9/25/25 - Dreamboat Annie

Following the news is about the worst habit you can pick up. It's worse than smoking.

The general assembly stuff, I'm not sure guys. As far as I'm seeing, these moves are coming a bit too late, and yet... the recognition of Palestine in any regard is a step up from turning a blind eye to a genocide, y'know. Abbas be blessed, I think the real story of the decade is this flotilla business. This stretch has to work, I'm 100% convinced they will make it. The only way they couldn't is if Israel kills citizens of NATO pact states. They'd have to kill Greta, y'know? Optics, Hasbara is all about optics.

Now, what happens to them after making it ashore, I couldn't tell you. I just need to see their feet on the ground, in the strip. Not in Israel, in Gaza, in Palestine.

Y'know what's funny? Manal and Remas have both picked up on how timid I've been when texting lately. They know me well enough to tell when my tone changes just through words on a screen.

I really am the worst. Right now, I'm listening to music in the car before I punch in for work. As always, I will be writing during my shift, but I wanted a head start today.

Yesterday's beatmaking class went well.

Good Americans all around. The kid was still being a knucklehead, but I must admit I've become endeared to his hard headed Ness. Apparently his dad is in the NBA. I believe him, those guys never stick around enough.

All your life you've never seen

Woman taken by the wind

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?

Will you ever win?

The kind of song that puts me in that sky sort of mood, when I know it's near the end. It's that feeling I felt when I went up there, y'know? Sometimes I like to laugh at how frustrating it is. As convinced as I try to be, I'll never shake that sort of knowing. I will never be a woman; you don't have to remind me. I remember seeing my Mom lose that smile on her face when she folded my bra and put it into my clothes. She had to ask twin, "Is this yours?" She already knew when she asked, she was just holding out hope for something easier to stomach. I love my family, you know. What they don't tell you about "standing on business" is that it's actually not fucking fun at all. It sucks... but I will tell you what's fun. It's fun to stand above the bitterness and have a laugh. Sometimes it makes me loosen my grip on myself, but it's worth it to get that look I love.

It reminded me of that incredible picture of my Grandma looking at Dad. There's such a smug little expression to that, never seen anyone else in my family give a look like that. Except for me, because that's a problem when I do it. If I can, I'll throw that in.

This entry title, I thought that would be cheeky y'know. With the Flotilla and everything, ehhh. Whatever.

What I've lamented is that the eyeliner stick I used to do the dot matrix look on my face is dead, so now I can't look like the last time I saw 'em. That's just as well, I guess. I've revealed a little too much of myself, and now I'm not appealing.

Hmm. How do those mysterious nonchalant people do it? Makes no sense. If I go two, three weeks without hanging out with somebody I literally start to go insane. Depersonalization comes quick in this system of mine. If there was a transparent anatomical manikin of my body, there'd be a whole new organ in my head that lights up red, dedicated to triggering anxiety attacks.

I was reading Berserk at work today. Not helping the case against my possibly neurotic condition. I hate to say it guys... it's peak. They sucked me in; they had me at the moment the God Hand revealed that ugly dude's lie. 

You know what song was in my hand whenever Guts was slicing dudes up left and right? Close To You, by The Carpenters.

Why do stars fall from the sky...

Every time you walk by?

Just like me...

They long to be...

Close to you...

Im working at the Ice Rink today, and let me tell you... I can't wipe this smile off my mug. I've got an apple slice from cheek to cheek on my face today, cause I looked in the mirror, and let me tell you? That's a good lookin' cat today. That's a rockstar.

There's that goody two shoes I missed so bad, there's that smiling devil! Look at me all sly and slick-backed. They had my number up there in that college town, let me say it so y'all can hear it. I remember what I was on that day... I was the real Gabriel Gamlin that day. The genuine article. She's a real star when you get a chance to meet her. I had this dumb fuckin smile on my face the whole time, and I had on these goofy sunglasses I love so much...

