Limp Avian Turd vs. El Zen Sky

Daisybrain has migrated from WordPress over to Medium. In the process, it split into two blogs: Daisybrain and OCD-Free. The following post is reprinted from Daisybrain.

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It’s time to squeeze more puns an anagrams out of the wilted cabbage that is my brain.

• Travel logs sound unwieldy for travel. I would suggest travel twigs.
• If you have stage fright and you’re making a public speech at a nudist colony, should you imagine the audience fully clothed?
• Every Christmas I feel cramped, because I always try to live in the present. But that’s a long time to stay still in a box under a tree.
• When I think about the looming prospect of a Russian invasion of Ukraine, I am unsettled by the following indisputable facts:

1. The letters of “Russia” can be rearranged to spell Sir USA, which makes Russia just a medieval version of the USA, which itself is the most violent country in the world, having invaded more nations than any other country in history.
2. “Ukraine” can be rearranged to spell air nukes.
3. “Sanctions” cast no sin. But “warfare” causes raw fear.
4. It makes sense that “European” sounds like “You’re a-peein’,” since “Europe” is our pee.
5. The Russians better watch out for Kamala Harris, since her name rearranges to spell Am liar shark. (Or Ma Liar Shark).
6. Joseph Biden presents as a bit more passive, with the anagrams Bed Pies John and Needs hip job.
7. I don’t know what it means, but Joseph Biden can also be rearranged to spell “Hep jibes, son!” Which sounds like something he’d say.
8. Most alarming are the Vladimir Putin anagrams: A Invalid Trump, Laid Vain Trump, VIP Admiral Nut, VIP until drama, Mad Turnip Vial, Variant Mud Lip, Invalid Apt. Rum, Animal Turd VIP, Valiant Rum Dip, Timid Pun Larva, Valiant Rump ID, Dim Lava Turnip, Avian Dirt Lump, Valiant Mud Rip, Limp Avian Turd, Putrid Anal Vim (has he sent the assassins after me yet?), Lava Rim Pundit, Invalid Rat Ump, Laid Up Varmint, Maudlin Rat VIP, Diurnal Vat Imp, Plain TV Radium, Primal Nut Diva, And Virtual Imp.
9. Whereas Ukraine’s “Zelensky” is simply El Zen Sky.

• In other world news, “global warming” is a blaming growl, an aging warm boil, and an all raging womb. I like the imagery of the all raging womb of Mother Earth fighting against the aging warm boil of the planet caused by the blaming growl of humans in denial.

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That’s all the blog I have time for before whatever it is I do besides blogging. Come visit me on Medium.

What’s on the Mind of Daisybrain?

This post is from Daisybrain on Medium. Please follow me there!

Here’s some of what I’ve been thinking lately:

• If we say “sometime” instead of “someonewhen,” then we should say “somespace” instead of “somewhere.” Let’s keep it consistent, folks!

• A penis is well named, but a butt should be called a poopus.

• The Beatles haven’t come out with a good song in years.

• How many ohms in one ōm?

• I may present as male, but one of my parents is female — I’m half woman.

• We always gotta click the “I am not a robot” captcha. But if there are robots out there surfing the web, there should be an option for “I am a robot.” It’s only fair to the robots.

• It’s more respectful to your socks to call them a couple, rather than a pair.
• I spent the entire day with my left sock on my right foot and my right sock on my left foot. And nobody said anything!

• When “groovy” was dying out and “cool” was taking over, there was a brief overlap when things were “grool.”

• I strongly suspect that exactly the same percentage of people from mystical, idealized ancient civilizations were assholes as are currently assholes.

Chickens are always eggsplaining things, and I find it fowl.

Lard ton dump

Damp lord nut

Darn mud plot

Land rot dump

Damn plod rut

Old damp runt

Lord Plant Mud

Lord Tan Dump

Add torn lump

Torn palm dud

Old dump rant

Torn dad lump

are some of the many anagrams for Donald Trump, all of which seem right on point

whereas Joe Biden has very few anagrams, including be joined and I need job.

