Apr 22
NeuroSwitch Q&A
A reader asked…
“How much faster are you than the typical user? Is there a way to gauge that?”
Okay, with my forehead, I can tap the switch twenty-four individual times in eight seconds. For every other NeuroSwitch user that kind of movement is considered a muscle spasm, and it’s filtered into a single tap. For me, however, the movements are deliberate and accurate.
So, Peter Shann Ford is having to write a lot of new code to make NeuroSwitch responsive enough for me. Fortunately, Peter’s a genius, and he said he’s not leaving until he gets it right.
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Apr 21
NeuroSwitch: Day 3
We did more testing, Peter’s writing lots of new code to accommodate my level of speed. It’s not useable, yet.
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Apr 20
NeuroSwitch: Day 2
I was overconfident yesterday, there’s much work ahead.
I’m exhausted, claustrophobic, not capable of objectively writing about the situation. I mentioned the claustrophobia to someone who I thought would understand. She said, “well, that’s better than agoraphobic.” I assume it was a joke, but it hurt spectacularly. I guess I didn’t expect another wanderer of dark places to kick me in mine. I just don’t think my drowning is funny, nobody’s drowning is funny to me.
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Apr 19
Tomorrow tomorrow
Tomorrow I’ll be able to write more like my old self again.
What will I write? Will the static in my head, the reflected sound of everything, will it lead to anything? I don’t know right now, but I’ll know tomorrow tomorrow.
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Apr 17
Absolutely fucking amazing
The NeuroSwitch is absolutely fucking amazing, and Peter Shann Ford, the fellow who created it, is a genius. I’m not using it right now, but on Monday I’ll have my very own set of NeuroSwitch hardware. There’s a little work ahead, I’m faster than the NeuroSwitch was meant to be used, but Peter will fix it. I’m going to do things people have never seen before. I’m going to be a fucking rockstar.
Apparently, it’s not time for me to be a Catholic alcoholic hobo junkie nun. I’m going to be me again.
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Apr 16
Catholic alcoholic hobo junkie nun
If I’m never able to type again, I’m going to become a Catholic alcoholic hobo junkie nun.
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Apr 15
I don’t know
If the NeuroSwitch doesn’t work tomorrow, I’m not really sure what will happen to me. I don’t know if I have it in me not to absolutely fucking snap. العاب قمار Between everything that’s happened with Sara, and my hand, and the rest of my life, I just feel lost. I’m damaged bad at best.
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Apr 14
“It’s depressing”
So, last night I’m at The Boneyard, a bar where they don’t toss me out. It’s really one of my favorite places in this otherwise dead city. It’s dark, yet warm, friendly. People know me by name, it’s a comfortable place to relax and think about writing, or not think at all. The idea for my Weird Tales poem came to me in this bar.
Anyway, I’m there last night and I decide to throw my twelve favorite Elliott Smith songs onto the jukebox. A guy picking up his drink is talking about music with the bartender, he asks her, “who’s this playing now?” He says, “it’s depressing.” I smile and think to myself, “nice.” It’s interesting how music and writing can affect people in completely different ways. Elliott sings his last song, and I leave, not depressed for a little while.
Oh, and there’s something astonishingly satisfying about listening to Between the Bars, sitting in a bar.
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Apr 13
Isolation
So, lots of isolation, and the inability to type more than fifty words per hour equate to heretofore unseen levels of depression. Loneliness of this kind is really difficult. I never saw myself writing sad short-form poetry/prose, but here we are. I’m so tired of everything, and tired of not being able to fix it.
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