Lark! A post on my guestbook! (Twitter tutorial request)

I never get any feedback on my guestbook, but sure enough I got a rare comment from one of my rare Greasyfork fans.

Dilbert wants to know how to edit the Tweets for a fake screenshot, but also how to edit like/retweet/reply counts.

This can be done with the element inspector with plain vanilla Chrome, Firefox, Safari, etc. with no addons. (perhaps web dev mode needs enabled in IE; not sure)

Here is a tutorial.

Couldn’t think of anything clever to make the Pope say for this tutorial. I should have looked up a joke.

EDIT: @Dilbert – I don’t know how to reach you, but I’ve implemented in that userscript a string parsing function to simply edit the retweet counts with x[number,number,number,number]

My little angel meeting my guardian angel.

I took my rock baby to see my mom’s grave on Memorial Day.

I call mom “guardian angel” in the title, because around the time after she died, I was told that I now have my own angel, by my grandma, who since is also now in heaven. Grandma also gave me an angel pin to remind me of this, and I wore it all the time, until it broke, but sure enough she gave me another one to replace it. It looks like Icarus. Rock!

Last night I had a dream that it was my birthday (I just turned 33 this month) and mom was there, but it was like she never had died. I wasn’t shocked to see her and I didn’t even remember her dying. She was taking pictures of me with a cake.

She died in 2009. I finally cried for the first time in 2012 and it went on for days. I can’t really describe the feeling before 2012. Now in 2017, I might be at acceptance. (though I mustered up a tear typing this)

My Arm Hurts and My Motivation is Dead (bump)

April 18, 2017

So this has been going on since December. My right arm hurts. Some weeks it’s not noticeable, but suddenly I’ll wake up and it’s super sore all over again. I’ve been getting my Abilify shot in the left arm because my right is so sore, so I don’t think it’s about the injections. However, this could be cogwheel dystonia. Seems something serious to talk to my prescriber nurse about.

I’ve seen this before, last summer when I was in Telecare, Bellevue.  Two other patients there kept complaining about their one arm hurting. It’s usually a thing about Haldol. I had better hope for Abilify, because it’s technically not neuroleptic, though you wouldn’t know it from reading the usual antipsychotic side effects in there.

My motivation is also dead. I’ve been real good lately, investing my time in some computer work. I’ve spent a week converting the canvas-drawn Window elements in RPG Maker MV into DOM elements for design purposes. It’s been real fulfilling and I didn’t think I was going to stop until I get it finished, but last Sunday my arm was super sore again and my motivational high is gone. Since then, all that I have had the determination to do is nothing; I’ll sit at the computer staring at nothing, clicking the mouse in the dark. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I’m receiving covert and heavy neuroleptic injections in my sleep and in my right arm. Abilify 400mg didn’t give me any cognitive/motor problems, and now I’m only on 300mg. Somebody is moving my shoes around too. I leave them in front of the door so I know if the door has been opened. They are definitely being moved. I’m going to have to set up my security cam DVR.

My Twitter is flushed full of crap, and I keep posting nonsense on obscure message boards because my mind is absolutely blank. I don’t have a valueble thought in my head. My game projects are sitting right there on my hard drive waiting for me to work on them and I’ll just open and close the documents. What fresh hell is this?

May 27th, I had an awesome day… I cleaned my apartment, did some artwork, and went for the first walk since October… my arm doesn’t seem to hurt anymore. I did pushups for the first time since summer 2016.

-=bump=- EDIT: May 29, 2017

Today I woke up my arm hurts again, and my motivation is also dead. I need to get it checked out, because it feels like an injury. The deep sadness feels pharmacological. The problem with covert meds is that I don’t know who to sue.

Work or Else!

This month I’ve covered in blog that:
It’s illegal to take your own life (die by choice).
It’s illegal to not take care of yourself. (dangerous to self)

And now I will blog about:
It’s illegal to not work.

This guy ^ is a caricature of me because I am a huge leech. I live on disability for a verbally diagnosed mental illness. All it took, was me saying “yes”, to a psychiatrist asking: Do you hear voices?

