I’ve been hesitant to post my writing for the last couple of months and you’ll see why from the first poem, but I want to see how this feels. I’ve been journaling a lot lately. I’m trying to contain the freedom of that as much as possible.
3-4-24
I finished Julia Fox’s book and I feel like a good girl.
I spent the last few months trying to write about systematic predictions of humanity, AI’s role in it all, and how we can use it for good.
Now I miss Venice Beach.
The audience may want AI and my uniquely hot takes on its body, its ability to eat software, and my personal design interface with humanity, aka Retla, a data-collecting MMO to feed the AI engineering machine that eventually kills the car.
But typing out a 10-minute read every other week to a substack with a cute little logo of a man at a desk with a milking contraption strapped to his head ”mind milk” is too dry, the writing style specifically, and my muse is too hard to impress. The fact is, even though I can see the direction of all this, predict its science fiction with all the knowledge of a real engineer, most likely someone else will waste their life making my startup, writing endless emails for it, so my blog can remain an un-presentable mess. This comforts me.
3-4-24
My tell must be going upside down. If my head goes below my feet, you know I’m lying to myself.
Other guys don’t care. They’re all, I love you and done. He was all, the world will know your name.
Free spirit, just so you don’t trip, you’re going to not want things that other people want badly. And when you get it, it’s okay to still not want it. Remember this.
3-4-24
To take a bull by the horns this day and age means to take corporate America by its tech.
Understand fundamentally how everything is built. Predict trends and know its limitations. Few people do this, most are thoroughly dependent on something they accepted as futile to conquer.
Once in tech, you’ll find you’re one of many. Then you play the people game with a variety of artistically suppressed, brilliant minds. If you can do this, you can pretty much do anything. On the other side, there is a God.
3-4-24
The thought of talking to you exhausts me. What you say versus everything underneath, cross-referenced with everything I already know.
Teach me the secrets of opening lines, and one day I’ll return the favor in the form of preventing a failed car accident, or a CPAP machine so your heart doesn’t spontaneously give out one night. You don’t see it. And I can never say it. I suppose if you could see it, and I could say it, then this would be working out. Unfortunately, and fortunately, I must go find someone who amplifies this newly found fire within. So many take it, returning little more than praise and adoration. I thought adoration could be enough. Clearly it isn’t. For the people who don’t see it, they might think whatever they think, and even say it in the name of being honest, but they’re on a different wavelength, that’s it. Cliche, I know.
3-3-24
Darker to here. And now, I sleep through the night. I dreaded shots as a child. They had to hold me down as I screamed. I felt bad after cussing out whichever sweet nurse had the misfortune of applying mine. These experiences were my second-level fighting lessons.
3-2-24
This fine tip pen invites me to write legibly. I’m accustomed to breezing through each letter, dropping letters at times, handwriting as a means to an end, handwriting destroyed by the typewriter long ago. There have been so many arts rendered futile by the collective, by the pragmatists, by the invention of technology. I’ve been there. Oh, I’ve been deeper than anyone, packing up my dresses, building computers instead of painting with them, taking pictures of sunsets. The ephemeral turned worthless. Once you’ve lived in a quantitative state of mind for so long, you’ll notice yourself waking up in a panic more and more frequently. The rain feels less and less. Social dinners feel like a chore. For all those calculations you do, the numbers never really add up to something satisfying. You’ll start mischievously fudging the numbers as justification for breaking. Yes, yes, if I sleep in, I’ll be more rested to produce higher quality this. Yes, if I hook up with this unpolished motherfucker, I’ll relieve stress and be less irritable for my outing tonight. Do everyone a favor, just do what you want already.
3-1-24
People smell different after bloodlet. Never ask a feeling to stay. It’s like damning a river.
3-1-24
Now finally violence.
With you I have the freedom to hit as hard as I’d like.
I felt his cheek against mine, and it dawned on me that the things I did to get here were difficult. Loving and lying is difficult. And now, finally, peace. Thank you for grabbing my hand at the end of the tunnel.
Synchronicity between your two selves is the first sign that you’ve escaped purgatory.
Laying on the tropical rainforest floor, glowing, I put on my light, my anger breaks the earth beneath me. The cosmos collide, and I am a part of it all.
Anthropological Magical Realism 