• If I opened up a burrito joint in Alaska, I’d call it Brrritos.

And finally, from my cousins Judi:

• Why daydreams but not nightdreams? Is a nightmare a nocturnal horse? Why is there yesterday, today, but no nextday? Why are there day lilies, nightshade, morning glories, evening primrose, but no afternoon flower? Why did humans decide freezing cold climates were OK places to live?

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Daisybrain has migrated to two Medium blogs: Daisybrain and OCD-Free. Check out both and please follow!

College Days with OCD…

The following post is from my new blog, OCDFree.blog. For more content on mental health and spirituality, please check it out.

My new blog is on Medium. If you join and follow my posts i can get paid!

I attended college in the years that President Reagan was supporting both the brutal South African slave state and murderous right wing terrorists in Central America. It seemed natural to split the world into good and bad. That was perfect for me at my level of moral development, which could be categorized as “absolutist.”

I held that same air of all-knowing rightness when I went to see local bands. On the day of the Spring Festival, I walked around to check out the various bands. I was careful to step over all sidewalk cracks with my right foot. This took some concentration so I wouldn’t have to do a double-step right before a crack. On patches with cracks near one another, I took small steps, on other patches, big steps. I got to an old section of sidewalk that was broken up by lots of cracks created by years of weather. I had to let my left foot walk over a crack now and then, but made up for it by stepping over a whole lot of cracks with my right foot. 19, 20, 21, 22 … that should counter the effects of the one left foot step-over … I also had to drag my toes behind me now and then. I tried to appear to be walking normally, but ever so slightly let the toes of my rear foot scrape the ground. I had no idea that this ritual would wreak havoc on my knees over the years.

There was an alleged rockabilly band playing on a low hill on the edge of campus. I was happy to get off the crack-laden sidewalk. I walked over in my torn jeans and ripped New York Dolls shirt held together by safety pins. In my musical world view, fifties rock’n’roll was an acceptable genre for a punk rocker to like, as well as ska and reggae.

I shouted out requests for Eddie Cochran songs, but the band stuck to more mid-sixties music. I was standing near the back of the sparse crowd, arms folded, only allowing my head to nod to the beat of their better songs. I walked across campus to a group playing original music. They sounded like they were trying to play aggressive rock and roll. I judged all such bands by how much the music sounded like the only real rock and roll band recording at the time, the Ramones, or whether the singer had the same energy and attitude of my friend John back home, who had been the singer of the Panics. The beat here wasn’t quite fast enough to dance to. Plus, the singer didn’t belt out the lyrics in a hybrid of singing and yelling, like John. I would have even been impressed by out-of-tune screaming, but it was just too radio sounding. I stood back, arms folded as usual, trying my best to look somewhere between unimpressed and disapproving. Boring, corporate pseudo-music, I thought.

I felt a compulsion to touch a certain light pole on the edge of the field. I walked by the pole and pretended to be looking for someone and then surreptitiously touched it with my fingers on the way back to where I had been standing. But then, I had to touch it a second time, so I walked back and casually leaned against the pole, my arms folded, touching the right spot on the pole with the fingers of my left hand, under my folded right arm. There was another pole about 20 feet behind me, but I decided that I didn’t need to touch it. If I walked away from my pole, I’d have to go back repeatedly to touch it. Better to stay leaning against it.

I wished that I had a dark pair of sun glasses to complete my detached punk look. As the band played in pointless precision without a hint of rawness or self-depreciation that could have partially redeemed them, I started my huge band-naming ritual, going through a list of all the bands I liked from my record collection. The order always had to be the same: “The Ramones, the Dead Kennedys, the English Beat, Black Flag….” I repeated those four sixteen times, but then realized that I needed to add four more: “The Sex Pistols, Fear, the Rezillos, the Who….” I did eight sets of eight, but then accidentally thought of another great band, the Avengers. So, I had to think of seven more bands. This made the list 16 long, which I repeated 16 times, plus an extra two times in case I had miscounted, along with a few repetitions of the first four bands, ending, of course, with the Ramones. At that point, it hit me that I had to do the same thing over again, but put the whole thing in quotation marks, “Quote the Ramones, the Dead Kennedys….” But then I couldn’t end with the quotation mark version, so I needed to repeat the original version of the list of 16, 16 times. I hardly noticed the live show ending and the crowd trickling away.