I bet reading this blog, you rightfully assumed I must never be in a good mood, huh? And it wouldn't be your fault for thinking that, but let me tell you reader... ever since shaking off the dust from that chapter, I've taken time to figure it out. And what I figured out is what I already knew.

I'm everything I knew I was. I'm worth all the trouble!

Confidence! I got it back, and I'm gonna hold onto it for a few miles. A few years, I'm gunning for that. I'm gonna get my knuckles white and red from how tight I'm gonna be holding onto that, believe me.

Last time I saw one of 'em, I was still trapped in that little vortex. It's like a walking dungeon, it comes in a Doritos bag just like the Tacos. That's how cheap that situation could feel, y'know?

Old news! And I won't lie about the confusion, yknow? Im still mushy and dreary in this body, I won't deny it. But I'm gonna remember what I can do. I'm gonna remember what I've got. 

I am everything they say I am. Maybe I'm two faced, maybe I'm a saint. Maybe I'm indecisive, maybe I'm a genius. Whatever they're saying about me, you can bet I'll give you that, and then some.

Bite! That's what I want from myself. That's what the people want! They should be lucky we want the same thing!

I'm doing just fucking incredible. I'll see you guys soon! Whether you like it or not!

9/24/25 - Ale Eih Beyessalouni

My interests in art and history have drawn me back to Africa, North Africa specifically. Initially it was due to the book Wretched Of The Earth, by Frantz Fanon, but then Algeria becomes a motif of so many things that grab my attention. In Cleo, from 5 to 7, they speak of the news of the Algerian liberation. And today my mind wanders back to that song by Warda, that enchanting song.

قال ايه بيسالوني

عنك يانور عيوني

معقول اكون بحبك

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I can feel that one in my fingers, man.

That song is the kind where you can just backslide into your seat and feel the blood rush through your legs. It's like dying of ecstasy, it's too smooth. It's a romantic feeling that makes no sense, it's that kind of resuscitation of the spirit that good music can perform in your body, y'know.

It hasn't been easy sitting with the decision I made. It isn't very "like me" to do that, y'know. I don't like the idea of ghosting people, but I honestly just didn't see a way out of that situation that would have allowed me the peace I wanted, unless I did what I did. I said both in text and out loud to them that I didn't think a friendship would work, and they kept trying to neutralize the seriousness of what I was saying to return things back to the status quo. I just couldn't do that anymore.

I'm not going to go into the vulgar details of all of that, because despite my bitterness towards that whole chapter of my life, I don't believe in smearing their reputation in a public space like this. I have them blocked now on everything, and I'm not on social media right now, so for all I know they could be telling people I eat babies and shoot grandmas for fun, and I wouldn't even know. The thing is, though? I can't allow that stuff to hold me back anymore.

I just had an illuminating conversation with my coworker. He spoke very earnestly of how proud he was to see a young Black man (his perception, didn't feel a need to correct him) applying himself towards a healthy career path, and expressing himself in a manner more genuine, more honest. He spoke of his past, the mistakes he'd made, and how his experiences informed him of a better nature, of a more aware and conscientious life. I told him a bit about my life and how I got to where I am today, and we came to understand each other better as people. I think that was a very useful and heartwarming moment to share.

I'm sure that there is a perceived coldness in some of my behavior lately, but you have to understand. A heart that wavers is a heart that can never fully love. I cannot lie to myself, and I will not lie to my peers. Life is full of grey; everybody knows (nose) that. Sometimes being wishy-washy doesn't work, despite this. Sometimes, you have to draw a line in the sand and say, "No more." There isn't always a nice way to do that.

I don't even know why I'm halfway apologizing, because literally all of my friends and family were begging me to pull the plug, since a fews months ago. I felt kind of silly only just now doing what my support system had pretty much unanimously decided was necessary. I tried to see a more agreeable side to it for so long, you know. I keep hearing about how much they missed seeing me, how earnestly they would describe seeing me eat less, losing weight. They talk about how I could never get that furrow off my face, how I didn't seem like myself. It was... it was enough to move me to tears, but I never cried until I was driving alone.

