AnOublietteofThought

where wisps of words wander in aimless stillness

He did not settle upon my heart with the coziness of a warm blanket. He clawed his way through terror and rejection, roaring in silent defiance until I granted audience. Until I opened my eyes to see what stood before me.

It is said, that when the leaves blush in longing dance, air and water will unite to set flame to ways long rotting. What they forgot to mention is that the earth must tremble, cracking until mountains rise to spew fire into the heavens. Forever igniting our best minds to blaze in remorse. The unyielding storm holds no syllables in that passage.

Storms do not yield. They flood. They rupture. They clean the slate and leave a debris field of memories for us to learn from. But we haven't learned. Neither have I. Neither has he. We just are. Two victims of a cunning value. Little more. Little less.

We are taught that we must never gaze into the eyes of our heroes. One does not ascend to such great depths by doing what they are told. I dared to peer into the travesty of his gaze, and in that monumental moment of a not-so-insignificant contact—

the world tilted.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Plaiting the tactile indifference of a parting disposition, he scoops a seeded reverence. Always plucking. Always stranded beneath a lofty crown. Always his awl weighs the scratchings of a scandalized plot, but he roots no spurning wonder. Inconsistencies forever draft his hand.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

I think I'm still in the middle of acknowledging self-compassion with this week. In my current state, I am attempting to make decisions in which I can get annoyed with myself out of what I think might just be a self-taught and experience-learned ignorance.

My migraines are still coming and going on a dime. I am referencing the incapacitating variety. I must acknowledge that I've had a pretty constant intense headache for at least a few weeks now. I'm so capable of pushing intense headaches/non-incapacitating migraines to the side, that I don't do myself any favors with the tendency. An example would be I'm currently tapping on my phone though I can feel the visual nausea, and the majority of the last twelve hours has been excruciating and incapacitating. The smart kitty would completely disregard her phone.

In fact, though I have the backlight as dim as possible, it's bright enough for me that my eyes feel like they're being stabbed, and I can feel myself starting to get dragged back under. I'm trying to ignore it because the sleep paralysis has sucked today. I can tell I'm not going to succeed, so I'm attempting to race towards a point where this entry at least feels finished.

Stuck. In these moments, I feel stuck. I must base my success on the smallest of most basic accomplishments when like this. It both annoys the hell out of me, but also gifts me with the recognition of how fortunate I am. As it could be so much worse. I have had many people get very annoyed with me for saying that. In many ways, I hope they remain ignorant enough to stay annoyed. In others, I wonder if it'd have a positive change for the world if more understood just how much worse it could be. I am really damn lucky.

With that said, my weight loss stalled this week. I expected it to be worse with my comfort seeking eating choices. Exercise has been purely minimal. I am moving. That's what is most important. My mood is positive, though I've had a few moments of not exactly despair. More longing, I think. Longing for the impossible can suck at times. Alas, I still find myself doing it. I think, at times, it has kept me sane. To believe in possibility can be a superpower. I remind myself that if I purely listened to what experts or popular opinion say, the last 35 years of my life would be drastically different, because I would have never walked again. Not only have I walked, I've ran a marathon, and I am not a long-distance runner in any way, shape, or form.

It feels a bit silly to bring something so old up, but it is a good reminder that believing in myself can equate to most encouraging achievements. What it can't do, apparently, is stave off the migraine-induced sleep I'm being pulled towards.

The world is changing faster than I think most of us are capable of acknowledging. That sucks, and is frightening. However, it's fascinating to observe on a multitude of levels. How fortunate to see it. I do not like having the multiple weaknesses during such a time. I'd much prefer capability as a given. Alas, it is not. Nor is it really for any of us.

I am sickened by my government. The choices being made for all of us outright pisses me off. That a bunch of spoiled and neglectful imbeciles can ecstatically create so much hardship and destruction while being cheered on by the very people they eagerly wound creates a soul-deep emotion within me that I do not have a name for. I feel a very strong sense of loss for our reality. We might just be the pinnacle of failed experiments for our Universe. I can only hope that we or other creatures will learn something positive before devastation proves to be a relentless houseguest.

