7/22/24
In Love of Fashion
Clothing is interesting beyond its beauty. I think it’s synonymous to evolution. We’re creating embellished versions of ourselves. The dress represents fur, or feathers, or a tail. We can’t manipulate our phenotype after birth, nor can we play God in a real-life version of Spore. So we make clothes to symbolize how we would alter our phenotype if we could. It represents more than retail.
In Hatred of Cars
Masculine Clothes:
Men are less okay with pure fantasy. They want to come closer to God in this life. The development of the actuator men’s adaptation of clothing was forever changed – the car, the phone, the AI pin. The AI pin is funny because you see the clothing aspect of tech, meaning the desire for our creations to be encoded in our DNA, slip through the men’s ironclad tech façade’s cracks even though it was ultimately a joke.
I won’t begin to analyze the phenomenon of dressing the same as the people around us. The fear of standing out, and how to stand out is somehow “earned.”
7/24/24
Hate
What do sad housewives do? Meaning, unemployed-but-taken-care-of people. How do they distract themselves? Being sad as an unemployed 9-to-5 person didn’t offer me such freedoms. But it is much easier to tell the world to fuck off when you have nothing to do.
I’m trying to embrace nothingness, my dog, those sort of things. Honestly, it’s easy when you wake up and you can drive anywhere. Something is missing though. I’m trying to find myself, who I was before I started counting. I did breathwork yesterday, determined to enter a trance. I hit it two out of four times. The key to getting there is not the amount of effort you put in, but the willingness to let the breath take over. Let it give you feeling. I did this again for the three-part breath, and I danced. The music took me, and I was a god.
The woman who guides me in the recording always speaks of how the breath is only as powerful/ magical, I can’t remember which, as you allow it to be. Technique falls short of this “takeover”. Technique relies on counts, structures, etc. It’s a way of saying, “I do not trust”. The breath can be a way of summoning your highest self. I was divine. I had asked for it right before, and it was delivered. The pain of being withheld information by M melted away. It seemed so irrelevantly small compared to what I had become.
M knows being a god makes no money unless you document and share it with the world. Then you will have proof that you are a god. Relying on the pillar of belief has its shortcomings.
It’s funny. Hatred is so useful in decloaking people. Hate, and you’ll develop the acuteness to deduce every one of their traits and the logical proceedings that led to those traits. Hate isn’t so bad, it’s arrogant, but it’s a way for people to control the situation. That is what they refer to as the coveted ”intelligence”.
I like engineering because it lets me compartmentalize my vicious analysis to objects, things without soul. This is why I may understand this state of mind in others. Max out its capabilities without hurting anyone. M and his friends cannot max it out for this reason. They can’t hurt people enough to rise above their competitors. They’re too good. It pains him. It sends him into broader fields. I like where it sent him. We intersected. It was beautiful. All I did was pinprick touch the surface of his world and it vortexed with mine.
7/23/24
Love
She asked me where I wanted to be the next year. “Visualize it”.
“A poet, surrounded by nature…” I even threw in having a loving partner.
I don’t know why I chose to be a poet. She was teaching me about business and masculine/feminine dynamics. After that initial question we spent most of our time talking about my future business in crowdsourcing physical phenomenon. I hadn’t written poetry in years. My writing had turned analytical for the purpose of writing down my chaotic feelings aand I was having trouble getting it to relax. But that’s what I wanted.
7/23/24
For Love
My muscles hurt, and they couldn’t sleep. They feel like the way bone stretching felt when you were a child, and the heat…
I have two pills left, and I’m afraid to use them. It’s only two more nights of perfect carelessness, of re-obtaining the ability to write freely again. Something says I should reserve them for when I am far away from what I want to write to. What’s keeping my sober self from being this free?
I saw you tear up when I cried at you for leaving me. You were so angry the rest of the day, but in that moment I could tell you cared without the means of letting that care take over. What am I supposed to do? You’re as trapped as I am.
She once told me I deserve better, “ if only she knew…” But did I? After all the hatred I had for her, triumphant hatred, she still was able to try and instill self-worth into me.
7/23/24
Hatred Exhausted
I think my body is protesting something. It went to all the effort of getting good at so many things, and now it does not want to do anything if it is to be documented or reaped in any way. If I post my writings, then the writing will stop coming. If I dance, then it must be alone for it to be truly good. If I am beautiful, then my face will puff up after I take a photo. Work is out of the question, and planning to work is futile. It seems work only happens when I am least trying. Nevertheless, my body is protesting, and I am at its mercy. What will become of me?
7/11/24
Because Hate would have me take theologies so precious and so meant to be private and use them in an Argument.
I broke this notebook. I never thought I’d be arguing pro-human and it feels nauseating to do so.
