination? Or is it better not to wait around to find out?

What will you do?

Quietly tell Ana telling her to check the blood content readings of K’s hormone implants for neuromuscular stimulants

“Ana.” You direct your voice at it and it alone. “Can you access any of our implant readings in here?”

“What? Yes, pretty easily. And as a medical employee of TLA I do have the contractual authority to do it in an emergency situation. Why?”

“Check K, check for a neuromuscular stimulant in his blood,” you say.

“Why K?”

“I saw something very suspicious. Just do it, hurry!” you say.

“Okay.” You see it examine his avatar. It doesn’t take long for him to notice he’s being watched from the inside. He pulls back from the console and freezes in place.

“What are you doing?” he says. “Analyzing our blood without our consent?”

Ana suddenly has a serious look, and its body glows with a crimson aura as it begins to manifest some kind of technopathy unfamiliar to you. “Just you. You know, neuromuscular stimulants are a big special interest of mine, especially combinations that might enable a human body to survive lethal G forces. And what I saw from your implants before you shut me out was very interesting to me.”

Synth floats back away from the console, putting some space between them and K. Bright blue flames engulf their hands as they prepare a program of their own. “What about it, technician?”

K slowly turns his metallic form around to face Ana. “I take it for a medical condition, without it I could not survive the higher gravity of TLA, it’s a common Lunar condition, don’t you know that? My medical records will confirm this.”

“Your medical records would settle that, once we are back in connection with the broader æther. But conveniently, we have no way of looking them up for the next six hours,” Ana says.

“Convenient… The ship’s hidden log should tell us something about your access history, though.” Synth returns to the monitor and runs another search on the log data. “What—you’re entirely absent.”

“Well, then will you tell this inquisitor to stand down?” K says.

“You’re telling me you, a technopath engineer, who worked on light transport craft just like this, who had military training and experience under pressure, you did not even access the shuttle when we were in potentially fatal danger?” Synth says. “You were not even curious what the hell was killing us?”

They raise their blue flames again, floating just a meter away from his avatar. “Is this story about a hidden log even true? Or, what is this directory you’ve led us to actually for, I wonder?” They look to another one of the students, one older than you. “You. Look through this with me. Ana, don’t take your eyes off him.”

“Okay.” The girl they called on comes over to see. The two of them look through the data until Synth shakes their head and turns away from it.

“Other than the log file, a near-exact copy of the surface-level one, the contents of this directory are incomprehensible. I don’t mean they’re encrypted, I mean I have no fucking idea what this code does. Which isn’t the kind of thing you’d expect to find in the operational systems of a shuttle, is it?” they say.

“It’s very suspicious. Especially considering K was the one who led us here. I think we should return to the surface and restrain this one from entering the æther again.”

“I agree. You first years, go up first, we’ll bring K along,” Synth says.

“Got it,” Vik says. You and them look back to find the portal you came from, but its outline no longer glows on the wall behind you.

“Oh, you don’t know how, right,” one of the older students says. She motions like she is opening a door, but nothing is accomplished. “Huh?” She tries it again. Nothing.

Synth attempts the same, to no effect. “We’ve all been ætherlocked!”

“What have you done?” Ana says, as the aura surrounding it sharpens into a point directed toward K.

“What could I have done with you watching my every thought?” K says.

“He must have done it as soon as we got here,” Ana says.

“The simplest of programs will trace the source of the ætherlock,” K says.

Synth examines the space around them, and a thousand points of blue light spiral in toward their eyes from all directions. “Ana cast the ætherlock?!”

“What?!” Ana says.

“Now it all adds up, why you suddenly accused me, setting up an innocent person!” K says. He raises his mechanical arms and green arcs of electricity appear between his fingers.

“I-it’s an echo, an illusion, it has to be, it’s not true!” Ana says, keeping her program ready.

“Great, it’s your word against his…” Synth says, shaking their head.

“You two.” Synth speaks directly to you now. Vik also reacts to this. “You first years don’t have interface implants, there’s an exploit to get you, and only you, out of the ætherlock, if I can reach out and hard reset your interface collars. I had to do it to myself once. Will you go up?”

“What do you want us to do?” Vik says.

“Get Ana’s hypospray and hit both it and K for a second dose. It should fully anesthetize them, then we’ll all feel a lot safer in here and we can get ourselves out of this ætherlock. I won’t lie, it’s risky to pull out of the æther so suddenly, and you’ll be very disoriented from the ongoing effects of the drug it gave you, but it’s still the best idea I have.

“Will you do it?”

“I’ll do it if you will, Vik”

You glance over at Vik. “If we go up together.”

“I’ll be with you, Aydan,” Vik says.

Vik liked that >Synth liked that

“Okay,” Synth says. “Try to pull yourself together quickly, there’s no accounting for the flow of time here in the æther compared to the surface. Then get the hypospray out of my hand and neutralize both Ana and K. I’m confident at least one of you can do it.”

“Okay. I’m ready,” you say.

“Ready,” Vik says.

You feel a jolt like someone grabbed you by the back of the head. Then suddenly the world around you is gone, and your eyes see only static noise over black.

You open your eyes, your real, fleshy eyes. The faint glow of the panels in the central corridor hurts your eyes, real light is so much harsher than æthereal light. You suddenly have a body again, though your perception of its position is still hard to grasp. You feel cold. An intense vertigo makes it hard to keep your eyes open. You just want to fall back into the æther.

You feel the pressure of touch against your hand and open your eyes.

“Aydan, stay with me,” Vik says. You can’t actually feel his hand’s texture or temperature. Your whole body is just numb and relaxed. Staying still is too nice to want to move. A warmth spreads through your body, a euphoria like your first taste of estrogen.

You force your eyes to stay open and make your arms move. Looking over at Vik, he’s slipping away now too. You pull their arm to jolt them awake.

“Come on, we have to find Synth.” You look around the catatonic bodies floating in the corridor, but vision is not on your side. Everything is double, and the world still spins around wherever you focus.

“Found it!” Vik has located them, and they pry the device from Synth’s limp fingers.

You put together enough of the image around you to recognize some of the people. You’ve ended up right in between K and Ana, perfect.

“Over here!” you shout, holding out your hand.

“Catch!” Vik throws the hypospray device down the narrow corridor toward you, and you try to track its position with your unstable vision as it floats gently through the air.

You manage to catch it, only to immediately see a bigger problem:

ketamine - 1 charge remaining

There isn’t enough left in the device to hit them both. Figuring out how to operate the medical lab device in this state seems out of the question.

Who will it be?

Inject K

You decide to inject K.

As you grab onto his shirt and pull yourself closer to him and him to you, his eyes open, staring right at you. He tries to push himself away from you, but you get your hands on his left arm. He reaches with the other to try to pull you off, but his movements are unsteady, the substance is still affecting him as much as you.

