Xoterica 41: The Equidistant

Picture of Artemis Sere's "Resolution"

“Obey the principles without being bound by them.” (Bruce Lee)

Recently, Israel declared war on Palestine for a brazen wave of bloodshed where hundreds of Israelis were brutally murdered. It has become a fiercely violent and bitter battle between two sides of a Biblical Holy War that is on the verge of creating a firestorm that sucks the world in. President Biden recently visited Israel in a show of support for Israel and their ground war in Gaza against Hamas. Protests from supporters of Palestine have erupted around the world, including from within the United States.

Friends, family, and lovely humans misdirected by ancient tomes are now caught in the crossfire. 260 innocent lives were slaughtered at a rave by callous men with a statement to make. Hamas says it was retaliation for Israel's actions; Israel blames Palestinian terrorists. There's no denying that there's violence happening on both sides and has for the better part of the last century. Hamas slaughtered Israelis and in retaliation, Israel is slaughtering Palestinians.

I'm summarizing and probably missing many details from both sides of the conflict, but the fact remains:

In god they trusted. In god's trust they die(d).

Pawns preening for an afterlife, prawns served cold to careless, callous whisperers.

I'm a Humanist and my heart aches for all involved or affected. But also, as an atheist, it's my job to remain impartial, to mediate from the center without prejudice or denomination. My job is to hold the center while the extremes scream for heads. Our politics have become overwhelmed by Factions that don't stand for a greater good, they stand for selfish designs and partial, inflexible positions directed by organized religion.

One for all, divided we stand. And equally fall.

America is no longer the land of the free. It is the land of the tithe. Pay to survive, in feudal fashion and distant, digital format. A specific evangelical and hypocritical religious culture has started to dominate America, sending progress and evolution backwards and pushing us further apart. Just yesterday I got into a verbal spat with an old friend about "evangelism" over Facebook. He claims that it's "the calling" of Jesus to spread faith, even when the recipient isn't interested.

Like a disease, faith needs hosts to spread, and with all religious tomes taken literally these days, evangelism is an endless infection of mythologies taken as truth. Religion never really could live in equilibrium with humanity; history has shown that over and over again with bloody crusades to push the literal word onto non-believers. It still happens to this day, only without the racks and whips and pikes and Iron Maidens.

I will always defend the liberal side of humanity (and stand against the evil that is Donald Trump), so I align with Democrats. In stating my alignment, I push myself further from the center and into partial territory.

But I really do try my best to keep position in the middle. I recognize that humans need their faith and comfort that there's any answer beyond them (even if many, at their core, live very hypocritical lives incongruent with the teachings of the tomes). Even now as tanks roll across Gaza and rockets and bullets kill innocents caught in the crossfire of the Holy War, "killing in the name of" is acceptable, and collateral damage is approved.

Is it even possible to stand strong in the center when bloodshed flies?

It seems impossible. My heart strings are pulled to the sufferers on both sides. I want blood to stop being the currency of conservative doctrines. I want peace to be achieved between warring parties. I want reason to return and the center to strengthen.

Unfortunately, ghosts and myths supply the center for our holy warriors, while simultaneously pushing each of us further apart. Either you agree with the atrocities as directed by a callous god, or you stand as the enemy. The myths were not captured and shared generation after generation like ancestral propaganda to kill or die for. They're meant to guide us, to connect us, and to develop us into better humans. They are wisdom characterized into deities and demigods, personified as monsters and angels.

Unless I'm missing something, the Bible's Ten Commandments explicitly direct followers not to kill. Literally. As with most passages of our holy books, the words have been turned over time, and murder allowances have been made by most religions that follow the Bible.

They created their own tomes where murder for specific reasons - such as war - is justified.

Leaving the Bible in a massive contradiction, especially when opposing religious forces claim the same holy ground as their own. I can't talk anyone out of their religion, but I can point out that the dusty tomes clearly say that we shouldn't kill each other. If you're of faith and you're killing in the name of, you're a hypocrite, observing a loophole that humanity created after the guidebook was reportedly built.

There's a piece of wisdom that says "stand for something or you'll fall for anything". In other words, "take a side or else". That's not the reason to follow a religion, though I think the quote is used to defend those who hold onto their faith, as if it's "belief or nothing", a binary belief scale where you do or you don't, you are or you aren't. With my stand I believe in science, not mythology built into an organizational body or government.

As of this writing, Israel and the Gaza strip are locked in a brutal battle. Innocents are being slaughtered by the thousands in attempt to "cleanse" the country from perceived threats. Countries are lining up on other side of the war depending on their political, religious, or financial allegiances to Israel or Palestine. All it will take is a simple spark to ignite a firestorm of world war. The world is turning into a binary reflection of its believers - either you're with us, or you're against us. There is no middle ground.

