|one of our mutual friends was a cartoonist|
circa 8th grade
I don't know if I'm ready for this yet. It's been a year now since I started melting apart wondering what was wrong with me, just over 7 months since I publicly confessed what it was.
|click pic to see the front of the pix|
I put this online because of this blog post
The Crime Victim's Face
by Joyce Nance
The location for my house is high on a plateau that runs under a huge mountainous archway that opens out onto a flat stone plateau overlooking a beautiful hidden valley with a dolphin pond. I set up base camp, and then dug into one side of the archway to create the first room. This is the result so far of the very first thing I've incorporated into my 'house'.
Yes, my first actual room is a take on Dr. Evil's conference room with a spider spawner room under glass. The shark tank is just outside the conference room. I'm only getting started, guys. A psyche analyst would note that the mobs (bad memories) were retained behind glass for preservation instead of being dealt with and purged. I did get the loot out of the chests, though, all I had to do was break the blocks directly behind them to open them up and clean them out.
Imagine me writing a book about all the monsters in my life, shutting down and becoming one myself, walking among the underworld with other monsters, and coming back out so wrecked up that it's taken years to learn how to tell the stories. Minecraft is sort of like putting your stuff on display in a virtual mind palace. That empty conference room is the staff I wish I had, I think. I've got the material. I've got the stories, but I hid deep in bunkers and base camps (blogs) for years and when the biggest story really did come out, it missed what I had to say.
Well... I'm still going to say it, and a lot of other things, too.