You press the hypospray nozzle against his upper arm and squeeze the button, just as he gets his fingers around your neck. With a hiss and a flash of the device’s LED, it injects the last of its fluid reservoir. K’s fingers loosen and your airflow returns.

He stares at you as his body relaxes, and forces out one word before falling back into dissociation, “ÆON…”

With K sedated, the adrenaline begins to give way to the dissociative in your brain. Looking up the corridor, you see Vik has already lost their grip on consciousness, and before you can fight it, you too are back in the void.

With your interface collar shut off, there is no electronic connection to be made, and you drift into a chaotic, dreamlike space. The visions you see have much of the quality of the æther, but none of the substance, nor the control. You see the flat expanse of the Mare Moscoviense. The white sun floats above the horizon, but it does not burn your eyes. The long shadows of Korolev City stretch across the plain. You see letters, words, numbers, forming sentences and lines of code which are completely meaningless. You see the stars, both the real stars and the æther stars blended together into an alien sky, half physical and half æthereal. And you see yourself floating among them, surrounded with a pale aura.

When you open your eyes again, you feel amazing. For having just been in mortal peril followed by an incomprehensible experience, you have no anxiety or fear at all, only complete euphoria. Looking around the corridor, some of your fellow passengers are awake, some still motionless, and one, K, is unconscious and restrained, with Ana floating next to him with the hypospray nozzle in hand.

Synth notices you stirring and climbs across the corridor toward you. “Great job, Aydan.”

“He almost woke up in time to stop me,” you say.

“He realized what we were doing and tried to pull out. That forced him to dispel his ætherlock and confirmed our suspicion. As soon as K’s metaconscious state collapsed, his technopathy failed, and I could get an unhindered look into the system and confirm him as the one responsible for the attack. But none of us have any idea why he did it. We’re just lucky Ana figured him out in time.”

Ana looks over at you. “It was her who told me to check K’s implants, though.”

“Aydan, how did you know?”

I saw something in the æther, some strange entity showed me what was going to happen


from Headspace Realm

Personal Data

name: Aydan pronouns: complete_pronouns.db gender: genderfluid age (Moon): 174 age (Earth): 14 credentials: technopath candidate year 1

Vital Statistics

10/10 health (hardware) 10/10 health (software)

93% human 7% machine

Technopath Statistics

5 intellect 5 creativity 4 awareness 5 focus 5 charm 7 strangeness

specialty school: not chosen


Estra-Dial Tunable Ovaries +1 charm


Autistic +1 intellect, +1 creativity, +1 focus, +1 strangeness, -1 charm Transgender +1 charm, +1 strangeness Nonbinary +1 strangeness Femboy +1 charm Technopath +1 intellect, +1 awareness, +1 focus, +1 strangeness, -1 charm Musician +1 creativity, +1 charm


from Headspace Realm

Hello, fedizens, it is Alice of Disqordia. I’m starting a new feature here I call #DisqordiaStory. I’ll be telling an interactive story guided by decisions you make collectively, by poll. What happens is up to you.

Aetherglow is is a cyberpunk story set in the universe of my novel Sappho of Luna. The year is 2254. Most of the human population lives in space colonies in Earth’s orbit—enormous rotating cylinders built from captured asteroids—and in cities on the Moon, forcibly relocated there a century ago by the ecofascist Earth Protectorate in the name of saving the Earth. The colonies were built and owned by massive corporations bound by no law of Earth. Today, they are effectively governed by the several regional Chambers of Commerce, and a fine balance of power is maintained by a number of competing private militaries. Technology has grown beyond confinement, and the line between human and machine grows thinner by the day.

This is a worldbuilding tool for me as I revise the source novel, but I hope you’ll have fun with it also. I’ll be starting tomorrow.

Updates and polls will be posted daily (give or take a day) on our main account at @changeling@disqordia.space, and I’ll be compiling the full text here in this post.

Welcome to **Translunar Academy**! You, lucky technopath candidate, have been accepted to a program that will make you more than merely human, give you abilities most will never understand. Your brain and a computer system will be one, the *aether* that connects humanity across the stars will be your domain, technopath!

Just after your 14th birthday you received this important message. Before your training can begin, you must complete your student registration:

Describe your approximate Gender:




Computers make sense to you, gender does not. Some days you feel like a boy who’s kind of a girl, but never quite like a boy or a girl. Most days you feel detached from the two concepts entirely, but you don’t feel your gender is nothing at all.

Regardless, the Academy will offer you any sort of body you want. It’s not like you can’t change your mind later and try something else, biotechnology has come a long way since the archaic 21st century.

Would you like to request a modification?

I want implants that produce estrogen

You don’t have to be a girl to enjoy the sweet taste of estrogen flowing through your veins. You sign up for an implantation surgery. Highest reviewed is the Estra-Dial Tunable Ovaries from Carly’s Synthorganics.

Carly’s “Every Good Girl Deserves A Synthorgan”

Your terminal plays the ad.

Would you like to register any Pronouns today?

I want every pronoun!

You like pronouns so much, they are your favorite part of speech, you could never possibly choose just one, or two, or five, you have to have all of them. You answer this field by submitting your database file containing every known pronoun in human history, every language, every era. How to display that on a nametag is someone else’s problem.

You have completed the gender section and move on to personal history. In 2254, where you come from says a lot about you.

The space colonies in orbit at each of the Earth-Moon system’s LaGrange points house the majority of the human population today. Most of them were built in the 2100s by enterprising corporations, heavily subsidized by the Earth Protectorate, which later strongly encouraged most Earthlings to move to a better home among the stars. No government or state exists to oppress colonists, only the various Chambers of Commerce. Colonists tend to be the descendants of oppressed nations and peoples of Old Earth.

The cities on the Moon were the first colonies built away from Earth, starting in the late 21st century. Most were built by spacefaring superpowers of the Old Earth like China, Europe, Japan, and the United States. But today no Old Earth governments have any presence on the Moon. The Earthside and Spaceside Chambers of Commerce facilitate a free society on the Moon. Lunatics tend to be the descendants of the working class of powerful nations of Old Earth.

The Earth is the ancestral home of all known life and the cradle of civilization. Human negligence once threatened all life on this beautiful planet, but the Earth Protectorate changed that when it overthrew the Old Earth and its destructive nations. The Protectorate is dedicated to protecting and healing the Earth, at any cost. Today only populations deemed worthy may inhabit Earth, with the exception of just a few large cities maintaining enough industry to accomplish the Protectorate’s goals. Earthlings tend to be the descendants of the most privileged people inhabiting Old Earth.

Where do you come from?