With this blog, I know I'll make some enemies of friends because I won't take a side in the holy war.

When it comes down to it, neither side has the right to murder, regardless of what interpretations have been made of dusty guidebooks. Revenge is also not justification for evil acts against fellow humans; while we disagree, we should do so with respect and patience - two words that seem to have little spiritual root in our creature in modern times.

I did study the Bible in college for a year. I once even considered myself agnostic or "searching". I won't consider myself an expert on religion by any means and have forgotten more about scripture than I once knew. But I recall a passage out of Matthew 5:5 that says "The meek shall inherit the Earth". The statement has a variety of interpretations, and changes based on the identity of the "meek". Taken literally, it offers that those who follow teachings from the book will inherit the world.

Unfortunately, the only meek people that stand to inherit anything are those that stay out of the fray. The best any of us that are not affiliated can do is step away from the fringes and find solace and protection in the middle, do our best to remain equidistant from the extremes that hold violent sway over our society.

I will always advocate for evolution and progress, for human-supported laws and principles of diversity. What I won't do is support a holy war that has been going on for over 2,000 years and has no reasonable resolution in sight.

Picture of Artemis Sere's
Artemis Sere SS-SG-00211 "Resolution"

Xoterica 40: The Secret

Artemis Sere's Xoterica: The Secret

“In every passionate pursuit, the pursuit counts more than the object pursued.” (Bruce Lee)

I am what most would call a "pothead". Not your typical one, as I like to call myself a "productive pothead".

But I am one. Have been for thirty years.

I maintain a 40-hour week, well-paying job. I own a house, cars, toys, taxes, and many other luxuries that equilibrium affords. I've published five books and have produced over 600 pieces of art.

I don't have DWIs, or whatever the new acronym is. I have no criminal history, have never been in jail, and manage my use in a way that meets within my definition of "responsibility".

But for thirty years, I have existed in the shadows as a second-class citizen.

Questioned by friends and family members for my choices, and forced to hide in plain sight.

Pushed to purchase pot from dangerous people in rough neighborhoods.

Forced to fake four different drug tests.

Overcharged for sometimes questionable quality based on the limited access of my contacts.

Tied to the tides of a dark market.

The Road

My first foray into marijuana happened with lifelong friends Jason and Melody. I don't remember the first experience vividly, but it was delicious enough to try again. And again. And again.

When I was in college, alcohol was always the junk that was readily and always available. Surprising these days, but during the 90s when D.A.R.E. was still a powerful force, alcohol became my party companion. It was bad for my body, my soul, and my relationships - many of which would've turned out much differently if high was the social lubricant instead of drunk. With issues with my liver and G.I. system, alcohol never should've been my weapon of choice.

But it was accessible, approved of, and even celebrated.

Blackout drunk shouldn't be something we celebrate.

Sugar overload shouldn't be something we celebrate.

And the addictive, dangerous properties of the toxic substance isn't something we should celebrate.

But we do as a culture. And we have since prohibition discriminated one vice over another. Political and moral hypocrites with righteous holds determined what we could and couldn't have, setting the country on the path of diabetes, liver destruction, obesity, and approved benders.

The Gobi

I read an article years ago that reported that a crypt was discovered in the Gobi desert that contained marijuana that was centuries old, preserved for 2700 years for a future graverobber looking for an ancient trip.

Throughout my time and my books, I've hidden my love of pot behind this story and the reference to this mystical bud. Friends of mine have had their own secret terms for it so we can talk about it without giving our relation to it away.

One good friend and former dealer called it "Chicken". I don't know why (can't remember), but that code stuck with me. My current dealer goes by the term "Zip". 

The point? Over the years, I survived through my connection to a hidden subculture that has existed in plain sight. Few of my smoker friends are dysfunctional. They're smart, creative, balanced, responsible people that make the delicate dance happen.

For years, I was worried that my landlord would figure out I smoked pot in the house he was renting to me. I would make cookies when he came over. I would spray air freshener until it fogged out the lingering smell, and burn SereFire candles to compensate. When I grew 7 8' tall kush plants in his backyard in 2017, I kept the whole grow a secret. I ended up with 13 jars of Gobi, enough green glory to last me a full year.

It wasn't until that stash was mostly gone that I discovered he was a pot head too. A professional one, hiding in plain sight, just like me.

The Guts

Pot has been demonized for many reasons, too many to list here. Many myths and lies rise from a certain affliction of refer madness from the prohibition-struck populous. Old programming dies hard. It has taken generations to get respect back to marijuana for the good it does.

My support of and commitment to marijuana as a curative saved my life.

Those who have followed my story know that I came down with severe Ulcerative Colitis in 2001. Severe enough to consider a colostomy. Severe enough to take cancer meds. Severe enough to have to void every two hours, sleep or awake, meeting or walking, driving or bussing. My first cathartic book "Obscurious" covers these sick details.