I really let myself be convinced that every single person I knew and loved was wrong, and that only they were right about everything between us. It took that distance to realize what was happening, you know. There were a lot of times I would say yes to things I really didn't want to do, because I was afraid of them. I'll leave it to your imagination to determine what I mean by that, y'know. I wish this wasn't something I would ever have to understand or experience, but I guess we can't always be so lucky.

I feel bad for still thinking about it, talking about it, y'know? How long is it supposed to take? I feel like even with how bad I feel about all of it, I think maybe I don't feel bad enough. Y'know what I mean? That's the worst thing about that sort of stuff. After it happens, you gotta go to work or school the very next day, like it's a normal day. Sometimes you don't even think about it that way until you sit down with your thoughts for a minute, and you start to really remember what your brain put to bed. You start to remember how it felt, when it was happening. Sometimes you want to convince yourself you enjoyed it, so that it doesn't feel as bad. I sometimes like to think maybe it was my fault. Why didn't I just push them off of me, y'know? Why didn't I just say no?

I feel like it's stolen valor to admit what I experienced. I feel like maybe I'm not a real victim of anything serious, y'know. But I feel like every time I describe it to anyone else, they don't hesitate to call it what it is. And I honestly still feel like I'm not entirely ready to admit that I am what I am. I don't want to carry myself with the idea that I'm a victim of anything, you know? Because as much as I don't want to see or talk to them, I don't want to call them anything like *that*. I feel like that's such a bitter word, that's not definitive of their character at all, but... what would you call it? I'm genuinely asking.

I am reminded of the words of one of my dearest friends. I remember hearing him advocate, with compassion, towards the interest of those that many of us would write off. He believed in rehabilitation and advocacy for people who we might typically, and sometimes rightfully, want to push aside. It's a perspective that was admittedly sound in reasoning, honest in it's empathy. It's just something that can feel hard to stomach, it's eating your vegetables on an ideological level.

They themselves extended a level of understanding and forgiveness towards someone who almost did that to them. They have the capacity to forgive, to understand. They're not a bad person, you know.

The thing is, I don't even want to go as far to say they should have to be regarded as being among that aforementioned demographic. I think the most difficult thing is that sometimes its just everyday people that make those mistakes. And that we'll be okay afterwards... it's not an easy thing to reckon.

Im thinking I'll reckon anyways. Ill see you guys soon, take care.

9/23/25 - White Gravy

 A hound needs to holler, and a bum needs a dollar, and I need my Rosie Bokay...

I couldn't tell you what exactly triggers the country mood. For me, it just happens. It's when that looseness sits in the face just right, and when you've got on the right kind of coat. When your stride gets longer and you start to slow down, you may feel that sort of spirit coast along the front of your face. You get to being less idealistic, and you can laugh a little more. Difficulties start to become humorous; uncertainty flies out the window. And trust me, all the windows stay open.

I think about how they sexy-washed Johnny Cash in the Bob Dylan movie. They made that man look so fucking delicious, you almost forget that in reality, JR looked the way he sounded. And I say that as someone who admires his work, and his life. Boyd Holbrook did a good job of portraying the man, but Lord, they're trying to erase the 6.5's of history, and I won't stand for it. That's just a joke; I don't believe in that stuff unless it applies to me.

Making a sound that evokes the feeling of open air... that's the real treat of it. That's what I feel they got right with the Westerns and folk songs, that's what I think I like the most. You have that space to let something meander and fade, in a way that other sounds are just too compact to allow.

The ironic thing about Techno music is that it can do the same thing. In a way that House just can't figure.

I always let that song wash over me when I'm driving the dailies in GT. Computer Love. Near the last third, it opens up the sound in just the same way as Grapevine. 