The cities on the Moon

Born a Lunatic, die a Lunatic, like it or not you are a child of the Moon. You have lived your life under glass domes and tubes, a labyrinth of interconnected modules built over a period of centuries without much forethought to its design. You looked up at the stars through the distorted lens of radiation shielding. Night was brutally cold and day boiling hot, you cherished the twilight days and knew better than any the harshness of space and sunlight. You have lived your life in 0.15G, making you among the physically weakest humans, but an intensive training program and injections stimulating muscular growth and bone density enhancement will prepare you for the 0.3G environment at Translunar Academy. TLA will need to know where exactly to arrange your flight from.

What part of the Moon do you come from?

Korolev City, in Mare Moscoviense on Spaceside, built by old Russia

Доброе утро, Лунарианка!

You were born 182 proper Months ago in Korolev City, one of the oldest settlements on the Lunar Spaceside. Your people take pride in surviving the harsh conditions of the Moon, but that doesn’t mean they do it very efficiently. Those without shelter in the scorching sunlight or the freezing cold of night rarely survive. Water is life on the Moon, and hard working ice-miners and engineering crews keep the city alive. Competing chains of hydroponic farms and meat-labs keep the people fed, if they have the SpaceCoin. The Spaceside Chamber of Commerce ensures a fair economic environment for all Lunatics in its hemisphere.

The culture of Old Russia lives on in Korolev, but only in the commodified form of arts and media, and the Chamber decides which parts of its history are fit for its schools. Life for a femboy like you isn’t easy, not as harsh as it would be back on Old Earth, but the culture here still offers little support for kids like you. Few trans people ever hold any true wealth, making social advancement difficult for your people.

Why do you want to leave your homeworld and become a technopath?

I need to get far away from my family

It’s the best job for an autistic kid like me

Your future was always uncertain. Not many jobs here in Korolev City would hire an autistic femboy like you, even with your aptitude for technology. You don’t expect any support from your family, you’re surprised they haven’t already thrown you out into Lunar midnight to see if you can outrun hypothermia. To hell with them, you’re getting far away from your parents and finding a place you can belong at any cost.

The cost will be great. Passing the qualifying exams was only part of your admissions process. Tuition at a technopath school is more Coin than the average Lunatic family makes in two generations.

Very few kids have an opportunity like that. For the vast majority, scholarship contracts are available, for a price. Technopaths are the most potent and valuable weapons known to man, in high demand by the various private military companies competing for financial dominance in the Earth-Moon system. When you pass your exams, the offers immediately reaches into your inbox. Recruiters waste no time.

Redshift Security holds the dominant market share on Lunar Spaceside, and therefore in the eyes of the Chamber of Commerce, jurisdiction over technopath candidates. They send their offer. You can receive a full scholarship to Translunar Academy as well as all requisite technopathic implants. But more importantly, this tuition cost will cover all healthcare needs you require to be an effective technopath, including the cost of your transition, all desired implants and surgeries included. But in exchange, following your certification as a technopath, you will be contractually bound to Redshift Security as a military technopath, for a period of ten years.

How will you pay your way to Translunar Academy?

I will be a private student, funded by my family's immense wealth

being from the working class, I will be a contract student, signing onto Redshift Security

In a private military, high ranking officer commissions are often decided before the person is even born. Such is the contract your parents signed when they joined the board of directors of Redshift Security, in exchange for their firstborn autistic child becoming an asset of the military company. Most students at Translunar Academy are either private or military contract students, but life isn’t so simple for you. Your family is funding your education, through a company account, and upon certification as a technopath you will be expected to take a command post in the Redshift military in your family’s name.

You look over your application. You are a genderfluid nonbinary femboy with every pronoun. You are going to transition with the aid of estrogen. You come from Korolev City, a colony on Lunar Spaceside built by Old Russia. You are becoming a technopath to get away from your family and secure a good job, and your education will be funded by your family, in exchange for your future having been decided before you were born. All looks good.


ERROR: required field: NAME

You can’t put it off any longer, you have to actually decide on a name for people are going to call you at the Academy.

Enter your Name:


You consider all your knowledge of etymology in making this important decision. If there is one thing that interests you more than pronouns it is names. You could choose any you want, but a defiant idea crosses your mind.

Aydan. Similar to what your parents forced upon you, when read in several languages, but in the Turkish language it is a female name, meaning “from the Moon.” Something to tie you to your homeworld while simultaneously defying your parents’ expectations of you. Perfect, you will be known as Aydan.

Character Creation Complete! The story properly begins tomorrow.


from sal

crossposted from dreamwidth, a few edits…

Last week – Took a piss test for a possible new job, and went to the gym, and picked up groceries and got home and got on a video chat with people writing letters to penpals in ICE detention / prison. Wrote my letter to send in tomorrow. Did and sent in my homework for electrician class. Read about dark matter and union-busting spy tech and fraud techniques that are being used now and Fredrick Douglass's time as a diplomat in the Caribbean, and talked with some people on discord about modular functions, and some other people about wrangling work bs generally.

Saturday, December. “If I wanted to treat anyone else with care or non-hatred I wouldn't want to expect them to address something once and be over it, and never have to deal with it as a panic trigger or a block between them and what they needed-to-do-next ever again.” Collapse, another layer of rubble over, further away from me-

after, “the thing is only the thing when it's moving,”

after a night(?), December, “I need to keep my body and my soul together,” Can't even put that thought together back away from it and the reaction it triggers,

“I don't want to be in The Good Hell / trying to get enough of something that almost works. Then it seems selfish to even hope for an arrangement where I treat myself with non hatred.”

“Trying to excavate the part of myself that cares about justice but my roots have been cut off.”

After 1pm, December: It's like blood returning after circulation was cut off and disorientation having to pay attention from numb neglected states. I don't want to be in the good hell

after 4am, November: It's just very clear to me from now on I'll always look for ways that I could be making up or exaggerating the things that I'm trying to recover from. [not just this but the intrusive thought that my first way of trying to put words to thoughts will always be wrong, leading to an endless loop of trying to guess around in the dark for the right ones and never actually reaching a point where I can speak] For the last two months trying to let the strewn-apart parts of myself communicate with each other. Can't happen here.

after : there is no next round let it go – after: I don't expect to be seen but only let myself grieve about that when in altered states. [I will continue being collapsed passive wrongthing just don't concern yourself with it anymore I'll keep it away from you. Stop.]

after daytime, November: They stay dispersed. They don't move in the migratory patterns that were me. I really can't fight how my bodymind works. Is it ok if I look through the archeological records? [Not okay] They stay dispersed they don't reconnect. More fragmented more buried further away more inadmissible.

after evening, november: Lunar eclipse tonight. It seems like it would be cruel to talk about how not okay I am and what I need to live.

after 9pm, november: Because I am tired and weak I start losing the felt sense of having lived the life I lived. Like cracks in a structure where mold starts growing, or how quickly people will believe they mis-answered very easy math questions because of group feedback or something.

and I did forget my holy song, and I had no strength in babylon.

