knots for relaxation and living

Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

So, while large segments of this planet are busy going absolutely batshit these days, I’m working on positive projects that keep me from having a fucking PTSD-fueled nervous breakdown.

Last night, thinking about the current situation, I began having an intense anxiety attack and I’m so done with all this bullshit and madness… I’m going to hunker down and try to live as calmly as I can until the rest of the world decides that religious extremism and nationalistic nuttery is a total dead end for humanity.

I think what we’re witnessing is the apoplectic, ugly demise of ancient worldviews, but anyway.

So much noise. I’m widening the moat and sound-proofing my physical and mental space.

I’m giving a Center For Inquiry talk on Monday, and at this point I’m pretty sure I won’t be doing the public speaking thing again for some time to come…

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I will survive

Kind readers,

it’s been a slow, quiet start to 2017 for me over here.

Peri-menopause continues to make me, you know, not want to go anywhere or do much of anything. The current social climate is certainly not helping either. I’m exhausted and in survival mode. I haven’t been keeping up with online things all that much; even Instagram seems like a lot these days. I tend to tweet a bit in the morning, then I’m done.

On the whole, I’m grateful that the Internet isn’t what it used to be; I’ve walked away from that period of my life in large part. I’m not sure I even care about the possible demise of Net Neutrality. The Internet has been paved over by Fuckbook, where censorship is the norm anyway. With rare exceptions, what’s left reminds me of Bartertown in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. Two men enter, one man leaves.

I got better things to do, and life is short.

And I don’t want to socialize. But then again, that’s never been something I’ve wanted to do much. The only difference is that I honor this need nowadays. I definitely don’t castigate myself for it.

I’m tired. I’ve been in a state of overload.


On the topic of this planet and its current lovefest with authoritarianism: people who think the contemptible Orange Shitfuck sociopath demagogue and his band of science-denying (reality-denying), woman and LGBTQ hating shitmuppets, not to mention fucking asshole preachers like Franklin Graham etc, are fine individuals highly favored by a non-existent celestial tyrant—such people can remove themselves from my life.

I’ve been enjoying The Trailer Park Boys a great deal. I’ve watched all ten seasons and all three films multiple times. I got a signed copy of John Dunsworth’s Dicshitnary.


I love this show because it’s crazy and crass and unpretentious. And very endearing.

I should have a zine available on Etsy in the coming weeks.

I’ll be giving a talk, and signing books, at a Center For Inquiry gathering (Royal Oak on the Canal) at the start of February. That will be my sole “appearance” in 2017.

Speaking of my books, here’s another review of Atheist Tiki Hour:


As I tweeted earlier, “Writing. That’s what I do. What I’ve always done. What I’ll continue to do. Writing is my action; it’s also how I survive. PTSD INFJ”

I’ve been making macramé. I find this activity extremely soothing.





I’ll have macramé pieces on Etsy as well at some point soon. In the back of my mind, I’m entertaining the notion of having a small table at local flea markets this summer.

So, you know. 2017: more books, macramé, self-care, survival. Living my moment.

Your devoted


Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

Well here we are in 2017, and I’m hoping it can’t be worse than 2016. In any event, every time I write “2017” on anything, it feels like relief, so there’s that.

I do feel more exhausted than I’ve ever felt, however. Peri-menopause is in high gear these days, and it’s basically wiping the floor with me. On a more positive note, I’ll finally be done with fertility and all the shit it involved at some point this year… It can’t happen soon enough for me. It’s been (useless) misery since day one, lo these many years ago.

Apart from that, there’s a stressful situation, nothing I want to get into, though I’ll say that Mr P and I are fine and everything is well where I am. But the stressful crap in question has been the cause of PTSD episodes, and I’m coping by withdrawing…

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acknowledging my crank

Kind readers,

it felt really good to put up my 2017 calendars a few days ago. Even if it’s only a psychological boost, I don’t care. The new number simply feels good.

2017 is already off to an excellent start. This week, I got a new bag, a Europa Kipling bag, and it’s perfect. This bag is the best damn bag I’ve ever had.



Bags have always been very important to me, a life essential. And this bag has everything I want and need in a bag. I’ve been singing odes to it.

Also, that little monkey keychain is LOVE. I had a toy similar to it when I was a kid, and I adored it. I plan to get this bag in several colors (such as sandcastle, gorgeous shade), and do seasonal rotations. The bag above is a nice slate grey, almost looks like silver.

In other news, the way my room now looks has been giving me such intense joy, satisfaction, and serenity, I can’t begin to tell you. I posted recent photos in My Hideaway.

When 2017 kicked off, I found out about the latest Livejournal kerfuffle, and that was pretty much it for me. That place has been on life-support for the past few years, and I doubt the Russians have much interest left in it. The Russian users had been keeping it afloat, and LJ isn’t as popular in that country as it once was, so how much time the platform has left is anyone’s guess, especially since the “authorities” there will be cracking down on it now. They don’t have to give a single shit about users in other countries or what these users want or have to say.

