the professor with the golden sunglasses

Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

Aaaaand it’s been a while again.

Side note: I may continue reblogging these personal Apostate Island posts on, otherwise hardly anybody will see them, probably.

So anyway, it’s been a very intense month and a half over here. Life-changing, in fact. I’m still not going to go into specific detail (although if you’ve known me for a bit, you’ll probably have some idea what I’m hinting at here), but it’s been an excruciating thing, and an absolutely fucking glorious thing. It’s something I’ve wanted, desperately so, ever since I was old enough to think.

It’s been excruciating because of the severe Complex PTSD symptoms and behaviors it reignited—think “volcano-level” symptoms—and glorious because of the delirious, hitherto unparalleled freedom that is resulting from it.

It’s normal, maniac-free living.

And whoever thinks it’s easy to extricate oneself from an abusive situation, which is like being trapped…

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Kind readers,

allow me to begin this post by sharing a passage from Tom Hodgkinson’s wonderful book How To Be Idle:

Living in the past is an effective way of retreating from the vulgarity of the present. I have noticed this trait in artists. My friend John Moore, a musician, once a member of the very noisy band The Jesus and Mary Chain, now likes having the middlebrow radio station Classic FM playing at home. “We like to pretend that the modern age doesn’t exist and we are living in the 1920s,” he says. Deference to a former age is not necessarily mere nostalgia and escapism; it can also be a conscious rejection of the values of consumerism and the feeling of being victimized by the constant search for “the latest thing.” Any era will do; for me it is the eighteenth century.

The constant search for the latest thing—what a bore. What a pain in the ass. To me, it’s a form of tyranny, of subjugation. It’s also exhausting.

If you’ve been following this blog lately, you’ll know what my era of choice is: the seventies. The wacky, tacky, sleazy seventies. Disco, shag carpets, “horrid” color combinations. This is a time that doesn’t take itself too seriously.

To me, it’s the very essence of fabulous.

Take polyester shirts, which I’ve begun carefully collecting. Marvelous things.

You know, when you put something on and it just feels so right? Yeah.

Yesterday, I took a bunch of quick shots of me wearing one of these shirts, the green one, which looks like it was made to be worn with my tan suit (needless to say, there will be photos), and my gold mirrored sunglasses, which I adore.

I have a feeling I’m going to end up with a collection of aviator sunglasses too. Because those things fucking rock.

You could say that these photos are a funkadelic tribute to polyester and golden sunglasses. I was lying down on my white shag carpet when I took these.

So. Your place or Las Vegas?










I don’t know how I let so many years go by without golden mirrored sunglasses, really.

To get over tough times, may I recommend feeling fabulous and treating yourself right.

I’m going to have great stuff for you in my upcoming book, Hit the Road and Be Who You Are. It’s going to be a vibrant, live-your-life book.

It’s cold as fuck today, but April and spring are around the corner… I’m looking forward to doing more 70s-riffic photo shoots in funky locales.

More news soon. The first issue of my zine is in the works. I thought it would come out last month, but stuff happened. If it’s not out this month (new computer is imminent), it’ll be coming out next month for sure. In these mad times, there’s something to be said about the power of photocopied booklets you get in the mail.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

a good place

Kind readers,

well, the last few weeks have left me, and persons extremely near and dear to my heart, utterly drained.

I have Complex PTSD, and let’s just say that my symptoms, which had been not too bad, were brutally reawakened and the result was similar to a massive volcanic explosion. You know, the kind where half the volcano collapses and slides into the ocean and generates an emotional tsunami.

This happened roughly two weeks ago.

It’s not what happened that was the cause of my distress; rather, it was the underlying decades of abuse and the final criminal act (threats of physical violence, not to mention the standard verbal and psychological abuse) that precipitated said event, which was already in the planning stages.

The event itself was good, if incredibly stressful. Freeing yourself from an abusive situation is often agonizingly difficult. Those who think it’s easy can fuck right the fuck off, and then fuck off some more.

I’m not ready to disclose more details yet, but suffice it to say that a certain batshit abuser’s reign of terror has at long last come to an end. The person near and dear to my heart who was still most affected by said batshit abuser (he is the reason I have C-PTSD), is now safe. A lawyer, and other people acting in an official capacity, are involved. Papers are being filed. There has been support from a large number of people.