I don’t expect anyone to build/maintain my car, house, and roads, and/or educate/feed/health-coverage, my kids (don’t have any).

Talking about me, I must be disabled because I see no point in life, and if I even took after the average human person of the majority, people would be extinct because they would never date, marry, and mate, work on schedule, or even talk to other people.

I work for my dad’s ranch volunteer, and live off of SSD – Social Security Disability. It only seems to work, because even with my so-called illness, I can’t seem to get fired like other jobs, because I have unlimited absent days and somewhat no deadlines and my dad makes up the schedule as he and the seasons go along.

I feel like an abomination and a chimera that I even must eat or take any human animal needs from others, but if it were up to me I would have been peacefully euthanized at age 15, and the world would still get on, because people die all the time, and the world eventually gets on.

My depression is invalid. You probably have just as hard of a time as I do, but you tough it out more, and I take that for granted.

Storm the Adorable Palace

Just taking some more portraits of my little rock girl. I think she’s a mythical clay golem, because it appears that she built a fort. So I have to do the daddy thing and snap some photos of my baby. If this sounds or looks weird: I have a doll for this, and you probably gave birth to real human kids simply for the same kind of showboating. I think that’s weird. My baby doesn’t even have to watch me die, because she’s an artificial parody of what everyone else in my generation is doing, and my baby is only to be ironic.

Her name is Hauvu. I named her after my roommate who didn’t speak English. I’m shy, and he didn’t know English so we didn’t have to talk. She looks like him too. I gave her the name the day I carried her home from Earl May’s.

Off Meds

Photo Post from Nov 23rd 2012.

I didn’t really climb up on the power lines. This was Photoshop. My community support worker Kelly saw it on Facebook and thought it was real; she was like about to have me emergency admitted or something, as if parkour is a symptom of mental illness anyway. I’m glad I deleted my Facebook.

EDIT: May 27th, 2017 – Off Meds again.

Dear Blog,

I’m off my shot right now as I write this and I’m perfectly fine. I’m even a little bit on the bored side, as opposed to the wild positive symptoms that I only experienced over 14 years ago when I was first diagnosed.

November to May, I was only taking a monthly 300 mg. extended Abilify Maintena injection which is actually pretty small for someone my size.

I do know that I’m off meds (the monthly shot), because my prescriber nurse told me it would be out of my system right now. She also refused to taper me off the shot and says I need to get another provider to taper me off it. So now I’m getting another psychiatrist; maybe I’ll get a doctor instead of a nurse this time.

Involuntary psychotropic medication that’s labeled to alter thinking and otherwise makes you sick all the time is tantamount to being assaulted all day, all night.

I assure you there is no stereotypical “I’m feeling well; I don’t need meds.” in my case. If anything, it’s “I feel terrible on meds; I need off them!”

With 33 years experience: I know my brain better than you and better than anyone with a doctorate for treating the uncontrollable mental illness, said doctor who only sees me 5 minutes a month (my brain! mine!). I’ve been off meds for years and a time, and I’ve been fine as long as I avoid my triggers (not addiction triggers) and my therapist Doug says my trigger is my dad and my brothers (in certain amounts). For instance, my dad’s Hoarders/zoo-cage of a house makes me instantly depressed, and the only way to clean it, is to drag it all out to the curb on the once-monthly trash day, or else take it out back and burn it (he’s actually burned more furniture and trash than I ever have out there in the sticks), and he also gets verbally aggressive at me at any random time. My real trigger is coffee and Diet Mtn. Dew, and not sleeping. I will be wise to avoid these things.

I’m a broken vinyl record, but I’m practicing/beautifying a speech I need to get me off meds. Broken records don’t get better and more elegant with repetition.

Jacob Jilg, Arrested for Nothing?

This is a screenshot of the August 12th, 2013 Columbus Telegram – cached website

So it turns out Columbus Telegram, falsely reported my Mental Health Board EPC (Emergency Protective Custody warrant) as an arrest warrant.

