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“Normalising and neglecting “mental suffering” has become a norm of our normal society. Shattered soul— a misfit, sadistic, lonely, depressed—is thrown into dark, chaotic dungeons to keep the society safe and sane. Isn’t it ironical? The normal society, which labels you as an abnormal—shamelessly discredits you, alienates you—exiles you—destroys your “self”—splits it into a labyrinth of “selves”—curses you with a specific self for specific space— leaves no choice for the helpless you, except the never-ending struggle. I think—when an individual has physical illness, we provide required medical care, if we don’t, we are “inhumane, cruel and apathetic”. Isn’t it “inhumane, cruel and apathetic”, if we neglect and normalise the mental breakdown of another individual, and just shrug it off! Think, Think, Think. When did you stop thinking? Why did you stop thinking? What made you stop thinking? How blessed you’re that your mind is at “peace”! When I started this never-ending and ever-troubling over-thinking? Why I can’t stop over-thinking? What has catalysed this over-thinking? Isn’t it a curse that my mind is never at peace!”

“Normality does not exist. There is no such a thing as normal. The social norms that guide most people are not always normal for everyone. Behaviours and actions that are abnormal for most people may be considered normal for others, so therefore normality does not exist. Stay true to yourself; never be ashamed of doing what feels right to you at any giving moment, decide what feels right to you and do it. Don’t be normal, be yourself.”

“Normality seemed suspicious to him. He avoided smart routes, healthy decisions, and standard trajectories. Andrei fancied the forsaken, the dreadful, the dusty. He intentionally said yes to what other people said no to. "There must be something worthwhile," he always thought, "in the apparently worthless, seemingly dangerous, and painfully obvious.”

“Normalizing Case Specific AI Use (Naskaristana 2663-2666) Don't waste your time on the dilemma of, to use or not to use ai, ask instead, how can you use ai in your particular field, without compromising your integrity! It's not about avoiding ai, it's about delegating menial tasks to ai - fire, steam, electricity, internet, ai, these are all tools, sooner or later you will adopt it, and this comes from a person whose literature was heisted without consent to train algorithms, among many other living writers. Sure, unlike electricity and internet, the origin of gen-ai is downright dubious, so much so that even bombing these ai companies would not be unjustified, just like bombing america would be a great humanitarian initiative, but that won't solve the exploitation problem in the long run - so we'd have to find meaningful alternatives to deal with such contraptions of heinous origins, instead of just freaking out, whether it's algorithm or america. AI slop is still slop, American history is still a crimescene, therefore we have to deslopify ai, and disinfect america of its foundational knack for terrorism. Also, one more thing, ai is a radically new territory, even the makers of ai don't know what they're doing, so don't expect to figure out everything overnight, don't be too hard on yourself pressured by hypocrites; the idea is not to outsource your ideas, whether to ai or to hypocritical primates, so take your time, and figure out your own ethics of ai in case specific context. Use ai to be more meaningful than productive - for example, bring inspiring figures to life, and make them have discourse with each other, but always maintain their original texts. Or like I recently (March, 2026) used ai to produce a few audio materials, based on some of the sonnets, these tracks sound like music but they are not, even though the lyrics are mine, it's not music until I pick up the guitar and sing myself, or some real musician does; I see these ai audio tracks as accessibility extensions - in fact, accessibility could be the greatest boon of ai. The canon is the art, the audios are just more courier, both the ai tracks and my own voice recordings. Main point is this: music without musician is not music, poetry without poet is not poetry, art without artist is not art, simulation without experience is delusion. You can 3d print furniture, but you cannot 3d print art - and alas, only a true artist can know what this means!”

“Normally classical music is set up so you have professionals on a stage and a bunch of audience - it's us versus them. You spend your entire time as an audience member looking at the back of the conductor so you're already aware of a certain kind of hierarchy when you are there: there are people who can do it, who are on stage, and you aren't on stage so you can't do it. There's also a conductor who is telling the people who are onstage exactly what to do and when to do it and so you know that person is more important than the people on stage.”

“Normally death came at night, taking a person in their sleep, stopping their heart or tickling them awake, leading them to the bathroom with a splitting headache before pouncing and flooding their brain with blood. It waits in alleys and metro stops. After the sun goes down plugs are pulled by white-clad guardians and death is invited into an antiseptic room. But in the country death comes, uninvited, during the day. It takes fishermen in their longboats. It grabs children by the ankles as they swim. In winter it calls them down a slope too steep for their budding skills, and crosses their skies at the tips. It waits along the shore where snow met ice not long ago but now, unseen by sparkling eyes, a little water touches the shore, and the skater makes a circle slightly larger than intended. Death stands in the woods with a bow and arrow at dawn and dusk. And it tugs cars off the road in broad daylight, the tires spinning furiously on ice or snow, or bright autumn leaves.”

“Normally, Donkey would have pushed them away, even run to escape their touch, but then Molly laid both hands on her face, and Donkey felt a soothing warmth, a settling. And after that, all the hands in the room were on her, and it felt like the eureka! of discovery. They were no longer five separate bodies in a kitchen but five flowers growing from the same root; whether she hated or loved them wasn't relevant to their work together. Donkey's vision blurred until they all seemed wrapped up together in fog and spiderwebs. Any talk of Donkey being special and precious didn't mean anything, because she was not even separate from them, just the youngest part of the family monster--- and a monster was what it would take to cure Rosie. Donkey knew now why Herself dreamed of having her daughters gathered together--- because such distance between the parts of a whole was unnatural.”