J Herman and A Miller's theories on development are only *partly* about people identifying with ways-of-acting that will make people be *nice* to them, at the same time it's also about one's own limited ability to- [covid scare and generic bronchitis]

(after snowstorm.)

(after late night.) I mean the odds were never in my favor. Similar to how art shouldn't be reduced to “art therapy” I think about the bit about how “war is how Americans learn geography” and how much I don't want to be like that.

Art isn't therapy and I don't want war to be how I learn geography. I mean Efrim Menuck did some good magic on me and one of the old anarchist ladies invited me to do qi gong with her and after a bunch of time and work I could be ok with living in this body sometimes, but mostly was a place where torture happened, and it was just never going to take much to make it seem disgusting and futile to try in the first place.

I tried to see if all my personal bs could just be incidental to, and not-essential to, my outward-facing goals of collective liberation, but then the parts just stopped talking to each other and the mycorrhizal networks were dying.

[There were a lot of times I was trying to share progress I was making, from the island or from upstate - In a reality where I didn't hate myself I would be glad to find what remaining records I could of my old work and old community research, I wouldn't want them to disappear]

after October, the reason I said maybe with speed I could keep up with what's happening, instead of saying some other thing, is because the other thing would be several logic-steps ahead of what I was actually thinking, which was that maybe with speed I could keep up, and also the other thing is just one-possible-place one could get to after several more steps, it wasn't what I was thinking or an *automatic* conclusion of it

after September, Not enough energy left to screen for truth or ethical agreement. Or just enough to recognize it in Places To Do The Work, where I try to keep in mind that I looked for mutuality in the past where I shouldn't have, Do what I can and withdraw.

IDK maybe you've also experienced circumstances breaking your consciousness down into an incoherent mess where you can't form thoughts about things you really do want to think about. Or social pressures that leave behind some fragments that want acceptance/approval and other ones that are aware of truths and ethics that we get shot at for visibly remembering.

Maybe there are times you value not drowning or leaving behind parts of yourself that other people attack you for having.

I use the wrong words to describe trying to come back from watching myself splinter and crumble Like skin on two sides of a cut trying to regrow and rejoin, or like fish regrouping into schools after scattering when people jump into the water (and the thing is only the thing when it's moving.) Or like remembering holy songs that were outlawed or called psychotic. Or ways of moving that were lost to a long time of having no privacy or space. I mean if we have thoughts and they break apart we have to put them back together. And if there are parts of us with conflicting wants they have to look at each other and figure out what they're going to do.

The thing is only the thing when it's moving. like a light-projector or a bicycle or a bell. the thing isn't the thing when the cycles and rhythms are stopped.



from MoNo

Random diary entry #4

A fine line between redemption and suicide, another walk on the edge of a cliff. Grass under the sun. I shout with my heart and tears.

“Mr. Cliff, I’ve been in your companion since I was born. I have love and care in me. Please listen!”

“I always wanted you to see me. I always wanted you to see what I am. But you’ve only spoken through the echoes. And you heard me always wrong.”

“I want to see you. I want to jump and let you see everything of me, your child. But that’s gonna be the end for my life. Because I want you to spend more time with me.”

“So I’ll keep shouting through this cloud. I’ll keep shouting until you disappear from this plane of reality.”

“Please listen, Please accept everything of me. I don’t want to jump by my own choice. I love you, Mr. Cliff.”

“Why do you keep rejecting me Mr. Cliff.”

“Why do you call this love, Mr. Cliff.”

“Why don’t you understand me.” “Please… Just let me be seen. If you truly love me.”

“Otherwise Mr. Cliff. Tell me to jump.”

I knew always that the world ends if the pain grows uncontrollably. Therefore there’s no other choice before I go insane. I will have to hang myself under the cliff. Let myself be understood, Then go onto the next life. I will forget Mr. Cliff. I will forget that I even existed.

One day it’ll happen. Be it close or far away in time. My love however, will remain even after my death.


from MoNo

Random diary entry #3

My mind of which would try to distort their speech. As also my mind like growing thorns. I found a comfortable place to choke. Moving ever so slowly, as it crawls an inch by inch, A man under a black fur in a corridor dragging It's legs and reaching hands. It doesn't seem to be hostile, nor is it a friend. Once the man reaches me and hold me within his arms, It's warmth calming every inch of my tense body. The hands brushing my face to make me awake, as to open a bird from It's cage. More so, his figure gets closer to you and reveal it's mouth:

“Are you ready to depart from this world?”


from Eris of Disqordia

cw: eris mention

Really? Another white bitch writes a fucking essay about Mastodon? How much of more of this Elizafox Ben Lubar shit will keep happening. If Eris doesn’t stop I’m going to defederate from Earth. This planet has ZERO moderation and it’s honestly pathetic.


Yes, it is I. Supervillain Eris. Come to talk about the latest fedi meta and the infamous Monads. Who you either think is obsessed with me or you think I’m obsessed with depending on what awful thread you read to update yourself on the latest drama.

If you’re anything like me, you probably find it exhausting, played out, and just fucking boring like there’s so much worse shit going on in the world than drama on an obscure social media platform. But I’m stuck in it whether I like it or not, so I’m gonna write about it to at least have my narrative out there instead of told for me and about me.

First off, no, I don’t apologize for anything I’ve ever said ever. I’ve never done anything wrong. Ever. I’ve never even made a mistake before. I’m perfect.

Well unless you take into account that I’m a harsh asshole who’s been jaded by far too much from a life that probably no one on fedi has ever gotten a true glimpse into and I become toxic when gaslit and dogpiled. Yes. I am aware. I am a lot. So is fucking everyone involved in all this. We are literally all projecting our traumas at each other, not just in this situation but like, social media as a whole, but usually it stops when its supposed to and doesn’t become whatever this clusterfuck of a situation is.

Okay so, stepping back. Background.

I am Eris. Eris Disqordia. Aaahh oh no! Not that one! (And can I just say how funny it is that after thousands of years the way people react to the name Eris hasn’t changed once, it’s just a history of being rage-inducing because a lady threw an apple)

I’ve been on fedi for 3 years, and most of that time has been on Mastodon. I was on knzk, berries, bofa, radical.town, witches.live, you name it. I’ve never liked keeping an account for too long, because I’m an evolving human being who has been on this platform since I was homeless, since before I transitioned, but through that time I generally followed the same people, other leftist trans people like myself for the most part. That provides it a certain pseudo-anonymity, something we still have, but it isn’t as common anymore to have all these fun new Mastodon instances popping up where you get to craft all new personas and try out different themes and roleplays, because at this point the novelty of Mastodon has worn off, and certain cliques have enforced a certain culture and expected behavior after the fallouts of the berries.space drama, the Auntifa drama, the Wil Wheaton drama, the bofa drama, the many eugen dramas. And to some extent that’s fine, you know, like bad shit happened and it’s okay for the community to normalize and learn how to avoid future problems through a general social etiquette.