(the difference: arrested is when you are doing something illegal!)

I was EPC’d because I stopped seeing my doctor. He actually refused to see me because I wasn’t going to take my shot, and he refused to taper me off it. I have to see a doctor for my outpatient commitment.

Columbus Telegram, you’re paying off my credit cards… (me as Trump)

For the record: I’ve never been in prison nor jail, and I’ve never been arrested. I’ve been in a lot of locked hospitals, but that’s for my diagnosed illness and treating it; not a crime and punishment.

I found this when I googled my own name again. (I gotta keep tabs on some old cyberbullies spreading the phrase “hurf durf, it’s jake jilg” and I want to catfish them.)

Dear Blog, “Lactating and Not A Mom” May 13th 2017 (Saturday)

I’m done with Abilify Maintena, Haldol Decanoate, Invega Trinza, Risperdal Consta, because always flubber blubber and depression…This ^ is healthy?
Do you bet your doctorate?!

I’ve known the yo-yo weight since 2006, and it’s always only when on antipsychotics. I also know my natural brain chemistry. I’m not thinking the same on these involuntary psychotropics. I need to take my life back.

My mom was depressed because she drank. I hate alcohol. I’m depressed because I’m forced to take the chemical equivalent, neuroleptic antipsychotic medications. (Google dopamine imbalance theory, invented by a hog farmer)

In the name of all that is scientific and/or holy: PSYCHIATRY IS NOT MEDICINE!

To heck with my body at this point. I just want my mind back. Then my body might come back after some work, with extra flab, same as always. Or else… Or else what? What? That’s what. What? A cartoon? Yes, I’ll make more cartoons.

1. disable pain 2.disable heart 3.peace

I’m not really religious anymore, but I lay in bed, late at night, and try to meditate on stopping my life, willing myself dead, praying to God or Jesus or whatever that I can finally call it quits on existence.

I never gave consent to exist in the first place.

Life is doing life.

I think people should go extinct because they are philosophical zombies who create a life without knowing the meaning of life.

Right now, I’ve decided to pray this “kill me” message to my computer, because the computer is the source of my almost everything and all knowledge/wisdom.

The goal: die in my sleep and I never know about it. Awesome. Soon! Anytime soon?

I’m too tired to spell all this out elegantly. – Depression, Anhedonia, and Stifled Creativity/Motivation

All yesterday:
sitting at the computer…
because it’s the only major thrill in my life…
clicking the mouse in the dark not really doing anything…
Antipsychotics are doing this to me.
Off meds: I have so many ideas and creative impulses, that I have to write them all down and sketch thumbnails, so I do not forget them, and I could go for a walk and have 20 new projects for the week!
This is me right now. I know it’s my antipsychotics. The only possible way out of the dark is to go off my meds. I see my doctor/practitioner tomorrow. I hope I’ve compiled a convincing debate this past month.

On a more positive note…

I’m constantly tweaking my Twentysixteen theme… something to do…

Adam Ruins Everything on College Humor, spelled out that blue used to be feminine, and pink used to mean manly, until Hitler Nazis invented the pink triangle badge, and the colors flipped from the world influence. I’m not really representing anything, other than aesthetic, anyway. Pretties.

Dear Blog, SNOW??? – May 20th 2017

The famous bipolar weather of Nebraska. Snow for May 20th, 2017.
That’s the news! (something to blog about)

I’ve been sleeping like a hibernating bear this week. It’s been cold, which incidentally also makes my apartment 79-85°F because of my neighbors’ generous heating.

My sleep schedule has been out of whack since I started the Abilify shot. It antagonizes/blocks dopamine, and dopamine is what keeps you paralyzed when you sleep. So I’ll be awake for 20-30 hours and sleep 14-18 hours, or else I’ll only be awake 2-6 hours and sleep 2-6 hours all day/night. My circadian rhythm is like a rollercoaster. Also lack of dopamine creates crazy dreams and sleep-walking.

So snow in late May/Spring: that’s kind of cool, literally; I don’t know what else to write about it.

