What to do next for myself I suppose. Finfet Improvement Designed. Sub Nano Semiconductors. Transistors. Capacitors.

I’m optimizing these sub nanometer semiconductors. I need to learn about quantum tunneling with real world data to see how it spreads through the materials. I understand how the wave function moves partially or wholly through the material if enough energy is put into it, and I’m hoping that by developing this novel production concept and new lithography set up that’s more stable and should eliminate the dreaded angled entry waste points. I also understand the wavelength that I want to use and it’s limitations and needs for what to expect to lose per build platter. It depends on the platter size of course but if I’m building 500 units across, which would be small, I could essentially lose roughly an electrons width across the platter. I call it a platter, though it wont in the technical sense.

It’s time that the tech had an upgrade. The problem is that I need to produce such a high number and get funding as well as get some traction behind me to allow for high voltage energy points. I’ve then got to work on batteries though honestly a hand crank squeezed once to produce an amplified fort nights worth of energy by chugging an alternator or two or even a stifling engine that runs off of body heat that I’ve got sitting here in my head. I know the materials I would use for it, but I doubt it would catch on, but here’s my thought process on what I’m looking to do:


I’ve designed a Finfet-style multigate transistor except it can run from any direction and do all of the functions possible from any of the other sides. It can also be redundancy proofed through a dual connection and it would still truly run any functions, even simultaneously if timed correctly.

Once I can get a server or more powerful hardware (fingers crossed to Wacom for their generosity) to build a full mole of the material or even a useful amount like what’s used in an Apple A12x chip 6.5 billion transistors. On top of that I’ve designed a capacitor that uses the semiconductors materials.

My advisor says I should patent it and then release it but I see these videos of what’s to come and the country’s where heat waves are wiping out thousands of lives, of the roughly 170,000 people dying per day and it gets to me. I know that my first patent, once in production if possible, and accepted by the community will be able to save millions of lives due to being able to go anywhere in the body. Solving the energy crisis with these designs may save future millions to billions (I know how absolutely insane that sounds and I take no ego in it). I know I want the energy spread out cheaply, and likely subsidized by their governments with my company getting a small trickle cut that would compound into a ridiculous amount if it becomes accepted. Then I can work on vertical farming, and a new toilet system for those that need it. I have so much to do.

I am a man of simple means at the moment. I live on disability and eat off of $15 per week in the U.S. which is not a lot. I’m currently sustaining myself with .38 cent burritos which I know are not good for me, but at least I’ve stopped gaining weight from my meds. I keep watching that clip of Seth Rogan as Woz, who says “It’s not binary—you can be decent and gifted.” I hope to live up to that, as I’ve not had much chance in life to do good work with what functions I do have. But I’m going to try, and I’ll keep at it until there is some positive result and someone else’s life is better. I know mine is basically over at this point, cerebral palsy, schizoaffective disorder, adhd, high functioning autism—so I may as well try to better others because when I’ve done so before, once the illness that caused the psychotic break to come on wasn’t apparent, I did help some people and I honestly felt like true self. Not a miracle worker. Just -J.

On Being Manically Depressed/Suicidal and Productive despite it.

Learning Portrait 48 8.28.19 Kevin Smith

So my mood has been cycling for the last few days. Downwards is an understatement. First come thoughts of self harm and then outright suicide. It happens to be the natural flow for a bipolar schizophrenic. You’re up and can’t sleep and you can produce whatever the hell it is you want to today, tomorrow, and the next month and a half. And then you’re hypomanic (between states) and you feel like the world isn’t worth getting out of bed for and on top of that you’ve still got this manic energy so you’re not sleeping and the ideas are coming fast and hot. Most of them are negative. Some are positive. That’s currently where I’m riding the line between that and full blown depression. It may be surprising since there are two types of schizoaffective, one being depressive, the other being bipolar, where your moods cycle (up to rapid cycling which I can be affected by), you would think that the bipolar end wouldn’t get depressive but it does happen and quite frequently. I have no real friends to speak of (at least that have reached out either way in months or years except one who is often busy with their own things) and my partner who I see on weekends (moved out due to the illness being too much after four years after a massive psychotic break; she’s a saint) has been asked to attend my next therapy session. I have no idea why but I get the paranoid feeling they’re going to gang up on me about something. I couldn’t tell you what, so I’m going to assume it’s an irrational thought. We’ll have to see.

I want to move home to my home country. I’m sick of being in the U.S. and ever since I was nine and another student tried to strangle me to death–there is a difference between strangle and choke out by the way, one is meant to put you to sleep and is often using the forearm, the other is using bare fingers and digs directly into the neck and artery which is what they did with no apology of any kind–anyway since then, all of over twenty years ago I wanted to go home. But I was kept around as a sort of pet for my parents to abuse so I lived in a locked room for about most of that time, drawing and reading. Eventually I got my green card and got a job and bought a t.v. and playstation for my brother and I to bond around, which I believe he still may have. I asked to leave once, go live in a boarding school, and my Dad said he would miss me. Until I left I was always going to be that man’s property. That man beat me regularly every time he was home from traveling around the globe and half the time I had no idea what I’d done. He always had this smile on his face when he cocking back his fist like he was about to enjoy the hit, too. A little smirk and twinkle in his eye. Then there was the games he liked to play, where when we were alone getting into the car he would jam his finger as deep into my thigh as he could causing a quick shock of pain that went through my body. He did it so deep once that it damaged the skin and I’ve got a permanent bruised vein finger print on my thigh.

Sometimes mum would call him at work and he would come home early and furious start pummeling me saying (he) I knew what I did and I would just lie there silently until he was done. He was quite good at hitting the parts of the body that clothes hid bruises. She never stopped him. The one and only time he went after my brother for lying to him over and over, by trying to crack his head on cement, she intervened. I remember the way he cried out in anguish as dad went at him too. Beginner that he was.

I remember that to stay on his good side when he was picking on my brother I would go along with it. It wasn’t good. We should’ve been fighting against the two of them together but they knew much better how to split our childrens perspectives against one another and then blame us both for what happened. I used to take it out on him physically too until one day I realized I was scaring the shit out of him, (he pulled a kitchen cleaver on me), and stopped from that point onwards. I realised far before my father did. He needed to join so men’s group and be told not to hit his kids. So he came home one day and asked us both if we wanted him to hit us–I was just silent. What kind of stupid question is that. Do you want to be raked over hot coals? Anyway it just went from him beating on me and ruining Keaghan mentally (He’s picked up an impressive defensive system to compensate that borders narcissistic but is just looking out for himself) to fighting with mum and blaming us for their disputes. This only changed when Jeanette showed up he couldn’t slam doors in anger any more because it affected her poorly. He had to hid his real self again. She saved me, and I don’t think she ever realised how much I owe her. I think that’s why I wasn’t mad when she said she was leaving me initially and before we came to what our relationship is now.

Another thing that used to bother me is that Dad would say I made his life hard. This is a self made millionaire that did literally whatever he wanted with no repercussions. Eventually when they were having marriage trouble while I was in high school (Keaghs was too) they both pulled me aside and said that I was the reason they were getting a divorce. My grades tanked after that. I fell into reading books every single class just to have some fantasy life to fall into on a daily basis. Tom Clancy and Stephen King, Anne Rice, Kurt Vonnegut (of which I’m named after) kept me sane. It got to the point where I read 1-3 full books per day. I hated them both for that. Two giant children who couldn’t take responsibility for what damage they caused by yelling and slamming doors at one another telling their disabled child it was his fault. All I wanted was to be left alone and maybe make some friends but I wasn’t allowed to bring friends over because every time I did I would get another yelling about stressing out my mother. The only friends I ended up making was the two kids that helped me get home when a senior broke my wrist in a fight when I was a freshman. I remember him kicking me in the head and see stars and thinking “oh you really do see” then he kicked me again and it was a red thud. A few rib shots and I was down. On the way back home keaghs saw me crying clutching my bent wrist and he ignored me and the two others. He said he felt bad about it, but I never understood why. I have trouble connecting feelings to the outerworld I think. Always some barrier up to be passive. My therapist says I’m a very genuine person and Jeanette says I’m a good person but I just feel like some monster waiting to see when he’ll devolve into his lesser self.

Once my cello instructor came to our place for a lesson. He was/is part of the San Francisco Symphony to give you an idea of the level that I play at/aspired to be–and after that he said he understood why I had so much trouble practicing at home. What I didn’t tell him is that my family would always–ALWAYS–come out and tell me to shut the fuck up when I played Henry. Even muted and at whatever hours I could get that didn’t involve people–because my mother never left the house and drank all day I couldn’t get a break from her blaring how to murder your family on the television. Playing on a bed edge is difficult. Dad drank daily too. Whisky every night. 2-3 tumblers with ice in crystal. Then he moved on to sho-ju with a special device to make ice spheres.

During my 23rd year he died. A multitude of heart attacks from a blood clot from not wearing those diabetic socks while flying and getting up to walk around while in flight.
There are two things that I remember that day. Three things. One, at around 9 a.m. I had a heart palpitation and bent over waiting for it to pass. Two at 9:18, Keaghs called and said Dad was dead–and three, after going to the wrong place and then to the right hospital I got there in time to see his dead body on the table with the rebreather sticking out of his throat. I asked that they removed it because it looked unsightly. Then I attempted to close his eyes, as he had died with them open to the world. But I had been too slow getting there, and they slowly opened again returning to their original position. A gluely look to them is what I would say.

That week was a blur. Mum fell apart and made it all about herself. I had to take up responsibility for his funeral home. I had help with his friend Grant whom I’m eternally grateful to.

His funeral was attended by hundreds across multiple continents, he was compared to Steve Jobs in vision, and Oracle gave him a reception that was tasteful and included speeches from his coworkers and myself included–asking that nothing get pushed back because he wouldn’t want that. (It’s not the Oracle way. Got to read your crowd, right.).

Things went a little nuts after that. Instead of listening to me and keeping her house in one of the most desirable neighborhoods mum sold it at a massive loss and moved to the woods of Washington. Jeanette and I came along so she didn’t kill herself because she kept threatening to. She literally thought we were there to be her servants. That’s another reason I dislike my family. They always assume my time is worth less than theirs. Keaghan does it. My other brothers do it. The rest of my family does it. The only one that doesn’t do it is my grandmother. She attempted suicide during my mothers last yearly visit home (I haven’t been home in years) and mum made me guess what had happened to her because she thought telling me that something awful had happened and then not telling for a week until she got back to the U.S. was the right way to go about it. It wasn’t. I’ve attempted three times. I understood where Nanny was coming from. I asked for help getting home and she refused. She can be a truly utterly callous individual.

I’m saving to move home and I have my grandfathers table (which he had made from endangered wood he pulled out of a swamp himself. A literal one of a kind piece) and my grandmothers hutch, and my two dogs who are clearly like my children–and she’s told me multiple times she would help with each of these things, each within her power easily as she inherited vast wealth from my fathers death, and then saying “Oh no, I can’t help.” She can be a sadistic bitch some times. She called yesterday to do that to me again, and this after me spending two months looking after her ever whim after her last hospitalization, which I never do again. It had been the second time I had done it in as many years.

Once I’m home I doubt I’ll allow her on my property. Let alone her friend that told her not to help me. She just makes me feel less than and no one deserves that from any one. Even if it is supposed to be family.

Sorry for the whinge. But I feel better. And that’s what one of the reasons of this blog are for.

-J.

I have no fricking idea what to work on; dealing with too many choices.

So I’m currently working on my first biomedical patent. I sent them a bunch of information this morning in fact. What’s left to do is grab my solidworks copy and create the final forms of the device and how they fit together-of which I’ve done one major part already of a menial few remaining. It’s the most important thing to be doing right now, but it comes in fits and starts. It doesn’t help I left some of my tech in Arizona and need to shipped back to me.

On another finger I’ve been suppose to be doing this 100 days of art dearie. I’m not thinking consecutive days or it’ll just be a grind by the end of it, but I think I need to make something today just for the hell of it. Plus Wacom has finally released the stand for the MobileStudio pro so I should get that in a day or so. I also ordered an airbrush pen so I can paint to my strengths once again after the initial learning curve is over.

So there’s that.

The other thing I’m working on is a book based on that Being an Asmovian subsect of text. I’m unsure how to go about it. For the last year or so I’ve been inventing various methods of different things in an attempt to save people from the incoming global warming, going as far as sending my works to NASA and the United Nations to be ignored, and have 20-22 current devices/methods to go over. I’m thinking I’ll write it like you’re reading from a terraformers perspective (who happens to be a multi disciplinary scientist–as I feel they may all well be to be adaptive enough to work together. They would be known as the hegemon (a nod to Ender). From there I would lay all of my works bare and see what takes. If nothing does perhaps it’ll be a doctrine of how not to write such a thing. I’m willing to give it a shot. So far the the name is For My Beloved. As only a person who plants trees for generations unknown would belove their fellow humanity, I attempt the same.

The problem I’m dealing with is anhedonia–a form of my illness with a length of lethargy delving towards suicidality that is most unpleasant. I think these blog posts are a ways to combat the feeling so I can ramp back into a manic phase where I’m useful once again. The only thing I wish were better were my maths skills as it relates to composure of inventiveness. I’m currently on Klonopin and I’ve been sleeping the days away breaking out of the slumber in fits of terror and ill mood–as I’m naturally prone to do due to the PTSD of decades of severe physical and other abuse. My therapist thinks my aggressors were legitimate psychos, and I tend to agree.

Anyway I’m off to do the dishes, and maybe eat something–and find something to paint for the day. Perhaps I’ll get to write instead. A simple 5,000 word day. Only a few hours work. A flip of a coin go we, right?

Have an excellent day, until I see you later on.

-J.

Losing Weight with Mild Cerebral Palsy and Schizoaffective disorder, and $.95 per meal. Day 2. Plus 100 days of art: Day 1.

First, today’s art.

Now, I’ve picked up a new iPad app called Clip Studio Paint. I’m in love with it already, as I enjoy desktop software more than mobile whenever possible, but I use my iPad for literally ten hours a day. I’m a huge proponent of Art Studio Pro and often over the last almost year have done my design work within it.

My goal with this software is to learn a colour portrait technique. As you can see I have a long way to go. I know if I use a grid technique with an airbrush (physical) I can do this pretty easily:

But that was my first attempt at airbrushing years ago and my hands are weaker now than then–and they shake just an itsy bit more violently. And I’ve always wanted to teach myself some form of portraiture so I can sketch people, even with the mild face blindness I seem to have. It’s not major. I can’t see myself in photos easily, and ignore people I know without realizing it sometimes. I go by voice more often than not.

So here’s to 100 days of art, and getting started with day one.

Losing Weight with Mild Cerebral Palsy and Schizoaffective disorder, and $.95 per meal. Day two.

I’ve come to find that I hate scales. The one in Arizona clocked me in under 300 lbs when I left that morning. When I checked today back in Portland I’m sitting at 309.5 lbs. Damn. About as chunky yet funky as week old cottage cheese someone left opened in the back of your car.

My goal was to have the lawn mowed by Sunday, but the part–a new carburetor– didn’t arrive until late this afternoon. Other than slicing my finger open, and needing to buy a dual set of vice grips that the clerk luckily upsold me on–which I turned out to exactly need two of to hold the damned gas tank tube in place while removing it, without a safe place to pour the gasoline out, it was a fun learning experience.

But it runs! And with immense vigor too–or not at all, which I’m assuming is probably not amazing since it’ll run itself rich the whole time I use it, but at least tomorrow I get to mow my lawns again and can not be the shameful yard on the street once again. One thing down.

I’ve also invested in some body shaming glow in the dark wrist bands. They have holes to punch through as lettering that’ll spell out almost whatever you want. My first is a “No soda” one. The next will be “no junk food” since at the moment belts and watches that once fit me when I left no longer do, and I am happily upset at myself enough to read those until they sink deep into my fat head’s perspective, and I stop craving them. I was able to do it with sugar in coffee. The hard part is not going to a cafe for an iced mocha with almond milk because my prediabetic dumb ass doesn’t understand that’s one of the things causing my issues. I think I’m just lonely, and it used to be nice to sit there and write. I wrote my first novel at the local cafe for fun. I remember vividly traipsing through the snow one winters day trying to lose weight and the satisfying skritching the metal teeth of the snow shoes I wore gave to the tile as I took them off, as I found my favorite writing seat empty. It was, and is, a pleasant memory.

Right, where was I? Exercise for the day.

When Jeanette and I lived together we would go up to the local mountain and hike up the hill, around the bend, and down and up the mountainside again. It is a roughly 4.4 mile hike, and extremely painful for me even when I was 220 lbs. So I thought fuck it, let’s see how badly off I am.

It took me an hour to get up that first hill. Roughly a miles walk. I stopped twice, in enough pain to seriously go back down the hill again and call it good. My legs are so tight at the moment that I had to manually force them in circles until the ankles loosened just enough to keep going. That’s the best I can hope for.

But I got up there. Went around to the gravel path I’ve walked hundreds of times before, and made it roughly 100 steps before turning around. I’m just too heavy to do the full thing at the moment. I also made the mistake of bringing a backpack with me that just ended up digging into the bad part of my spine the whole time. I have a proper hiking bag Dad left me when he died, and I don’t know why I didn’t use it. Embarrassing, but at least I made it up that hateful hill.

I stopped under a tree in the shade, where the grass was matted down by other travelers–which I had always been too nervous to check out, and stretched my legs.

Took this photo to show that I’m not kidding.

I’m not sure where I’ll go to walk tomorrow, but now that I’ve started the only thing I’ve got to do is keep going. I’ll have to see how many miles I walk doing the lawn.

Have an excellent night.

-J.