It's my first real try with facial retouching. I got rid of some glaring wrinkles caused by the pose. I love this picture because those are my real, unretouched eyes. No filters, no hue/saturation changes, nothing. Exactly as captured by the camera. The fact that I am painted gold may have something to do with it. I wanted something that indicated I was different from the rest. But something that was as revealing, as my eyes are. Also, I never eat apples. I was going to change the color of my hair, but it turns out that is a big pain in the ass that requires more precision than my poor IR mouse can give me.
There's the original image, so you can compare and see just how awkward my retouching is.
I've picked a poem. Great, short piece to debut with. It's called "Get the Girl". I repeats the line "get the girl" a few times consecutively and I've decided while I'm remastering it, I'm going to play with the pitch of the repeated line. I got the idea listening to "Hollywood" by Madonna this afternoon. And it turns out I can do it with Audition, no add-ons needed. So, we'll see how that goes tomorrow. I wish they had an app ready for Android. That's what Doc and Kelli have. So I can't play with it and see how it works. And after tomorrow, I will have a vested interest in how it is doing.
Becoming a sensation has taken a good twenty years. This could be my ride.
If you have an Apple device, the app is Clammr, no "e". Short bursts (18 seconds) of sound with the opportunity to listen to more of what you hear. A quick way to sort through new music/podcasts/spoken word/comedy. I'll be releasing a piece a week, unless there is demand for more. Then I'll decide what to do if that happens.
Doc and Kelli and I decided the only thing for me to do is to appeal the welfare office's decision. The thing that really burns is that they used my SSI payments in the total monthly income, but listed as the FIRST reason they rejected me the fact that I was not on SSI. So they know they're wrong. Do they fuck with everyone like this? I'll take my toothless self in there and cry all over them until I get a fair hearing. If I don't take my meds for a couple of days before hand, I could make a real scene. Asshats.
Tomorrow I have to call the psych/rehab hospital and try to get a copy of my records. Reason 2 was that I had never been inpatient. Issue three was that I never received a Certificate of Completion from Rehab, which the records will show, was aborted and I was put in the psych ward because my meds disabled me completely.
Doc and I got in a fight about telling my shrink about the continuing hallucinations. Well, not so much a fight as a disagreement with volume. I don't want to tell him about the continuing hallucinations and negative symptoms. By the psych rules in Canada, I already qualify for Treatment Resistant Schizophrenia (from here on to be known as TRS). Their consensus says, resistance to two antipsychotics used for 6 weeks or more and a patient is TRS. I've been through 5-8. I believe that I am still experimenting is either my shrink won't give up on me, or he doesn't know enough about schizophrenia. I prefer to think it's the former. It isn't one of his specialties, but after treating me for 5 years, it pretty much could be.
Doc asked reasonably what was so bad, besides the obvious about being TRS? So I broke into my new store of knowledge about how it is treated around the world. The drug Clozapine. The one that can cause deadly blood poisoning. And usually rounds of ECT in concert with it. Weekly trips to the lab. Worsened cognitive behavioral symptoms. And in some, the Thorazine shuffle. Or we revisit the Haldol. Which Kelli is four square against. She says she lost me the years I was on Haldol. She's told me stories. I don't dare read the entries in here for that time.
I'm working so hard right now. Trying to bring out the inner artist. I've decided to dedicate this part of my life to Amanda Palmer. I got her book, "The Art of Asking" today for the Kindle, and I'm going to read that BEFORE I read Prince Lestat, which I also got. She seems to have it all together. Though I know she is human and readily admits that. I think she has a lot to teach me. If I do "make it", she will have been my muse. The persona that I cling to in empty hours of apathy, waiting for my creative spark to come back to me for a fleeting moment of productivity and expression.
It came too easily to me before. And I pissed it away like I promised I never would. This time, karma is making me work for it. Making me think outside of the playpen inside of my brain where I normally stay with my toys.
And somehow in this I have to find a balance with my mental illness. To be honest, I'm kind of used to Shadow Man, and even, up to a point, Little Girl. The very idea that I plan to exorcise them with paint on glass is almost as good as doing it. I know it's them talking to me, keeping me from it. They don't like the idea of being made material, even in 2-D. They're like pouty ghosts.
Doc noticed a couple of things about me with the med change that has now taken full effect. I don't rock back and forth anymore. I don't shake my legs anymore. And I don't mind the silence. I even went in to bed with Chewy last night with no noise. He's ordering me a cable box for my room this week when we get square with the cable company. Because on the weekends I can't have the computer in my room at night. He's up all night with it. And my mp3 player runs on real live batteries and gets about an hour to one battery. So that's out. I could easily plug my speakers into it, but no. And my stereo, such as it is, is out in the studio. And it is integral to the structure of my worktable so I can't just go out and grab it and bring it in.
Tonight will be fine. I think I'll put "Labyrinth" on repeat all night and sleep to Bowie's rambunctiousness.