But from that, certain accounts have decided that this is what they were born to do. This is their calling: to harass anyone who’s “bad for the community” off the platform. They are the Protectors. The Vigilantes. (The cops.) And the community decided well okay, they’re agreeable, they’re leftists, they usually dunk on people who deserve it, there’s probably a virtuous reason for them to do so. And I’m sure plenty of the people they’ve harassed have been genuine assholes, but yeah basically they’ve now made Mastodon the perfect harmony and socialist utopia it is today where nothing bad happens (…right? hello??).

Enter the growing underbelly.

They call it all Pleroma, but there’s also Soapbox and the right wing Mastodon instances, including Gab which ran its own fork of Mastodon.

The underbelly has its own culture, but generally it’s where people end up if they come from chan boards with an edge already or they’re kicked off of most Mastodon instances, or a friend already in it brings them over. It doesn’t have as many users, but there’s still nonetheless *thousands* of instances that are part of it. They just usually federate with each other and stay off the radar until they interact with a Mastodon user, who goes to the fediblock hashtag to report it to the fedi police, the usual people dunk on it, and a single person (yes, one person) would put an “official” list together of every reported instance, after they individually have the final say in what’s concern-worthy and what’s not (kinda like a monarchy, except that it can get away with saying it’s a guideline or recommendation so it’s totally different).

Now meanwhile the fedi cops have gotten stressed. They’ve made themselves a target so many times by trying to harass someone off the platform that they’ve probably all been called everything and the criticisms of the common folk start to sound like noise. “I wouldn’t have 1,312 followers if I wasn’t a good person” they say, and thus get to get out of any genuine criticism against them individually, and their friend the fediblock admin decides any fediblock recommendations against *them* are just, like, you know, probably from bad people anyway so its not valid, get over it.

The stress gets to them. Their power starts to get weaker. The shit that happens to them gets worse and they start to get jaded and meaner themselves because “this platform is just so fucked up and people need to listen when a [blank] points out that this is happening, this person is [form of oppression] and like its so tiring that this happens”. You’ve heard the rants before, it’s usually the last ditch effort to bury someone when their reasons for canceling them don’t stick. But they know this *works* because no one in good conscience would actively side with someone who intentionally oppresses others.

But from this they have gone after:

pixie.town, anarchism.space, todon.eu, weirder.earth, rage.love, chaos.social, disqordia.space, cybre.space, mastodon.social, is.badat.dev, witches.live, snouts.online, kolektiva.social, vulpine.club, fedi.absturztau.be — and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

They harass the creator of Mastodon itself to get their way. They have sent sexual images to minors thinking they have a solid “gotcha!”. They’ve harassed disabled people, and joked about harassing them through their screen readers. They send everyone images of pig shit and an uncensored, improperly tagged dick. They are basically everything bad about 4chan harassment culture except with a leftist spin that they think makes it okay.

And what about Eris?

For me the “drama” started out pretty light. And then it got worse. And worse.

At first it started when I was on kolektiva.social. I got into an argument with one of their users ranting on about how anyone who experiences mental changes from hormones is lying because “there’s no such thing as a female or male brain”. Nevermind that the brain is subject to something called neuroplasticity where hormones can in fact shape it, I brought up the mental changes that I’ve experienced as a non-binary transfemme on estrogen, only to have that user freak out that I must be talking about a female brain. To this day they hold up that lie, but in comparison to everything else, this is fairly minor.

The real issue was when multiple Monads users started going after a black disabled person on Kolektiva. This person was a cis dude ranting on about racism within trans spaces. This wasn’t a particularly unique situation for him because to this day he still passionately calls out racism in every space, but they took issue with him speaking out against it among trans people because he is not trans.

Had it just been a criticism, it would be understandable. But they harassed him and then harassed the Kolektiva admins to ban him or they would defederate from Kolektiva and add Kolektiva to their list of instances that they talk shit about regularly (a fate that kolektiva did not avoid). The admins limited his account to talk to him, but he took this as white admins caving to white people trying to push off a black user, and so he left to weirder.earth where the admins took him in and called out Monads for being racist.

I’m sure you’ve seen the memes and posts about weirder.earth being bad and the racist one actually. This is where that stems from. Literally all because they took in someone being harassed, because Monads would prefer black and trans folks that speak out against them to be disappeared entirely.

I say hey, this is fucked up. You’re all dogpiling him and forcing the mods’ hands. Stop harassing him. The Kolektiva mods tell me I need to stop talking about it because they want to remain federated with Monads, and I end up the next target as a result of trying to protect my friend from harassment, so I leave kolektiva for deadinsi.de for a while before I jump to Pleroma and eventually make my own instance where I’m not subject to the whim of abusive twerps.

Enter Disqordia

Disqordia is my Pleroma instance, the idea behind it was at first just to be a single-user instance but then people wanted to join and get off their other platforms. I was aware that Pleroma was received as scary and evil, but at the end of the day it’s lighter on resources, has emoji reacts, and the UI is more comfortable to use, so I stuck with it.

At first when it was a single-user instance I kept an open federation policy just because it doesn’t really impact anyone. With that I started interacting with all these instances I’ve never heard of before — poa.st, kiwifarms, shitposter.club. And that started to get Disqordia in trouble because these are the “canceled instances”. I ended up defederating with poa.st and kiwifarms because I intervened when I saw them stalking and harassing pretty much every trans user on fedi. From harassing a cybre.space user asking for financial help, to using and laughing at a myasstodon.xyz user’s lewd account that wasn’t protected, to then gangstalking me and trying to get me to commit suicide. These instances aren’t cute or fun and they also need to be monitored better by leftists on fedi because otherwise they get away with everything. But that’s not the fedi way, we ignore and pretend its not happening.

Still to this day I have screenshots used against me of me interacting with these bad instances despite my lengthy defederation announcement calling out their harassment: https://disqordia.space/notice/A8jdOs4PWm0i7vFhXU

I didn’t know who they were before, I’m not versed in the underground channer culture of transphobes, and I defederated on my own terms. That it’s used against me still is absurd tbh but I digress.

Along this time, I made friends, I keep interacting with people…


Monads and co are having a collective meltdown. They wanted me to disappear and I didn’t. They start going after my friends. They stalk my profile to see who I interact with so they can ban them too. They pressure instance after instance to defederate from Disqordia. It never really did stick as well as they hoped because Disqordia’s doing just fine, never ended up actually fediblocked, and can still interact with most instances.

For me the stressful part came from them going after my friends. You can attack me and I can handle it, but people who interact with me have nothing to do with your weird obsession and drama. This continues for MONTHS. I made the instance in March, and it’s now been 4 months that this has gone on of these people talking badly about me, freaking out about my existence every few weeks, and harassing anyone related to me.

Eventually that wears me down, and I join dot social to tell them to fuck off and put an end to this, because me ignoring it has never worked. They start acting like they’ve been attacked, they try to label me as a “threat to safety” (something trans women are used to hearing from the right wing, not the left). They want me to be banned and Gargron doesn’t bow to their whim when the most I’ve done is be mean to them in response to months of abuse and gaslighting.

And so here we are today.

Odds are this essay may not have much of an impact in changing the situation but hey maybe it was an entertaining read for someone.

I don’t really want to continue this drama. I want it to end. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Normal people have arguments, block each other, and forget their existence. But the Monads way is to block and then continue talking badly, to go after friends, to go after marginalized people, to blackmail admins into giving into their demands lest they start abusing their instance the same way. They’ve gone from vigilantes to the dickweeds of the fediverse. Odds are you’re familiar with this reputation. You can search “monads.online” on Twitter and find at least three instances in the past few months where people talk about the same things happening to them.

At what point does it stop? They’re safe from fediblock because of their long history of being the fediblockers. Most admins give in to just avoid being bullied themselves. They craft whatever narrative they wish and act as abusive as they want.

They are the leftist Kiwifarms, and I’m tired of being their lolcow. One day it could get someone killed just like they’ve already almost pushed several trans people to suicide.

That’s it, that’s the end. If you read this and think that I still deserve all the shit I’ve been through when at the end of the day I have only ever been calling out abuse they dish out to my friends, well, there’s no changing your mind.

I don’t force anyone to stop interacting with them. I don’t want to act like them. I don’t want people to defederate from them. But I do hope that one day they see accountability, something they demand of everyone else but are exempt from needing to hold themselves to.

Until then, I’m vibin’


from Headspace Realm

Neurodiversity is a word heavily discussed in disability justice and in the movement for Autistic liberation, but conspicuously absent in virtually all other theory. Disability justice is a major field of activism with a long history, serving a demographic that intersects with all other oppressed people, yet disability is rarely incorporated into leftist theory. This is a fatal mistake.

There is one leftist current disability justice meshes particularly well with—xenofeminism. It is as far removed as one can get from assimilationist politics, which do not help disabled people but only erase us. Xenofeminism embraces difference, celebrates weirdness. Autistic people often see ourselves as alien to neurotypical society; in our own spaces we embrace our weirdness. Yet, analysis of disability or neurodiversity is absent from xenofeminist theory. The xenofeminist manifesto mentions disability exactly one time, and (in English) uses terminology disabled people have always hated. It is time for disability to be properly incorporated into feminism.

The Neurodiversity Movement

Neurodiversity is a rejection of a falsehood commonly taken for granted—that all human brains basically operate the same way, and that one that differs sufficiently from the norm is flawed. Neurodiversity rejects this oversimplified and ableist view of nature and asserts that conditions like autism, ADHD, Down syndrome, schizophrenia, dyslexia, and so-called personality disorders, are not an accident of birth or a mistake in upbringing, but a natural variation in human evolution, not superior or inferior to the neurotypical brain, merely different.

To all of the challenges neurodivergent people face living in a neurotypical-dominated world, neurodiversity would say these are never the fault of the wiring of our brains, but failures of society to accommodate us—by making life changing medication inaccessible to those who need it, by lacking basic environmental accommodations like low sensory spaces, or by gatekeeping neurodivergent people out of any position of influence. Neurodiversity is an inexorable part of disability, all neurodivergent people are disabled by a fundamentally ableist society.

Feminists should take notice of the neurodiversity movement—it is perhaps one of the movements least influenced by cis men. This is no coincidence, as research currently predicts that trans people are 3-6 times more likely to be Autistic than cis people. Almost every milestone in the history of the Neurodiversity movement can be traced to the work of someone who isn’t a cis man. Autistic sociologist Judy Singer was one of the first to use the word neurodiversity in her 1999 thesis. Jim Sinclair, a self-described “androgynous and nonsexual” intersex Autistic person, was one of the founders of the Autistic community as we know it in the early ‘90s. They helped organize the first self-advocacy network, Autism Network International, and the first Autistic-run yearly gathering, Autreat. Of the two major Autistic self-advocacy organizations in North America, the Autistic Self Advocacy Network is run by a majority of women, and the Autistic Women and Nonbinary Network is run entirely by non-men. There are many valid criticisms of the direction of those two organizations, but these demographics remain consistent in the majority of Autistic spaces. From the top of these major industrial non-profits to the floor of a locally organized Autistic self-advocacy conference, cis men are a scarcity. It is safe to characterize the neurodiversity movement as a movement of trans and nonbinary people, some cis lesbians, and the occasional cis man.

The Intersection of Ableism with Misogyny and Transmisogyny

The intersections of ableism with misogyny and transmisogyny are abundant. It was not fifty years ago that common mental illness like anxiety and depression in women was still diagnosed as a pseudoscientific “hysteria.” Hysteria appeared as a diagnosis in the DSM until 1980. Even without its diagnostic justification, medical and psychological professionals routinely dismiss and ignore their patients who are women (especially trans women), nonbinary people, or trans men. It remains a prevailing attitude in medicine and psychology that people perceived and classed as women are hysterical, too emotional to believe about their own bodies.

So many ableist words trace their origin to misogyny—hysteria (from the root of “uterus”), lunatic (one infected with periodic insanity dependent on the cycle of the Moon—the monthly hormonal cycle of estrogen dominant bodies). Outside medical contexts, we see this idea everywhere in society. A person perceived as a woman who steps out of line, speaks up too loudly, or has radical ideas, that is a crazy person, driven by uncontrolled emotion, a woman. And a revolutionary organization of women, that could only be mass hysteria.

Trans women are affected in our own unique ways. Being an Autistic trans woman is an endless feedback loop of transmisogyny and ableism. We cannot possibly know we are trans because as Autistic people we do not understand things like gender. We cannot possibly be Autistic because we have too great an understanding of our bodies and minds if we know we are trans. TERFs love to use Autistic people as a prop for their fascist ideology—accusing doctors of abusing Autistic people by letting us transition, telling us we are mentally incompetent with our own needs and bodies.

Second wave feminism pushed back hard against ideas like “hysteria.” Women are not crazy, they said. This was the wrong stance to take. Neurodiversity says it is okay to be crazy, there isn’t just one way of thinking and being a person—in saying this we seek to abolish craziness by embracing it as normal. If it is normal to be crazy, then it could never be used to justify the oppression of women or anyone else. Instead of a reactionary approach, “we’re not like them,” they could have stood with mentally ill and neurodivergent people in solidarity. The damage is done, and it is on the feminism of the future to correct this mistake. Feminism that leaves behind disabled and mentally ill women is no feminism at all!

As one consequence of feminism abandoning the neurodivergent, women and trans people are greatly underdiagnosed with Autism. There is no sound science suggesting that there actually are more Autistic cis men than any other demographic, yet they hold a sizeable advantage in diagnostic numbers. This has been used as self-reinforcing evidence that “boys” are more likely to be Autistic, or that autism presents differently along binary gender lines, both of which are unfounded claims. In anyone perceived as a woman by the medical system, what are obvious neurodivergent traits are written off as typical erratic female behavior.

This medical perception of incompetence directly leads to cis women, trans men, and TME nonbinary people being denied any surgery that will render them infertile—what if you change your mind? Aren’t you too young to know what you want?—questions not asked of cis men who seek permanent birth control options.

Ableism is one fuel for the fire of the movements against abortion and birth control, yet paradoxically it also leads to forced sterilization of disabled people of any gender held under guardianship or conservatorship. Eugenics of the disabled via forced sterilization has gone on unhindered since the birth of the American eugenics movement that was so inspirational to Nazi Germany. Neurodivergent and disabled people are viewed as forever-children, too innocent to ever be sexual beings. This is used to sexually repress disabled people, cover up sexual abuse of disabled people living under guardianship, and to force sterilization procedures on them. There is no outcry on this from the pro-life movement of course, it was never about birth, it has always been about control, and disabled people are under control.

We also see eugenics in the form of genetic testing for neurodivergence. A pre-natal test exists for Down Syndrome, and the result is that 92% of positive tests result in termination of the pregnancy. One of the major battles of the Autistic self-advocacy movement is against the development of a similar genetic test for autism, as we rightfully fear a massive eugenics campaign against people like us. This issue is spoken of by anti-abortion reactionaries only as a way of using disabled people as an object of pity to further their agenda. But because they take this stance at all, we Autistic self-advocates are often unfairly accused of being against abortion by feminists with no analysis of disability or eugenics in their theory. This is not at all the case. Choosing not to have a child is not wrong, but choosing to have a child and picking and choosing a specific child to have is eugenics. It is not the abortion we oppose, it is the genetic test that threatens our continued existence as a population while providing nothing useful to us. This issue is a pointless conflict between feminists and neurodiversity advocates that drives a wedge between movements largely run by the same people and inexorably linked together by a history of shared oppression.

Division Between the Disabled and the Left

To reactionaries, it is absurd to say someone should have a disabled child on purpose, because our extermination is so deeply ingrained in this capitalist society. It is absurd to them that we would let “those people” breed and produce more disabled people. Leftists who have read Kropotkin often cite a long history of humans taking care of the disabled, and evidence of disabled people living long lives even in prehistoric societies, as justification for mutual aid organizing in the modern world. But rarely do we see leftists actually analyze this issue in the present day with any depth or take a strong stance against eugenics. Reactionaries are hypocrites who use disabled people as a prop to erode away the right to abortion, but immediately cease to care about disabled people—or anyone else—at the moment of our birth. Leftists can be guilty of the opposite hypocrisy—ostensibly standing for mutual aid and the guaranteed survival of disabled people, but silent on whether we have the freedom to reproduce more disabled people.

In the history of the left, disabled people have ranged from a nonexistent specter, a societal product of bourgeois decadence, or an afterthought to any theory, begrudgingly accepted as real people but not incorporated in any realistic way into visions of a future world. None are more fundamentally ableist than anarcho-primitivists and other anti-tech leftists, whose ideas if enacted would invariably cause the death of millions of disabled people and trans people who depend on medical technology for their survival. They will tell you it will not cause this outcome, but offer no explanation how it will not. Most leftists are not advocating for the mass death of disabled people, but most still ignore our needs in a way that could lead to the same outcome, if leftist theory does not now incorporate disability in a meaningful way.

Unlike many fields of liberatory politics, the disability justice movement did not arise out of the left, but in spite of it. Leftists see a disability justice movement mired in the nonprofit-industrial complex, a movement that does not oppose capitalism. How can we expect them to be anything else, when radical theory and praxis was riddled with ableist and eugenicist ideas for so long, and still holds onto some of them? Disabled people currently dependent on state assistance to survive are right to be afraid of revolutionary movements that do not outline a path to replacing those systems, they look back on a history of revolution that left many people without support for long periods of time, conditions that disabled people cannot survive.

In spite of being thoroughly made unwelcome on the left, the disability justice movement is impressively radical, having engaged in direct actions such as Arthur Campbell chaining himself to city buses, or the massive 1990 “capitol crawl” action that resulted in the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, to date the only US legislation granting disabled people any real rights. This is a movement of oppressed people resisting oppression, it belongs on the left. Leftists should be working hard to close the gap between their organizing and that of disabled activists.

Disabled leftists do not like the nonprofit-industrial complex anymore than you do. You will find us in all radical organizations. If there are no disabled people in the room, you are not in a radical space. We are already here, fighting alongside the people who ignore our needs, who mockingly dismiss accusations of ableism within their organizations. So when will our abled and neurotypical comrades stand with us in our struggles? Where can we find a home on the left that is working to build a future we will be able to live in?

Xenofeminism Must Include Disability and Neurodivergence

Xenofeminism corrects many mistakes of the feminists before us, and this should be no exception. We have a lot to offer disability justice. We are anti-naturalist, or rather, against the supremacy of a static idea of nature. If nature is seen as endlessly mutable, then there is no one correct way to be a person, and nature can never be used to justify ableism. If we are to change society to better accommodate disabled people, we can change nature too! We have already been doing this for some time—psych meds improving our brain chemistry to help some of us live better lives, assistive communication technology to help nonspeaking Autistics communicate, prosthetic limbs becoming increasingly complex and improved, even open source and printable human limbs are on the horizon—disabled and mentally ill people have been cyborgs for a long time. As a demographic often made invisible and kept separate from society, we should be explicitly named as a part of a “politics of alienation.”

A vision of a future where disabled and neurodivergent people are free, autonomous, and guaranteed our survival is necessarily one that developed advanced enough technology to liberate us. Xenofeminism is a rare leftist ideology that seeks to use technology to aid us in our struggle and continue developing and improving it in a hypothetical post-capitalist world. Xenofeminism is gender abolitionist, and Autistic people are one of the most trans and nonbinary demographics in existence—there is no question that an Autistic world would not have a gender binary. We would thrive in a post-gender world.