There's something so special about a sound that can wash over you like that, y'know. And it's funny that I started out thinking about that song by the Osborne Brothers, cause it doesn't have what I'm talking about at all. Rosie Bokay is different, y'know? No, this song is deeper in the chair, huddling around a friend playing their tune. You sing it with the front of your teeth; it's something you sing when you're bored and wistful with a friend. It's a familiar sort of biscuit, that lovable Waffle House smell.

Well, a hound needs to holler, and a bum needs a dollar, and I need my Rosie Bokay...

What I sing when I've been working for a long time, or walking down Woodward for a few hours, is Lumberjack.

Well, I learned this fact from a logger named Ray...

You never cut timber on a windy day...

Stay out of the woods when the moisture's low...

Or ye' ain't gonna live to collect your dough...

Will you tell me somethin', Mr. Lumberjack...

Is it one for forward, and three for back?

Is it two for stop, or four for go?

Boy, ask a whistlepunk...

I don't know.

Ride this train to Romulus, Michigan. Now there's a town for you. I remember passing out keychains and papers and whatnot for the University back then, and you talk about heat. Just about every step I took in that festival made me feel like a Chain Ganger, but you shoulda seen Romulus when me and my coworker walked in.

That feeling follows me everywhere I go, even in my own house. "I shouldn't be here... these people don't want nothin' to do with me."

That immobilization, it comes back again. 

Y'know, I was talking to my buddy about a suspicion that was totally unfounded, right? I though she blocked me. I dunno, she might've, but I guess I don't know what it looks like. Everything is still visible to me, I can send stuff to this moment, right? I just got cold feet about it, let that feeling do the work instead of my knowledge. Never the right way to walk, y'know.

My nails feel naked without colors on 'em, I'm gonna try pink this time. But I have to admit, friends... I kind of miss the blue. That metallic teal, that was nice. Remas seems to like most of the looks I pull off, she's always the right to voice to hear when I need to get focused.

We're gonna work on Unseen this week, as well as Medusa and Banshee. As far as Judy is concerned, I'm moving away from that direction. It's off the album. We're doing more Electric Ladyland and Axis instead of Are You Experienced. I do like to think of the color of my works through analogues of Jimi Hendrix, I will always be myself on the inside.

Unseen seemed to take a different color than I was expecting, I sort of unconsciously took some notes from Sonic Youth and Smashing Pumpkins. The oscillations are still kind of Stereolab, and I'm maintaining some of the color from Broadcast, but the world of indie rock sludge I'm working out of hits every wall in the room, seems like. I'm moving out of the territory of Grace Jones, Prince, Talking Heads, and Donna Summer. That's the chokehold I was in last week, but now I'm letting the looseness back in.

I'll tell you the song that started to influence the colors of Unseen and Banshee. There was a track on In Utero called Dumb that moves my mind a lot.

I will talk more about the song but... readers... they talking about the guy who missed. Again. What is wrong with you guys? Seriously. Every time. Don't even report that shit if it's not the big one.

So anyways... Dumb.

I'm not like them, but I can pretend

The sun is gone, but I have a light

The day is done, but I'm having fun

I think I'm dumb... or maybe just happy

There are no original experiences.

I get bashful when I think about getting her attention. And even platonic contexts, around anyone. I can't have too much fun, it means I'm forgetting something. It means I'm not reading the room; someone is lying to me. It's the only way my better nature makes any sense.

I think I'm dumb... or maybe just happy

I think about the lady in the leaves when I get like this. I'm starting to understand her clarity, how cogent that feeling of guidance can be. That character in particular was one my professor seemed to like, which is interesting because the device employed by consulting her perspective can seem almost schizoaffective in practice. But she never says the wrong thing, it's an issue. She's not me; she's my better nature, separated from my feelings.

You are happy. It's difficult to know what to do with that, when you're caught in a dour habit.

You made this seem more "normal," didn't you? You still have some work to do on yourself, I won't chastise you for things you know you should do better.