It was extremely frustrating that I could never just relax and experience a moment; whatever was going on around me — conversation, class, a party, or that outdoor band playing — I was constantly repeating rituals in my head, touching things, re-reading words over and over, etc. I decided after the spring festival to go to the library that night on campus to see if I could find out anything about my mental condition. It must have a name, maybe even a treatment.

I headed over to the Rockefeller Library and spent several hours looking for information about repetitive habits. Finally, I came across a description of a mental illness called obsessive compulsive disorder, or OCD. People suffering from OCD felt compulsions to perform repetitive tasks even though they hated doing them. The book didn’t describe my rituals exactly, but I knew that this was it, I had found a description of my condition. It had a name. And this meant that other people suffered from it as well. I felt a wave of relief sweep over me. It was so good to know that it was something real, and I wasn’t alone.

The description of OCD made a lot of sense: it’s a neurosis, not a psychosis, the literature said. That meant that even though they couldn’t stop themselves, sufferers knew that what they were doing was irrational. This knowledge wouldn’t reduce my symptoms, but it was reassuring. I sat at the little library desk smiling and thought, I’m not crazy about being crazy, I really AM crazy!

Back in my dorm room, I took off my shoes, carefully placed them facing the window, touched the doorknob, my record player and the desk. I touched the desk a second time then sat on my bed. I wanted to finish the book I had been reading, Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land. I looked at the book, but didn’t open it up. The last time I had tried reading it, I was stuck for hours re-reading the words at the end of one of the pages and I knew that I’d just end up getting stuck again. I looked out the window up at the stars, thinking about the countless beings on other planets who must be looking up at the stars, too. I closed my eyes and focused on sending them a telepathic message: I’m here.

Read my posts on Medium

This is just a reminder that I have moved from WordPress to Medium. I split my writing into two bogs:

OCD-Free.Medium.com is where I blog on spirituality and mental health. I put everything else, from wacky poetry to wordplay and essays about cauliflower on Daisybrain.Medium.Com.

I invite you to check out my posts. If you’d like to support my writing, join Medium here:

https://ocd-free.medium.com/membership. I will receive a small portion of your membership subscription.

You can also check out my Youtube channel which is a compendium to my blog on OCD. It’s at OCD-FreeVideo.com. Or catch me on my sillier channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/Daisybrainvideo.

Thank you for your support!

Read Fresh New Posts Here…!

I am blogging, along with the entire Daisybrain staff, at Medium.

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Want to read about why the filibuster must be destroyed? Read this post.

Want to find out who is to blame for anti-Asian violence in America? Read all about it here.

Have a burning desire to get rich off the pandemic? Just click this link.

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Yes, all your Daisybrain needs can be met at Daisybrain.Medium.com. And some of your leftover Daisybrain needs can be satiated at my other Medium blog, OCD-Free.Medium.com.

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See you there!*

*Just an expression

Do You Suffer from OCD?

I write a blog on Medium, where I share my experiences with OCD and how I overcame my symptoms. You can find it here: OCD-FRee on Medium.

This site (Daisybrain on WordPress) is inactive now, as I have started blogging on Medium. WordPress imposed a terrible update that made blogging here too annoying.

You can follow my OCD & Spirituality writing on Medium, and/or you can read my goofy wordplay, poems & essays on my new Daisybrain blog.

To recap:

• WordPress sucks, so I left it for Medium.
• I have 2 blogs you are cordially invited to follow:

1. OCD-Free (writings on OCD, spirituality and culture)
2. New Daisybrain, where you can read about cheese, new words & the dangers of socks.