For now, my nose wishes me to finish with my alphabet poking before it moves out of the way and my eye gets a new pounding to contend with. 😸 I will be most pleased if I do not get pulled back into the same dream/nightmares. All in all, I am counting this week as a success. There's plenty I did not get done that I wanted to. Yet I still have found myself smiling more than not, and I have not beat myself up for the unavoidable.

I am learning that expectation can be one of the most vile systems in existence. Like many things, it's a positive as long as it isn't misused nor blindly delivered. I am learning to be less expectant and more accepting of myself. At least that's what I'm telling myself. The beauty of learning is both the allowance and expectation to consistently fuck up along the journey. No wonder the long-awaited arrival is most generous in giving the option to expand and continuously learn with both our greatest leaps and our almost constant stumbles.

How's that for dragging oneself across the finish line? Perhaps there's a reason humans learn to crawl before we walk...The training wheels never really go away.

Written August 9, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

Morning lacerates glib instincts with the reckless hollow of a vacant corridor. We walk in step with the silent syllables stranding us as survivors from a strangely productive and uncomplicated design.

Too thrilled to have neglected the intolerance of a gluttonous till, we remain blindsided of every course-corrected negligence. In fact, we have a peculiar pattern of peddling headfirst towards the worst-case expenditure with an infallible persistence.

I'd be petty if I demonstrated care. The dare has always been how we'll wear awareness when the inhibited inflate their preferred indignation and disgrace fealty with a platform staged to be stunning.

My feet drag against a well-timed send-off while you eagerly race towards an ill-groomed subjugation. The state of our nation brays, nonetheless.

Written August 9, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

late night linens fall—a sequestered alcove velocity's reminiscent failed report contorts a devastating scale lopsided and pantomiming all retail's a reconstituted jail cell, sale, come sail away once failed replay every quest's a state of malpractice spurned to prey upon light's thread of few today judgement's withdrawn open eyes tis no surprise all warranties have been redacted

Written August 8, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

... A poem within a dream I hope to not revisit.

Personal log: Experimental

I LOVE pebble ice! I've been experimenting. So far, my favorite way to crunch and munch on them is with a sprinkle of electrolytes. Not just any electrolytes. Oh, no, no, no, no. Hibiscus electrolytes with a tiny dash of ground freeze-dried rosehips. The latter isn't necessary. It's just additional happy yum.

The air pockets in the ice end up wicking the liquified powder up into the ice via capillary action, so every morsel of crunch is an explosion of flavor! There's so much crunch! So much cold! I'm getting quite the dopamine hit, and my oral fixation tendency is pretty happy right now.

On the plus side, having zirconia teeth means I can crunch my happy little heart out.

On the negative side, canines go ouch when I bite wrong. Also, I should probably slow down on the crunching because my tongue is numb enough that I sound ridiculous trying to speak.

I am in a very happy place, sensory-wise. It only takes a tiny sprinkle because the cold amplifies the tart sweetness. My trigeminal nerve is all brrrrrrr. Which is admittedly a wee bit euphoric. And I am shivering with delight though it is currently 101°F outside.

I have always been a sucker for this type of tea. Preferably iced. Having it sucked into the ice with the addition of electrolytes... holy moly! I can only think of one thing that would make this better right now. Alas, it's not something that is going to happen. One day, I shall ensure that it will. I'm not sure I'd be capable of handling such bliss, but I'm definitely up for the challenge!

Okay. Enough of that. I do recommend an insulated tumbler so that the glass doesn't sweat. My preference is my 12 ounce Simply Modern Voyager Series Lunar Iced Coffee cup. I don't know if they're still available. Black stainless steel with embossed crescent moons and stars. I normally rarely use it because I don't like coffee and it's rarely cool enough for hot cacao. I shall now use it every single day!

This...This is euphoria!

I should probably research if there's a safety limit on ice crunching. It is sooooo good. It's like sour punch straws whisked into frozen, liquidy, hydrating, goosebumps producing ambrosia. I'm so happy.😹

My intoxicated mouth and I now return you to my normally darker scribbles. Maybe. Or maybe not. It could be, dear journal, that my writing is heading down a much more zany lane until I get accustomed to this sensory high. I think all living quarters should come with this delicious concoction. Wars would surely end.

Did I mention it turns the ice a gorgeous pomegranate color? No? It does. My senses don't know what's beguiled them, but they are a most willing and amorous supplicant.