I can tell you that the batshit abuser will never, ever see my face again. He can fuck off forever. As far as I’m concerned, he has ceased to exist. He is, and has only ever been, an insidious abuser. Read the chapter entitled “Captivity” in Judith Herman’s book Trauma and Recovery, and you’ll have a small idea of the hell we’ve been through.

Unless you’ve endured something like this, you can’t begin to imagine what our existence was like. The mindgames. The surveillance. The cruelty. A psychologist described him as a “very disturbed individual.”

But now, we’re free. We have escaped the prison without bars and the despotic manipulator, who is in fact nothing but an emperor without clothes.

The reality of this is slowly setting in and it is wondrous. It’s been a lifetime in the making.

Things are going to be better than they’ve ever been.

Throughout all of this, Mr P has been a rock by my side.

Because of everything that’s been going on, I haven’t been able to focus on much besides keeping myself together. I will, however, be getting a new computer soon and working on books and zines again, and setting up my Renouveau 70 macramé shop…

Here’s my latest wall-hanging. A couple more, and I’ll start listing them.


I ordered another vintage 70s disco shirt and golden aviator sunglasses.



They arrived today. Here I am, wearing the sublime mirrored sunglasses.


There will be asexy disco shirt photos soon. I must say that the shirts really are magnificent. Dat polyester, baby.

It’s very quiet here today. Mr P and I are resting. I got a bag of bacon chips and Mystery Science Theater 3000 DVDs.

Also, toys make everything better. I got these courtesy of a dear friend who sent me a gift certificate to cheer me.


I’m going to relax now. Me and my loved ones are doing good. We’re taking care.

I’ve learned that in life, you shouldn’t regret something didn’t happen sooner; there’s no point. If it didn’t happen sooner, it’s because it couldn’t. Instead, you should be grateful that it happened at all. When something great happens, when you get to a good place, that’s already a hell of a lot.

Enjoy your great moments.

Okay, the bacon chips really want me. Toodles.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

funky resistance

Kind readers,

I’ve been actively combating the whole… you know what I’m talking about, by living my joy to the max and taking care of myself and creating.

This is how I’m resisting.

Also, the 70s are my new religion. Alle-fucking-luia.

Yesterday, I spent part of the day creating a website that will be dedicated to showcasing my macramé art and zines.

It’s called Renouveau 70. I may wind up getting a dot com for it eventually.

I love making macramé so much, it’s like a drug. It’s very good for my over-active introvert brain. It gives me a good balance. Writing is demanding; you’ve got to let your mind rest.

Here’s a piece I made on Wednesday:


The only problem with my macramé is that I’d like to keep it all! But once I have five more pieces or so, I’ll start listing them on my Etsy. To keep up with all the latest news about that, follow Renouveau 70. You might want to follow my Apostate Island getaway too, because soon I won’t be reblogging it here anymore.

Here’s my awesome market booth banner, which arrived yesterday:


I wanted something colorful and cheerful, and this fits the bill very nicely.

I’ve got lots of macramé cord on the way, with colors like oatmeal, rust, forest, wine… I can’t wait to make wall-hangings with these.

Also on the radar: photo sessions. To be more specific, photo sessions that will feature me wearing clothes like the glorious vintage 70s shirt I got this morning. It’s going to look fantastic with my tan suit.


I found it on a website called The Rusty Zipper. This is the beginning of a funky collection, let’s just say.

Next, I’ll be on the lookout for Mr Lahey type glasses. If I could find mirrored ones, holy fuck that would be magnificent.

This summer, Mr P and I want to visit flea markets, so watch out! I’ll be on a 70s hunt, that’s for sure. Gimme my mushroom mugs and shit.

Next week, I’ll probably take a deep breath and finally go buy that new computer I’ve been needing for a while. Then, once it’s sat in the box for a few days and I’m mentally ready, I’ll set up and get back to work on Hit the Road.

I was supposed to speak on Monday, but for a number of reasons, I asked if it could be cancelled. And I’m like, done with speaking. Done. Podcasts now and then, that’s all right, but speaking makes me miserable and anxious, and I’m done with making myself miserable and anxious.

And it’s time for more macramé.


The 70s are beautiful.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

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