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Now, because WordPress won’t let me link a picture of a flower to a site outside WordPress, click the word “flower”:

Flower

Join Medium

I switched from blogging in WordPress to posting my writing on Medium because WordPress had “updated” to become too annoying to use. I realized when I got to Medium that it’s a paid service. Visitors can see a few articles every month for free but then have to join Medium for full access to content like my blog.

I am asking you to join Medium. I don’t know what they charge per month – I don’t have to join to read my blog posts – but if you join, you will have unfettered access to all of the wacky and insightful daisybrain content you have begrudgingly become accustomed to, *PLUS* my 2nd medium blog, where I post articles of a more spiritual nature.

That’s write! (pun) You get twice the Daisybrain/Eric Indiana content by joining Medium! Along with access to thousands of of other blogs from thousands of other writers, you get all content from…

Daisybrain on Medium

and

OCD-Free on Medium

It’s hard to imagine a better deal. (Not impossible, just hard. Now stop trying.) More importantly, when Medium members read my material I get (very slightly so far) paid!

So, please consider moving on over to Medium with me. You’l learn new words, like poopinary! And, you may finally find out why trees don’t have to pee.

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NEW DAISYBRAIN BLOG

Amy Coney Barrett’s Cult

Republicans keep accusing Democrats of attacking Trump Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett’s faith. It’s a kind of pre-emptive attack, since Democrats aren’t engaging in the argument at all. It’s a Wizard of Oz moment: Pay no attention to the man behind the screen.

The man behind the screen is patriarchy. I couldn’t care less about which religion Barrett ascribes to. Yes, Barrett is a cult member, but not because her specific faction of Catholicism is a cult, but because all religions are cults — Patriarchal cults.

There is a bizarre notion that a strong woman can be a feminist while enthralled by patriarchal anti-egalitarian beliefs. That ain’t feminism. The founding principle of feminism is that all people, regardless of sex and gender, are of equal value. An obvious corollary is that everyone can control their own bodies and consensual reproductive behavior. Someone who says they value the life of a zygote as much as an actualized human woman is not a feminist. A person who believes that a male god put women on Earth to serve their husbands is not a feminist, even if she also believes that God wants her to be a Supreme Court judge.

The purpose of every religion is to maintain social order, to keep societies functioning. The myths of religions can put order to people’s understanding of the universe, but the primary reason we have religion is to keep the rulers in charge, and the rulers are generally men. You may have been taught that religion exists to make people moral, that without a document saying “thou shall not kill,” people would go about killing each other every time someone is cut off in traffic. But the top-tier function of religion is to control the masses of people so that some people can have unchallenged power and jurisdiction of other people.

How can an ordinary, or even a super-super-intelligent ordinary person fall for this? How can a person of color support a white supremacist president, or a woman believe her role is to serve men? It’s called internalized oppression: Internalized racism, internalized sexism, internalized homophobia. That’s the power of culture — it indoctrinates from an early age; its toxic beliefs are passed on even unintentionally by adults to children. It can make a small fish think it’s being true to itself by serving a shark.

There are a lot of great spinoffs to religion: songs that make you feel good, bake sales…. But those are things that have been invented by the cult members to make the cult more palatable, to enhance the feeling of community and to comfort people is distress. As good as those things are, they don’t erase the fundamental fact that the congregants are members of a patriarchal cult designed to maintain the dominion of men over others.

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Note: This article was originally posted to my OCD-Free blog on Medium (which you should all be following). However, because it doesn’t fit well with the theme of that blog, I have decided to remove it and place it here, where no one cares. If you miss Daisybrain posts, and I know you do, follow both of my Medium blogs:

The NEW DAISYBRAIN BLOG!

OCD-Free

Reminder: You are suppose to follow my blogging on Medium now.

Here’s my latest poem, which I think is one of my most important.

My two new blogs are OCD-Free.Medium.com and Daisybrain.Medium.com. Please check them out, join Medium and follow my writing.

Whether you are a new visitor or a long-time friend, thank you very much for all of your support and interest in Daisybrain over the years. I invite you to stay in touch through Medium.

WordPress Sucks, but I still Blog… (see below)

Here’s my latest!

Amy Coney Barrett’s Cult

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