Written August 6, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

Round thee a square observer mounted high in vivid gleen. I yearn to drink your ardor and every sip of sin between.

Written and painted August 6, 2026 © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

Woke up and doodled to shake off a dream. I can't figure out how to see my typing in the editor if I try to place it after an image. In fact, I can't see the last line in every post. It makes editing a hassle. I shall figure it out one day. Hopefully, one day soon.😸

Alabaster scars reframe a chivalry taught demanding. To fence a quote disclaimer remote: “Being a male is a matter of birth. Being a man is a matter of choice “ I recognize the irony of that invoice. The sum of all clauses I refuse to applaud. Mostly because it's usually an act. There's little tact, and constant redacted matter-of-fact, but the monster looms frank, and I find myself consistently smitten.

Written August 5, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

I had Bride playing in the background while droning through some boring paperwork. My muse wouldn't stop prodding. Needless to say, I gave in and bought myself a few minutes peace.

Forbidden, this failing stoop. Cracked artifice bludgeons a sway, and I, lone psychopomp, crunch whither for pay. I'd rather the gather that slathers all matter stop segueing as batter and begin to mend the bigger picture. The structure's not stricter. It's the fractures that blister, but no one is willing to give alms for balms' sake. They must have a take. A joy of pretend. There's no paying attention, nor listening. Just mend. Let's play “fix” to give praise. Let's corrupt their learned ways. Let's suggest with finesse there's more fruit with our sways. Let's not do a damned thing, but damn just for kicks. We can split, sort, and label, then confine what might mix. It's useless—the approved gist—All for One. One not all. How confounding, the pounding, that persists in doomed thrall. I resist to persist and elope what remains when story crafts affliction as addiction: ordained.

Written August 5, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

I know. I did say it unlikely I'd succeed. This is basically my response to an email. I, obviously, will not be sending it. It'd zip right over head anyway. Insert sarcastic end remark somewhere around ———-> HERE.

I've been trying to let the noise quieten, and to walk away from everyday writing. To listen, but need not pick up pen. To ignore the outpouring again and again.

It can't be understated—this urge. It more a habit where thoughts and conscious converge. At the very least, it's an organizing boss. But are the orders worth scribing? Should I void them as loss?

We can't scurry forward if stuck in a rut. Mayhaps, I should merely journal. I think I'd enjoy that, but...

It's more an excuse to still scribble absurdly. To give rhyme to reason and alliterate demurely. I almost changed that end. Let's do it with rhythm instead, and pretend.

I've been trying to let the noise quieten. I just can't decide if it's to lighten or frighten. Perhaps it does both, or neither at all. The words are still there. I've just built them a wall.

...

Ever the ongoing theme with me. Ever the ongoing theme.

On a side note: I now have an ice machine that makes pebbled ice! If a reader has been to Sonic before, it's that kind of ice! I'm utterly ecstatic! Maybe I should write a poem about my adventures with ice. I'm not going to. The onomonopia possibility does humor me.

The last two days I've dreamed of my cats. These days they tend to only show up in my dreams when I need comfort. I'm pretty sure I don't need comfort. One showed up sleeping with me as she always did, but it then turned into her needing fed. Two kittens I didn't recognize showed up as well. Someone I know placed the food I was feeding them into spaghetti, and then gave them the spaghetti. Needless to say, I blew a gasket. I barely managed to stop a kitten from choking. I woke up absolutely infuriated.

Last night, part of my dream involved my more reclusive beauty. She was the first to pass, and she rarely shows up in dreams. We were in a small car. I was taking us somewhere, nervous about getting over my head in traffic. We ended up having to carefully turn around because the road we was on ended up flooded in a lake as far as they eye could see. We backtracked, had to crawl through an over-filled van, and the last I remember she was snuggled against me in my bed where she used to lay. My eyes tear up thinking about it. It's some fifteen years since she passed.

I wonder if I will dream of the other tonight. I miss them. Very much so. I am guessing that I always will. I look forward to when I'm in such a place where I can once again have a little purrball glued to my side, but in an independent way, of course.

I certainly wouldn't feed them spaghetti! Cats are obligate carnivores. Stop pretending otherwise for convenience. Ugggh!

Written August 5, 2026. © 2026 AnOublietteofThought.

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