I deleted my Livejournal yesterday, and doing this was a relief more than anything. It was like, “finally.” I’d been needing to move on from it for a while. I’ll remember the good times; still, for me, it was time to put the “closed” sign up and

Cafe Sign and Old Car on Route 66

For the past two years or so, every time I went there, it was like I was singing “Lonesome Town” and I felt blue as fuck. I slowly detached myself from it to preserve my joy and well-being. I’m no longer the person I was when I joined Livejournal, either. That whole period of my life is over, and it feels good to be on Imzy now. Imzy’s got a great vibe. It’s different.

I’ll probably delete my Dreamwidth account as well. As far as I can tell, platforms like Dreamwidth and Livejournal revolve around fandom and fandom activities, for the most part, and I’ve moved on from this as well. All the stuff that the HP fandom is into these days, I’ve zero interest in; I don’t relate to any of it. I don’t care about theorizing, or the suspense, or fics, or any of those things. I don’t care about new fandoms.

Whatever turns people’s cranks, sure. But my crank is fine too, and I’m acknowledging my crank these days. It’s felt quite refreshing.

This period of my life feels fabulous. I’ve never been happier than I am now.

I got my 70s Nouveau proclivities, my Wimpy Kid diaries, my toys, my record player, my pens and journals, my Tiki drinks, my macramé, my ukulele, my favorite movies, my tranquil environment, I write and I’ll make zines, and that’s what gives me happiness. I do my own little thing.

I go to the corner store and get my trash can candies and monster stickers, you know what I’m saying?

One of the things I’ve been honoring the most is the fact that I have a pronounced introverted nature. And now that I’m no longer enslaved by abusive superstitions, by rapacious ideologies that took advantage of my wounds, history, and temperament, I don’t flagellate myself for supposedly being “selfish” or “unavailable,” for not chipping away at myself til there’s almost nothing left, for making the choices I make. I don’t condemn myself for having the needs and preferences I have. There’s nothing wrong with my needs and preferences. With me being who and what I am.

So anyway, these days you can find me here on my main website, on my other personal WordPress blog Apostate Island, on Twitter, Instagram, and on Imzy as I’ve already mentioned. That’s enough. I’m glad that I’ve crossed paths with some old friends on a number of these networks, and I’ve made many new friends, too.

I don’t spend nearly as much time online as I once did. That’s not a bad thing at all, either. It’s a very positive development.

It took years for me to feel okay about moving on from an old life and embracing a new life, a life that was in tune with where I was, with who I’d become.

I know this is okay, now.

Doing what’s right for me is okay.

This month, I’ll resume my work on Hit the Road and Be Who You Are.

I’m looking forward to a tranquil winter and kitschy macramé wall-hangings.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

I love mayonnaise

Kind readers,

this photo captures how beautifully tranquil things are over here these days:


I am so damn happy with my new décor in here, you have no idea. It’s a perfect expression of where I am now in life.

I’ve also been listening to vinyl records every day—particularly in the morning—since I got my record player. Analog rules.

Digital technology has its uses, it can indeed be very useful, but especially as something that facilitates the experience of analog, paper, life. Digital is good in conjunction with real shit.

I’ve had it with invisible garbage, I can tell you. Virtual, spiritual… I want things and places that involve my senses.

You know, like when you put a needle on that 33 record. How blissful that is. How I missed this, things like this.

Vinyl is even more enjoyable if you don’t take the whole thing too seriously (this is true of most things). I love my cheap little record player. Embrace crap, I always say. Kind of like this exquisite item I saw on Twitter recently… This is the 70s state of mind that’s given me such joy. The magnificent celebration of refined crap, such as this aspic aquarium with mayonnaise entrée:


This is what you did before the days of President’s Choice. This is my kind of classy right there. That’s what I call inspired.

I’m extremely happy with the enthusiastic response my zine project has been getting.

I remember getting a zine a couple of months ago or whatever, and I almost felt like crying when it got here. A simple thing, folded pieces of paper, a glued on cover image. I felt pleasure in my bones just looking at it, holding it.

I’ll be photocopying handwritten musings of the journal/personal essays variety, adding a color photograph on the cover (the title will be made with an embossing label maker), also photocopied, and stapling the whole thing together. Short zines, which I’ll put in my newly reopened Etsy store. I’m thinking this may well be a monthly thing. It’s very likely that this is how I’ll proceed.


My handwriting, which many people like for some reason, will be the zines’ art, you could say.


At first, I thought I’d write on single sheets of paper, but that felt too “official” and I’d freeze. I don’t want this to be stiff; I want it to be free-flowing and meandering, like my blogging and writing in general. I’ll be writing in Moleskines and photocopying the pages for my zines. So obviously, there will be no editing.

I may also doodle in the zines every now and then. We’ll see.

I’m going to write about life, about my days, about what delights me. Fun, odd stuff; serene stuff; quirky stuff.

So, in 2017 I’ll continue adding books to my repertoire, and I’ll write these zines as well. I’m going to be home, fuck yes—the intense peace and happiness this gives me.

Having an early dinner with a friend later. It’ll be peaceful because this person is also an introvert, and early dinner means quiet restaurant. I do this every few months, hang out with a like-minded person, and it’s enough. The rest of the time, I’m solitary.

I’ll be writing those zines of mine at the local café a lot, no doubt.

Everything is good.

I’ll be letting you all know when the first zine is available, which will be soon.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor