Curdle's Milk

We're living in repetition! Prototypes of what we were. I cannot speak, I've lost my voice, because I love you is not enough, I'm lost for words.

The Session

Deep in Garlfest season, townsfolk have become unruly and restless. Absorbed in the spirit of sin and overconsumption the dark forces of Urdlan rise. A holy relic, the Vitruvian Gnome, which will satiate all minds, bodies, and spirits, has been stolen, and the city's leadership is unable or unwilling to replace it. They like drinking until they vomit and forgetting everything embarrassing that happened the night before. In unrelated events one of your two lovely dungeon masters, in an illicit affair, rode the erect penis of her co-DM through 3 layers of clothing after they each drank half of a fifth of Bombay sapphire in what the one on bottom would call "Girl's Night." They would drink again tomorrow.

Gnomes, fun and good hearted people by nature do not worship Urdlan, it is only the spiteful imitators of kobolds, known for their immortal feud with gnomes, that worship the evil gnomish god out of spite. Urdlan's daughter, an avatar of the gluttonous aspect of the mole, Curdle consumed as much as she could. The ranches were overslaughtered, the spirits were stolen, and tomes of magic went missing. The kobolds loved Curdle in that she was God on earth. The kobolds loved her specifically for her hunger. They loved feeding her. They loved watching the cloth sack attached to where her robot stomach would expand and fill with meat to let rot. They loved hearing her agonized aches end as she stuffed the slit between her teeth shaped protrusions, but of course, the robot could never, would never, eat. She would always be hungry, and in that delusional hope for satiation, the kobolds found purpose and meaning. They sealed her away in a cave. Perhaps if they brought her this Vitruvian Gnome, she could be happy.

The session consists of some roleplay and combat until we come across an alchemist (statted as an ichor slinger), Mak, hurting the kobolds to save Curdle, extracting their organs to create brews that barely satiate her. Our adventurers convince Mak that they can help save the object of her obsession, fighting a Lovelorn on the way. They reach Curdle's chamber, where she is too fat and bloated to move. With one last feeding, her stomach sack ruptures and disgusting slime appears on the floor. With a casting of ring of truth, Mak admits that she is growing resentful of these adventurers and their way. Meanwhile, a profane aura exudes from Urdlan's daughter, giving everyone Cup of Dust cast on them every hour they spend with her, but food and drink can counteract it. Tensions rise as they return to town, with their plan not going to work, but the gamestore was closing, so we didn't have time to engage in that section. As they failed to solve the puzzle, Mak would grow increasingly difficult to preserve.

Not only had she lost the kobolds that fueled her lab, she gave them up for people who are utterly incompetent. Finally, she would admit that she couldn't do it, and there's nothing more to be done. She would kill herself and spawn several Lovelorn, and that would be the end of the session, but your lovely co-dms had a disagreement, and it was stated that this was too far emotionally for her to take. I couldn't free myself. Trapped in her barbwire fence like the night before, trapped in this character for her friends to chastise. Then they'd tell me that which I just learned myself, that she worshipped me like a goddess, that I had to leave and it would be painful for her. She told me I did everything right, it was perfect, I was perfect, and I wasn't just another homewrecker, and I'd cry. I'd cry over and over for that, seeing that I was becoming the Obvious Exception.

One hand, two plays

Now the meat of the discussion. The Obvious Exception and I vs me and Curdle. How are the hands different? Well, me and Curdle go back way far. Me and the Obvious Exception knew each other maybe a week. Additionally, when I wrecked the house of me and ex-husband with the Obvious Exception, that was a 3 year relationship with a man I'd known for a very long time. When Curdle wrecked her house with me, she'd been dating her partner for only 3 months. In that sense they're quite different. On the other hand, everything else about the situations is virtually identical. Someone in a monogamous relationship becomes obsessed with someone they've only seen for a short while, there's physical intimacy beyond the negotiated boundaries of the relationship, confessions of cheating happen, and those cheated on get to meet those cheated with.

Now, we have played out these scenarios very differently. I fled my home to be with the Obvious Exception. Through a long drawn out process I learned that my relationship with Ex-Husband wasn't satisfying my needs. I broke up with him I think fairly alright, though also in a drawn out manner since I couldn't decide if he could consent to something or not. She was god obviously, and I thought she liked being god, but I later learned that she didn't. She continued to talk to me well after when she could have left, and I appreciate that immensely. I feel like I gained a lot of insight and developed as a person a tremendous amount from when I first met her. I feel like I can truthfully say this past year has been one of the biggest ones for my development since the last time I took a new name. I have this newfound appreciation for all of humanity. I'm learning to love to a new degree I didn't think possible, and I'm learning to get what I want, to pursue pleasure instead of avoiding pain.

Curdle had a spurious fling with me. When her boyfriend found out after she willfully misinterpreted his platonic interest in her best friend as a decision to have a threesome, she was devastated. Screaming, crying, yelling. Begging. She wouldn't let me leave the tow yard, and it's only because they promised to not leave until 6:00 AM in the morning did she let him out of the yard to sit right outside. Still I was god. I didn't like that. I told her I didn't like that. I wasn't going to let that last, I wasn't going to let that same thing happen to Curdle. Well, the difference is that Curdle had no desire to deconstruct her feelings for me. Things like "the spark dying" were thrown around after she got tired of me; she was done after playing with me for 3 days. Her boyfriend called her back because he was lonely, and then the text came. Charitably, she decided that the complex she has for me has done irreparable damage, I'm part of the reason she cheated, and that I had to go because I'm unstable. Uncharitably, she has decided to not process what has happened, why it happened, and the role she played in it, and how to heal or grow from it.

This was not the first time this happened with Curdle, but it will be the last. Maybe the history played a role, maybe the hands were different after all, but I don't think so. I think I've seen this hand too many times. I kept dealing it to her over and over. I got dealt that hand once, and I came out a different person. She stayed the same. I feel like I'm watching myself grow up and leaving someone behind, and I think that's okay.

Life Affirmations

I have this new outlook on life that I'm really proud of. I'm proud to impose my will and ask for things I want and like, and I'll be okay and happy even, just because I've asked, when people tell me no. I like pain and burning light and wanting things from people who don't want to give them to me. It's inspired by the Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman. It's so extreme with its characterization of logic and passion that that it's funny at times and also completely disgusting. Desiderio, being the only type of synthesis possible, does nothing and wants nothing. Hoffman is actually I believe a critique of the concept of "false dichotomies" for in fact the world is largely comprised of true dichotomies. The logical intersection of Hoffman's beliefs, and the Minster's beliefs is the empty set, represented by this man "too sardonic and disillusioned to dream." This isn't representative of Carter as a whole, but I think that the dyadic view is definitely in full force here. The only sound conclusion I can come to after reading Hoffman is to abandon logic when possible and surrender to passion precisely because passion is fleeting, beautiful, and the only thing that will matter before you die.

This makes me a lot more like the Image of the Obvious Exception I feel. She says that passion comes easy to her. That's precious and beautiful, but it does not come naturally to me. The sense of passion is something to be nurtured, and sometimes I feel like I can watch it evaporate out of her body, and I wonder if I should step in to protect it. I need to nurture my own passion as well. To me, the hand I was dealt also proved this. I needed to embrace passion and get what I really wanted out of life, I needed to take care of myself. I don't think about killing myself as often as I used to. My grading scale is all fucked up because what used to be a blue day then counts as a red day to now. Back then, I was life affirming in a bad way, inconsiderate of the rights of others, but now I recognize that as long as there's no surprise in the classroom you know they have to go to, it's fine and wonderful to be life affirming. Life is so affirmed I no longer dream of death every day.

I'm getting really into pretty lights. I'm getting really into smelling good things. I'm getting into cute statues and nice rocks. Opening myself to the world of passion has led me to enjoy the sensory more. I was so hot on my flight back home it was miserable, but I remember seeing the green and blue lights in the tunnel at the airport it was worth it to have that kind of sensitivity. And then, not with passion, not with urgency, but simple emotion, I wanted to be cool, so I turned on the fan and felt a wave of relief. It used to take a lot of energy to feel that. It used to be a thing I had to hold on to, to focus on and dream about, but it just came naturally to me. It came as naturally to me as looking at the fireworks did to the 5 year old next to me last week.

People around me have really helped with this as well. I think, though he'd never admit it, someone I know is much more Hoffmanian than he'd like to imagine. You can see it in a lot of things, the kind but impolite way he lives. He likes watching sunsets for the aesthetic value rather than the ritualistic, and he's making me like them more. He's making me like the photos even. I went to the botanical gardens and in the museum section they had a section on perfumes. I went there with someone else, and it was kind of captivating hearing her mention the smells that they reminded her of. It made me smell it different. Every time I hear a bike pass by I think of her. Some people don't like loud bikes, but I like them, now at least. Liking things is a real skill I needed to learn.

Would I have liked to not have done what I did with Curdle? I'm not sure. I think the type of person who resists so strongly things they want and things other people want to give them is someone I don't want to be. If she hesitated even a little, maybe me and Curdle wouldn't have done anything. If she didn't tell me it was destiny, maybe I would have held back, but someone who stops themselves when everything inside and out is telling them to continue is someone I can't live as again. The first death is in the heart.