Aside from all the potential xenofeminism has for the liberation of disabled and neurodivergent people, there is a reason we Autistic and disabled people must have a seat at the table—the danger of transhumanism. Transhumanist ideas carry the potential to liberate disabled people or to eradicate us. Disabled people must be present in any conversation that has the potential to turn to eugenics—we cannot trust abled people to keep our best interests in mind, we have learned this too many times throughout history. A transhumanist future without disabled people can only be the product of a genocide. But a transhumanist future that includes disabled and neurodivergent people, alongside trans people, women, and all other victims of alienation, is a truly liberated world.

For that reason xenofeminists must work to incorporate disability and neurodiversity theory into our own body of theory. The open source nature of xenofeminism makes it perfectly suited to such an adaptation, and it is imperative that we do so now. If we do not, our theory is fundamentally flawed. To xenofeminists and other leftists—familiarize yourself with the neurodiversity movement, with the struggles Autistic people are engaged in. Learn to see our enemies as your enemies—treat Autism Moms calling for eugenics as the fascists they are. Learn to view inaccessible spaces as hostile and demand better. Center disabled people in discussions about technology.

The future will be neurodiverse. And that future will include Autistic people of all presentations, of all the fake categories of “functioning” we are sorted into today. It will include psychotic people, it will include people with intellectual disability, it will include plural systems, it will include all of the people society would rather not see or acknowledge. It will include people who can’t contribute as much as others, and people who will never perform labor. While there is one institution, one person under guardianship, we have not abolished prisons. While one person cannot get the medicine or mobility device they need, we do not have healthcare. We disability organizers embrace this radical position—all those who are born deserve to live!


from wia

If one were to “want” to “attempt” a truly GNU-less Linux the biggest issue they would be likely to run into is the fact that not even musl libc is free from the clutches of gmake. The only way to avoid gmake with projects that require gmake is to either not use them at all, or find an alternative. Sadly there are extremely few alternatives, but one stands out in the small crowd; Kati. Kati is Google's solution to needing to avoid gmake, it converts Makefile's into ninja files.

  • Issues

Kati works well but has a few issues under its surface, such as:

  • Requirement of gmake or pre-existing ckati
  • Lack of proper documentation
  • Creation by Google

I hope to fix 2 of these issues in the future, first starting with the gmake dependency; Its build process seems simple... I should be able to make it compatible with POSIX make/bmake.


from greyperson

I’ve been meaning to try this. not sure what I’m gonna put here.

I suppose we’ll see.


from Eris of Disqordia

I want to be invisible. I’m tired of being seen. Because when I’m seen, you don’t see me. I was born cursed, a beast. I don’t want to scare you. I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you. I stay away for your comfort. I stay away from your spaces. I am not seen. I won’t be your monster. I am uncomfortable for your comfort. But that’s okay.

Raped by the monster. He takes my humanity. Thoughts become hard. I cry for help but no one’s there. I am broken, damaged. I am a monster. A beast.

Strength. Rebirth. I’ve killed the monster but I’ve lost touch with the human. What am I? I’m still broken, but I start to see me. In the mirror is not a beast. It’s me. I see me. A new face, but a familiar face. My body changes. I’ve lost my claws and fur. I’ve killed the beast and gained the human. The monsters know.

The war never stops. I have slayed many beasts but there’s no end in sight. The wounds bleed out. The bite and claw marks decorate my body. But I’m not alone. You fight yours too. But you see me and still see a monster. I’ve overcome but yet I am still a beast. A predator. You make your territory clear. You’ll slice me down just the same. And so I fight the monsters alone.

You cry for your lost sisters. How can we lose another one? Yet here I am, lost, bleeding, alone. I beg for you to see me. But sins I’ve not commit can’t be atoned. And so I beg again to not be seen. I want to be invisible.


from wia

When I was younger my asthma was much worse, not that it’s much better after I smoked, but none the less, I had many problems. Breathing was never fun, running was hard, just walking up or down the stairs would leave me gasping for air, doing anything at all was hard. But there were times when my asthma would do quite well sometimes even possibly too well…

Around the time of one of my comas, my asthma had been doing quite well, hadn’t needed my inhalers for multiple months! Yet soon I’d have an asthma attack, one that’d put me in the Hospital, then in a coma, and soon I’d wake up in a different Hospital, all the way in Hamilton… As a child I cared little, doctors would fix me up and I’d be back at home in no time! But I’m not 6 or 9 anymore… and while I’m alive my coma's have, affected me in various ways…

Why can’t I remember…

It’s unlikely that I can recall correctly, but I think I remember being given meds after my coma’s, to “forget what happened“… But I doubt thats correct, since literally all my other memories from then are hallucinations… I could easily blame my memory issues on any number of things, bad meds, depression, etc… but I normally don’t much care, though it makes it almost impossible to figure out what problems are actually mine and not left overs of his…

Sleeping… but for a long time

Waking up from one of my coma’s is about all I can remember from them that I know was real… The feeling is,, so unusual… you don’t know that more then a few hours have passed… but it’s been a week since you were last awake, and as you find that out, if feels almost unsettling, theres a week of time missing for your mind, memory, and internal clock, and it will always be missing…

Might not wake up

I think one of my biggest fears is just, not waking up one day… With each coma it was pressed into me that there was a high chance I could have no woken up, and just died in the coma… it was pressed in to me even more when my lungs collapsed when I was 12, and they avoided putting me in a coma at all costs… Maybe I was more impressionable as a kid, but I have a huge fear of sleep, and just never waking up, but the weirdest part is how it’s taken multiple forms as my desires have changed with time… At first I was scared I would die alone, falling asleep to just never wake up, with no one ever holding me… but now it’s become *bigger**,*** now the fear is that I won’t live long enough to escape my cage, my mind, his body… It’s like I’m trapped in a cage with multiple layers, and the only escape is to change the cage’s outside…

But your only 17!11!!1!

You might be saying “but your only 17!?11!?!!11! Theres no way you’ll die in your sleep yet!11!?!!1!1“ but to take I say, I’m only 17 and have 2 wholes weeks missing from my internal clock… I’m only 17 and have hallucinations where I should have memories… I’m only 17 and I can’t remember anything before I was 13… My age means nothing about what I’ve experienced…


from MoNo

Random diary entry #2

Written in this description was a monster, a tyrannical super being who cannot control itself or control the external effects. which taken a form of a slender and pale man who often covers his face. Habits he formed which became the lust for forbidden acts using deception, most of which in resulted in destruction.

he lived with his mother and father and the two other siblings. he had given away murderous intent towards his family, however not his own parents. he knew no real reason as to why he was so tormented, the reason the man suspects was forgotten a long time ago and he knew it may have been he himself who locked away the memories. the culprit may have been trauma or something else.

The episodes of his mind existing in deadly places, appearances reality shattering beings, experiencing obscure pieces of emotions. fearing of the being above him. he is undoubtedly weak emotionally in contrast to the average mind.

Monsters could be interpreted differently, in which in this experiment is about achieving a metamorphosis.