What Do You Mean; To Be Human

     Colors are prevalent in my life in a way that can sometimes be provocative to me--not at all in a sexual sense in this case, but when I catch sight of a natural rainbow anywhere in my environment, it almost inevitably catches my attention. I need to find out where the light source is, and what's causing the refraction, if I can. When I notice a customer sporting a particular color scheme, I'll often compliment their ensemble.      Colors are also especially prevalent to me in the sense of the associations we tend to make with each color. The first thing that comes to mind when I consider the meanings of different colors is chakras. The full spectrum is present in age old ideas about how the body works, especially in Hindu culture, from what I understand. When you play a game of telephone for so long, a lot of the meaning is almost certain to be lost in such a system, but over the centuries, this perception of the body has persisted, and continues to m...

     So I know I do a lot of self-disclosure, both on this blog, and in general in my day to day life. I remember when I was still more active on tumblr seeing posts going around describing how difficult it is to draw the threshold of when you become A Narcissist, versus when you're actually just contributing to a conversation in a healthy way. To this day, I have a difficult time distinguishing where that threshold is. Because of my history and my heritage and background, I feel as though I'm constantly having to check myself for narcissism, because I recognize myself as being liable. I also recognize myself as being somewhat liable to enact problematic behaviors other than simple excessive attention to myself, such as really subtle racism, and previously personally acknowledged misandry. As my view of myself develops, so too does my psychscape, and I'm finding more and more steep slopes and cliffs than I had realized could be present.      I typically do...

     Abel held the spoon out in front of him, basin downward, his fist in the air waiting, as though to be bumped by a comrade's. His eyes were round and open wide, watching, staring, measuring the curve of the spoon, the whiteness of the lack of blood over his knuckles, the tremble so subtly beginning that only he could see it because he could also feel it. The village in his head was in such a commotion that the commotion of the cafeteria around him was simply negligible. He was learning.      "DROP THE SPOON!" Said one voice, wanting to hear the clatter he knew he could anticipate. Physics were so simple, children's games where all the lines are scripted, but you always say them anyway. "If you don't drop that spoon soon, I'll knock--"      "It's going to curl up into dust in your hand if you keep squeezing tightly enough," said another. The metal was hard and warm on his skin, and while Abel knew with his logic that the spoon was ...