In other news, I finally created a child WordPress theme of Twentysixteen. This is because every time there was a theme update, I had to re-apply all of my HTML/CSS changes. I finally created a theme that won’t reset itself.

IWTD – I Want To Die Be Happy

My will to live has been on “empty” for about 20 years. It’s a big part of why I’m disabled. The first time I planned suicide was when I was 14 or so, wrote a note and tried to pull a belt around my neck for a few times only until the asphyxiation made me panic for air and I eventually gave up. I don’t even get emotional about it anymore.

I’m not writing this for shock. In all honesty, I want to die, or rather stop existing if it were possible: the wish I was never born, paradox. I’ll admit I’m a big baby, because I can’t handle the burdens of life, but not one person can correctly, philosophically, or even honestly, testify/state an actual point/reason/meaning to life, not even if you have the eugenic level of intellect to launch the Cassini–Huygens satellite to Saturn.

My only purpose in life was to be my parents’ baby, so I’m literally just a grown baby anyway. When you are grown, you are out on your own. This is true, even if you have schizoaffective disorder and a 70% grip on reality, and mood so wild that it’s a disability, like me.

I have a little more free speech on my obscure blog, but I’ve been locked up in the state mental hospital and/or private sub-acute facilities for announcing this fact inpatient.

Honestly, I’m not crazy enough to take my own life. I’m a big guy; in my youth I’ve drank toxic levels of hard liquor, and woke up not even hungover because I passed out and vomited it all up. If I tried to overdose like my mom did, at my size, I’d just get very sick and be in torturous pain.
With my luck, if I shot myself in the head with my dad’s rifle, I’d end up like the poor head-wounded patient we all lived with in LRC for 6+ months. He was a war vet, he hobbled around with a walker, and couldn’t speak English.

My “plan?” is to more or less, wait until the US population + economic conditions + civil liberties, get great enough to allow for “Right to die” like in the Netherlands. I predict it’s not too far away. We’ve had abortion for the longest time (which I don’t stand for), and that’s literally taking the life of a child, so next to that: a grown adult, burden on the state, taking his own life, by his own decision, and right, looks like pudding.

I had a surgery in October 2016, that made me realize euthanasia consultation, would be the ultimate best way to commit suicide. I don’t even remember falling asleep and there was no pain.

I wouldn’t really be leaving anyone behind. My brothers have their own families and they take care of themselves. Honestly our lifetime relationship has been nothing, but sitting in front of the TV and/or eating together like zombies. I have no children and never will. I have no friends.

Right now, in all 50 states, you are not allowed to take your own life even if you are terminally ill. I Googled it.
I saw this =>
news photo (recreated for copyright purposes) of a terminally ill cancer victim fighting for her own right to her own euthanasia. It really puts things into perspective though. There are people suffering terminal cancer and I’m just suffering from a verbally diagnosed behavioral illness, and the philosophical pain of awareness. Wow.

Wordy crap articles, because I’ve been too depressed to make art and cool stuff lately.

May 14th, 2017 – 5-14-17

Hello. I’m 33. Celebrate a birthday when you are 33. Cake photo from 2013 when the landlord hung the birthday card sign on my door. Carry on.

Google even got in on it. It seems I would have known about this.

I’m 33 and the time calculator I wrote confirms, right down to the millisecond.

In other news, I still have so much to backdate pre 2016 into this new WordPress: posts from my old blog and various deleted Tumblrs. Keep an eye out on older posts randomly appearing.


Annual Haircut and a Tan


I cut my mop off a few days ago. I cut my own hair like twice a year. I also helped brand my dad’s calves Saturday, which is an all day job of team wrestling the winter calves through a chute and giving them vaccines and stuff. We don’t rope and drag, but I have done that for other ranches back in high school (weekend beer money and FFA labor auction).

My brother gave me sunblock, but unfortunately my head is as red as turkey right now because I’m on Abilify Maintena which is in the class of antipsychotics that cause photosensitivity. They made me take a class on this in Bellevue Telecare because it was during summer.