But in 2014 - weed combined with a juicing diet - pushed my once-chronic condition to remission.

Acknowledging that the system worked, I haven't changed much in my life or lifestyle since the condition went away. I'm almost afraid to change. I haven't had a serious symptom in almost a decade now. I smoke daily and am now a part-time pescetarian, mostly vegetarian.

I'm deathly afraid of returning to the wheel of anemia, overtiredness, pain, and constant uncomfortability.

You'd be right if you pointed out that weed alone didn't fix me. You'd also be right if you pointed out that pot smoke and vape aren't good for lungs. The way I take in the THC isn't perfect, and has caused other problems.

Ultimately, it was a combination of factors that quieted my bloody ulcers. I believe the commitment to intaking gut-friendly juices and foods that encouraged internal healing allowed my gastrointestinal system to make its necessary repairs , while not having to deal with challenging digestion caused by meat and toxic products like alcohol.

I believe the internal calm that pot brings brought me healing. While alcohol numbs the pain and exacerbates existing health problems, THC moderates and pushes meditation. While alcohol forces many questionable choices the drunker you get, THC slows you down and makes you compliant with chill.

The Goodness

Our nation would be a chiller place altogether if weed was broadly legal and accepted, allowed to exist as a viable party alternative to alcohol and appreciated for its healing properties.

Suspecting that marijuana would go legal in 2023, I started a crop in my backyard. I can't give you the specifics of how many plants I have, but they're doing amazing - with some plants as tall as 7 feet! See the picture below for a shot of the top of one. They went into the ground over Memorial Day weekend and will be harvested in late October.

Thank you, State of Minnesota, for making recreational marijuana legal on August 1, 2023.

Our nation needs a calming influence, now more than ever. I'd like to buy the world a toke...

Artemis Sere's Xoterica: The Secret

Xoterica 39: The Splinter (Part 2)

Artemis Sere The Unstoppable Staph SS-SG-00600

“Know the difference between a catastrophe and an inconvenience — To realize that it’s just an inconvenience, that it is not a catastrophe, but just an unpleasantness, is part of coming into your own, part of waking up.” (Bruce Lee)


I was really looking forward to the 4th of July extended holiday as a time of recharge, chillaxation in the sun and reflection on the events of 2022 so far - my 2nd converter-jacking, my covid, my dental surgery.

I really needed a reset away from the madness of my own life.

Instead of celebrating independence, I was reminded how truly dependent I am - on friends, family, loved ones, the medical system, and courage. Instead of recharging, regrouping and reassessing, I celebrated dependence with my foot up and regrets about my carelessness.

I spent many hours angry at myself for causing all of the hours lost to the accident. Hours paraded around naked in a poorly-tied gown with an IV cart. Hours strapped to an uncomfortable bed bound with tubes and tickers.

Hours imagining how my Dad felt when he was in this same position fighting for his life. I always imagined that I would create a metal sculpture to capture my last moments with him... the groaning face of agony, the myriad of tubes treating him like a drug puppet, the barely working catheters both giving and taking life. It was a goal of my #metalmorphosis that I never achieved.

In my head, a constant mental rotation of

"How did a splinter get me here?"

"What could I have done differently?"

"What should I learn from this?"

In reality, the answers are far more complicated than stitches and two-weeks off of my foot. Some wounds caused by time and society never fully close.

And some wounds don't show up until you least expect them to.

Closures and Openings (July 18, 2022)

I slept for at least 13 hours following discharge. In the days that followed, my theme was rest, elevation of my foot, and adaptation to life changes that followed my stay at Regions Hospital. I slept a lot and downed meds as if they were my new candy.

When closure day came on Monday, the stress wasn't about the procedure, but getting to the facility. The Specialty Care center wouldn't let me rideshare to the appointment, even if I had pickup covered. They also couldn't provide alternate transport for those without a wealth of options. With one handful of family members in the area and numbered accessible friends, my options on Monday noon were shockingly limited.

Thankfully, my girlfriend worked her butt off to get off early so she could take me herself, but it made me realize how isolated I've become. Wrapped up in my own little art world. Consumed by the drama and stress of these odd days.

The world is burning and I have been mostly silent. Too silent, I suppose. In posting these blogs, I realized that it's been almost nine months since my last one.

That will change. I have written much and shared little lately, been a passive spectator in these troubled times.

The closure procedure was fast and painless, especially with the anesthetics. I was given crutches, a post-op boot and more painkillers and wheeled back to my regularly-scheduled life, a very different person than the one who simply got a splinter in his foot.

As with anything, the answers drove more questions.

An Imperfect Science

In reality, shit went from urgent to emergent fast - within days.