The theories of AGI by “the brightest minds” extrapolating trends. Please. To you I say why stop at AGI simulation theory? If you’re going to extrapolate then get more creative with the data you use to extrapolate with. What if the higher consciousness has already emerged and we’re in an experiment? What if we’re being looked down by such intelligence that see the r/place timelapse the way we view fungus growing in a petri dish. What if we are the re-emerged pattern in nature of sperm being cultivated in this testicle-like earth, and one of us will get the opportunity to inseminate some higher intergalactic space egg and grow into some undefinable higher space consciousness? What if consciousness is in everything, like even cells or atoms or materials that we consider dead, and they think the same way we would if we had the body and limited actuation of such materials and cells? What if consciousness emerges from complex patterns and systems, so our society became conscious long ago? There’s actually multiple consciousnesses to represent various societies, and we’re already being given signals from this higher consciousness to take better care of it, and we choose to ignore or listen to them based on our beliefs, based off of how happy we are in said society.
7/10/24
Because Love
So, we write to the dead. You might as well be dead to me. You’re asymptotically approaching dead.
The only meaningful part of my career was the heart I got from breaking in.
6/21/24
Hate in Place of Crying
I would do the picnics with my drawing tablet. He would read. Then one time, he asked me to read what he was reading. The words came into my head one at a time, disconnected from each other, each with its own tale of historical accompaniment. I contemplated the purpose of writing while I “ read”. After being incapable of ascertaining any sort of big picture or understanding from the string of symbols, I tried my very hardest to extrapolate meaning from my collective short-term memory. When prompted, if I like it from my acquaintance, miraculously, I concocted some abstract enough interpretation of what the author might have been trying to convey so that Imay live to be amongst the educated another day.
How did I do this? As an ex-illiterate, I use the following three principles:
- the best philosophical concept can overarchingly be applied to all things.
- The title of a book can be enough to extrapolate meanings so touching they bring tears to your eyes, and that alone might be enough to interpret what you just read.
- There are people who learn to read without any internal monologue so that they run their eyes across a page of text and have the various sensory cortices of their brain flooded with a virtual reality of whatever such message was conveyed. They can’t help it. The word strawberries, innocently printed across a box of fruits, sends them into a wildly abstract land of red-seeded fruits, altered with the surrealism of a dream. They must tread carefully as to not accidentally immerse in concepts too overwhelming, undefined, or heinous. However, knowing that these people exist is useful in self-validating that whatever distracting and seemingly irrelevant thoughts that pop into my head during my facade of simulated reading may actually be somehow related to the ignored text before me, that perhaps I, too, am being thrown into a deeper knowing via my thought tangents by simply having the book open before me and laying my eyes upon the text.
These three musings have carried me out of illiteracy into civilized society. And once I got to that civilized state, the musings faded, stored away, as they were no longer useful. By gaining the ability to consciously read, the supernatural animal-like instincts lost their purpose, and I miss the challenge.
6/14/24
Love and Hate
I have trouble getting invited to weddings. It makes me really sad sometimes.
There are no weddings anymore. Those hyper-constricted parades don’t announce any real change. Those couples remain as they were before the marriage, but with more peer pressure. The unprecedented events denoting some climax in a couple’s narrative cannot be orchestrated, and when these events happen, the man and or the woman usually undergo some profound character arc. The renowned career woman turns into a catalyst for men and children. She enables their specific brand of greatness by carefully observing their subtle proclivities. The awkward man boldly leaps from his curated surroundings, no longer relying on their safe-for-conforming labels. Synthesis occurs in the form of children, an entire ecosystem within the walls of their house, and the products of their mind, the collective family mind, that is marriage, an untethered mutation.
6/10/24
Love: A tether that pulls one from an abyss
This is a remnant musing from such a love.
It’s the combination of not just the crowd’s wisdom but their ignorance that makes it so right.
6/5/24
Love Born in Hate
A girl describes some work drama to her befriended bartender.
A: What a shocker, people not believing women, you’re hereby given permission to just skip to silence. Like your good-girl shy days, don’t all girls have a good-girl phase?
B: This is more about women not believing women.
A: Yeah, successful, brilliant women with emotions and the privilege of basking their negative emotions in the company of interesting problems and people, not believing lonely desperate women.
B: Yeah, I guess, no more women, just emotionally repressed men for me.
A: Those guys get jealous too. Hey, what do you want to drink?
B: Something toxic. I don’t watch enough movies to know the names of the go-to poisons. They should have a course in college for the pre-2010s culturally daft.
A: We can’t all be lucky enough to date men who like explaining film to us, and I’m sure that includes how to choose a classy drink at a bar.
B: That’s okay, darling.
A: Ew, baby boy, ugh.
B: You don’t want all your knowledge tied to romantic interests.
A: It’s too late. My exes are the cardiovascular system to my mind, like the internet is to most.
B: Chuckles, If I told my date my eses were so integral to my way of thinking and she didn’t walk out, I wouldn’t respect her anymore.
A: I suppose walking out and ghosting her would’ve been fun, but good conversation comes in long periodic waves. You shouldn’t judge those in famine.
B: I’m never in a famine, thanks to you. We’re accidentally married through alcohol and cynicism. The day you come in here cheery about some job promotion we’ll be divorced and my dates and I will have to start tolerating each other’s open conversation of exes.
A: Everything can be done tastefully, maybe even desperation. Wouldn’t I know?
Anthropological Magical Realism 