The image of the Manikin should prove provocative, lean on that as the crux of the message. Messages will be felt more deeply through sight. It sounds like gobbledygook, but it's essential.

You know the audience you're working for. Remember her better nature, and respect the distance.

Refer to the second paragraph, ma'am. You know better.

Respect the distance, respect the distance. How distant is too distant? That's for her to decide. I will leave the uncertainty of it, let her find me on her own time.

And I'll clarify for my audience... we are not talking about the "Captive Reader."

I'll see you guys soon, take good care of yourselves. Everything is uncertain, everyone is unseen. Let the leaves keep us safe, okay?

9/22/25 - Addendum

I feel better now. I was blessed by the presence of an ethereal superbeing, a beautiful goddess sculpted by a goddess. Every time that somebody gorgeous walks into my workplace, life is suddenly good again.

I'll see you guys later.

9/22/25 - Botox

I'm thinking resolution is the key. It’s a bit of a silly goal to have, a selfish thing to want, but that kind of closure, a clarity of direction... it's very necessary. It makes it easier to move to the next volume.

The mood I've been put into is, I think, less fatalistic. Less vain, but also less reserved. I'm looking at a diagram that God set out in front of me, it's such a weird looking thing sometimes.

The Transparent Anatomical Manikin. It refers to a transparent, three-dimensional, life-sized diagram of a woman's anatomy, created to help medical students identify organs and systems in their studies and practices.

The first and only example of this apparatus that I've ever seen was Tammy, the T.A.M. displayed at the Michigan Science Center. When I was younger, it was still called the Detroit Science Center, and in my mind, it still is the Detroit Science Center.

The last time I laid eyes this eighth wonder of the world was in 2024, I think near the start of the year. I was at the Science Center to watch an abridged educational cut of a documentary chronicling the history of Detroit Techno music, and I was visiting with dear old Dad. Tammy was no longer in the same spot she used to be displayed in; she's now in the back entrance near the academy. Her plastic skin had developed a yellow tint, and the interior lights that highlighted each section of her anatomy had dimmed quite a bit, some systems and organs losing their highlighting entirely. But Tammy was still mesmerizing, still a manikin that warms my heart to see. In my childhood, I had visited Tammy at the Science Center probably a hundred times. Every time I'm there, I make a point to find to her and say hello. I press all of the right buttons that light up her body, and from that point, in my mind, my trip can be complete.

This familiar manikin of my childhood is the very same variety of feminine plastic that was used in the album art of Nirvana's third and final album, In Utero. The very specific kind of visual kitsch the transparent anatomical manikin provides is one that I have kept in the back of my mind for years. I tend to reference the memory of this object as a feeling in a lot of different ways, and in my mind, I feel a sort of connection to the manikin, a kinship with Tammy I could never rationalize. In my heart I felt sad to see Tammy so weathered. To be pushed aside from where she was normally displayed, I must admit that a piece of my heart was broken.

It's raining really hard today in Detroit. What I wouldn't give to lay in the water again.

It's this kind of bizarre sentimentality, this sort of unnaturally affectionate attachment to others who can never move to meet my gaze. It is a personality flaw I've always had. I think it's an issue whether it's things or people, but...

It's bad enough to imprint onto inanimate objects, I feel like. I do that a lot, but here's the thing. Unpopular opinion, but I do feel like it's worse that I do that in non-reciprocal relationships with real people. It's the worst. I have to remove myself from the equation whenever this happens. I'm thinking, less of "Type A," going forward. Let's try avoidance. I think it's worse for my mental health, but better for social saliency.

I don't think I recognize what I see in the mirror anymore. It has been almost freeing, to feel so lost. I don't have to belong anywhere, and there is nowhere I need to be wanted anymore.

For the first time in my life, I really feel as if I don't care anymore. The kindness I work so hard to maintain conceals something more hateful. That lady said something similar to her man in that one German movie that was in the Oscars. Anatomy of a Fall, I think.