I did what I thought what right with heading to the Urgent Care first instead of a Hospital, and it turned out to be a bad decision.

The first Urgent Care doc ordered x-rays on my foot, but didn't see a foreign object because wood doesn't show up on x-rays (only MRIs), so he didn't see a poisonous foreign body lodged beneath my skin. He prescribed useless antibiotics and sent me home, telling me to come back if it got worse.

The second Urgent Care doc looked at the state of my foot, painted lines to track infection growth, and gave me new, more aggressive antibiotics to fight the infection, telling me to come back if it got worse.

Less than a week after the first Urgent Care visit, I was in the Hospital getting an MRI and foot surgery scheduled. It went from uncomfortable to "worse" faster than any Urgent Care doc expected - but they were relying on an imperfect picture of my foot that didn't show what was really going on beneath the skin.

When I ask myself the question of "what could I have done differently", I don't have a good answer (besides 'wearing shoes'). I think the greatest fault lies on Urgent Care docs not insisting I get an MRI sooner, even if it required a Hospital visit. A week less of the infection timeline could've got me into surgery quicker and without such painful complications.

But I acknowledge that medicine is an imperfect science run by imperfect people involving imperfect patients.

Speaking of imperfect patient, the visit turned out to be about more than just an infected splinter in my foot.

Like Father

Over the course of the first couple days in the Hospital, checks were run regularly on my vitals. Blood sugar and pressure were both running high. After tests were performed, I was diagnosed as a Type 1 Diabetic with high blood pressure.

Strapped to tubes and focused an injured foot, I had little idea what that meant - for me. I'd seen it in my Dad, watched my Grandfather wither away from it, and encountered friends with it, but was shocked that I was now part of that dubious club.

I don't know when it started, don't know how long I've had it. Blood sugar problems could've been behind the scenes for years as I consumed carelessly. But I've honestly never known the blood sugar highs and lows that most insulin-necessary diabetes suffer. My pescatarian life has been mostly comfortable. One too many sodas, for sure, but I don't have a sweet tooth anymore and am not a foodie thanks to my history with UC.

A little bit of me suspects this covid angle suggested by CIDRAP, as the timeline jives, but don't have true proof of when blood sugar started running high.

Again, I have to be angry with myself for not getting levels checked after my Dad died from diabetes. I understood his pain and struggle, but not in the context of living it.

A splinter from my past infecting the present.

Living it has given me a whole new appreciation of the disease. How my diet has completely changed to align to keeping blood sugar down. Multiple blood draws daily to monitor glucose levels. Taking things slower and more deliberately to lessen blood pressure. Managing stress and hunger pangs.

While healing from a wound, sore toe joints and infection-bruised swelling, I'm also having to undertake new dietary habits, check vitals multiple times per day, and take more pills regularly than I have in my life.

All of this from an inch-sized splinter.

Infection

I think we each hold splinters that are infecting our ability to live long, strong and healthy. The splinters are kept sanitized by positive reinforcements from culture and advertising, but the infection of greed can be seen in our ads alone.

The cost of being a care-free consumer in modern society is our lives - from the unhealthy foods and lifestyles pushed our way from birth, to the constant rotation of promotions that are sure to secure your death.

Strapped to a hospital bed, I watched daytime TV for the first time in decades. I was dismayed by the ad content directed at viewers during that window.

Ads promoting food terrible for humans, featuring people who most likely are diabetic and/or have an array of health issues that would keep them from eating what they're promoting.

Misleading, manipulative ads targeting seniors.

Ambulance-chaser and class action ads.

And countless advertisements for new drugs to fight Ulcerative Colitis, a condition I beat the last time I took my health into my own hands. It seems as though medicine is no closer to finding an answer for this debilitating condition. I made it out if its grasp; this time, though, I fear the meds have me.

As three different antibiotics worked to beat bugs back in my system, I found that propaganda is still a powerful form of infection that probably contributed to who I am now.

Wake-up Puncture

There is a hard road ahead for me. The visions of my Dad and Grandfather dying as a result of diabetes haunts me. Their gruesome ends are the stuff of my nightmares.

At a year-and-a-half away from 50, I have a greater sense of my fragility.

I never imagined that I would end up like my Dad, but I should've seen it coming. More proof that I'm not a seer, just a normal creative human with a keen aptitude for words, and good artistic vision and intuition, who is sometimes too smart for his own good, sometimes prone to stupid mistakes that result in suffering and surgery.

Pain is part of the plotline.

So is making better choices.

This splinter was not a catastrophe, not the end of my world. But it was a wake-up call to be more cautious and less careless, be more deliberate and less chaotic, be more here and less there.

There is wisdom in this splinter, and I will embody it.

Artemis Sere The Unstoppable Staph SS-SG-00600
Artemis Sere The Unstoppable Staph SS-SG-00600 (Full)