Anatomy. We're building a motif for this habit of grieving the self, if you can believe it.

If youuuuuu, cannnnn, believe it!

It's Monday.

This is not a mindset from which I can create good things. Art that feels worthwhile, something that I feel eludes my capabilities. I'm on the stewing part of the wheel.

Yesterday was good. It was good, I think.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. They're playing Latch at the swimming pool for our water aerobics class. This song... let me put my Walgreens Plus One Reading Glasses on so I can see tweed on this Michal Kors bag. I'm going to be so incredibly normal and civilized, you haven't a clue. I went round SpongeBob on 'em, I'm Clark Kent in this bitch. Better yet, for my blood, I'm Clark Gable on these niggas. Walk in this bitch like Norm from Phineas and Ferb, 50 miles deep in my Kelly Clarkson bag. I got my business casual shit on, step on you niggas like Dilbert. Marge Simpson ain't got shit on me, had your accountant uncle looking like Forrest Gump when I touched down at the Office Depot. 

I'm at H&R Block filing my taxes in them ironed out khaki-colored chinos. Call that a government shutdown, fuck nigga. Rated E for Everyone the way I'm making $32,000 a year before deductions, swimming in that proletarian pussy from Topeka, Kansas. If I get a band in my pocket right now, I'll shut the fuck up. Call that shit the silent majority. Stepped outside the cubicle and laid against the drywall so long I think I turned white, they're calling it the Virginia Vitiligo. That Wal-Mart Pump-Action so loud it woke the dead, had Karen Carpenter singing the opps a lullaby to the great beyond in the Nordstrom Rack parking lot. 2001 Justin Timberlake wigger pack hittin' so bad it made me hate Gay People, got me turning on my own kind like an Orlando Magic fan voting Republican.

I use Percocet like a responsible American citizen. I drink Knob Creek on Sunday nights when the Dallas Cowboys are playing, and I only bathe with Irish Spring soap. I use body wash to clean my hair like a nice young man, and I raise my kids right in the path of the Lord Jesus Christ. I clench my fist in anger when I log into my daily visit of my favorite Facebook group, Libertarian Guys With Asian Wives, and see a nigga post a picture of some Sicilian fine shyt that look like Ronette Pulaski tryna ask the mods if she's "Asian." I outghta knock your block off, mister. Mods, get a load of this nigga.

My beautiful 16 year old daughter Shaeighlynn recently had a difficult break up with her long time boyfriend of 3 years, Brody Wyczerski, after finding out he had fathered 2 secret children with another woman while he was deployed in Afghanistan. While this is difficult for her to process, I read in her diary (without her permission) that she was secretly happy to have a reassurance that Brody was not gay. She secretly feared that he was after finding out he is an avid player of the sports shojo anime gashapon mobile game Umamusume: Pretty Derby, which she discovered while looking through his phone as he slept in her mother's bed. In her mind, she would not feel personally slighted by his being a homosexual, as my daughter tends to endorse a lot of left wing gender ideology my wife has personal objections to. She was instead irritated by the possibility that he may have withheld sage wisdom regarding the appeal of her outfits and makeup for more than 3 years, and simply allowed fear to prevent him from telling her, honestly, if her favorite lime green tank top actually looked good on her.

Okay, I'm done with this bit. I'm weird again, thank God. Okay, let's return to the deviant headspace.

Uhh... what's stuff that I like. Frank Quitely... Jimi Hendrix... Lafayette Coney Island... Sonic the Hedgehog... James Baldwin... the beautiful woman who almost sat down in the chair I was sitting in at the Kresge Court in the DIA (core memory)... Kate Bush, especially the look she had in the signing event for The Dreaming... the album Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane, but no other projects from Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, or Starship... an insecurity about the shape of the back of my head (it's flat, subject two of our prior examinations will likely benefit from confirming some suspicions about me)...

And we're back!