Sarah Silverman is amazing

Pop quiz, kiddies. Today’s blog entry comes with homework.

Go read this article.

And don’t give me any of that TL;DR crap. If you can read my daily 1K, you can read a long twitter thread.

Done? Good. You may take one cookie from the jar.

Now was that not amazing (the article, not the cookie)?In it, Sarah Silverman demonstrates the exact kind of superior morality that I deeply respect and consider to be downright holy.

It’s all about being able to see past the immediate situation and what all our instincts are telling us to do – namely to meet anger with anger and struggle for dominance with those who attack us.

That’s why “The Devil in the Dark” is my all time favorite Star Trek episode of all time. In it, Kirk sees beyond the very human desire to kill any animal which threatens us and looks at the larger picture, asking himself why this creature is attacking people and what might be the larger problem.

And make no mistake, the Horta is freaking terrifying.  Kirk could have gone in there, phasers blasting, and killed the fuck out of the Horta, and been hailed as a hero.

But that wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to understand the real story and did not fall into the “us versus the monster” mentality that the miners (and me, the first time I saw the episode) so naturally fall into.

I am serious. I wanted him to kill that fucking thing. So imagine the impact when I first saw “NO KILL I”.

Blew my mind.

Anyhow, back to Sarah. I am particularly impressed by her compassionate response because she is clearly in the socially dominant position. She’s rich and famous and her opponent is poor and miserable and fucked up in the head.

I feel ya, bro.

So she totally could have said something scathing and mean and the Internet would have loved her for it if it was funny enough. When we like a celebrity, we think it only fair and just that those that oppose them learn the error of their ways.

That’s what they get for messing with our beloved alpha! High 5’s!

But instead, she chose to ignore the hate and look into what would make a person lash out at a celebrity and was rewarded by seeing things as they truly are, with context attached, and instead of continuing the cycle of violence begetting violence, she held out a hand to the ghost that haunts her and found that even the villains have souls and lives and feelings and reasons for doing the things they do.

This is not the natural way people see things. It can bring up strange and difficult conflicts in our minds as we struggle to overcome our instincts in order to help someone we already hate because of their anger towards us.

That’s why I feel the need to emphasize that this superior morality is always a choice and never an obligation. It’s the extraordinary outlier and thus can never become the expected mandatory minimum.

And like all striving towards higher morality, it is just as much about improving oneself as it is about improving the world. When we stretch our souls towards higher moral ground, we end up feeling better about ourselves in the process. We can sense we have made our souls bigger, stronger, and more pure by this striving, and so even on a deep gut level, we feel more whole, more sane, more free.

Much of this message gets garbled, lost, or downright contradicted by modern religion. They try to make this superior compassion mandatory, thus poisoning the whole process and turning compassion into a battle of wills instead of a source of joy.

Now you know where most of this “you can’t make me share!” sentiment comes from.

The proper approach is to preach the joy of selfless action and tell people, in detail, and with true understanding, how compassionate action can lead to salvation in the here and now by taking us out of our everyday lives and self-oriented concerns and lets us breathe fresh air above the usual pollution and stagnancy of everyday life.

We do such a poor job of explaining this to people in modern life. Spirituality is about what is good for the spirit, not what people “ought” to do. That is a hard idea to get across in this materialistic individualist age, and it often gets tangled up in the errors and excesses of various well-intended religions.

There is a bulletproof case for the selfish benefits of selfless action sitting there in the religious literature, and yet nobody seems to be making it. Instead, we have this poisonous dichotomy between spirituality (which sucks and is not fun) and people’s natural inclination to enjoy themselves.

In reality, there is no such conflict. Doing good feels good, and that’s really the only rational enlightened hedonist argument that needs to be made. Even if you are one hundrent percent selfish sociopath, you should look into the benefits of helping others because in doing so, you end up happier and better off for the effort.

It’s programmed into us. Being social animals, we get pleasure from actions which benefit members of our tribe and/or the tribe itself.

Personally, I find the very idea of an entirely self-oriented life to be positively stifling. To be trapped in that tiny box of your own self-interest seems like hell to me.

But then again, nobody has ever forced me to give up something I valued in the name of compassion. I have never been violated that way. It sounds horrible.

To have your person (via your property) violated by people claiming the higher moral ground due to “compassion”?

Yeah, that could give someone issues that last a lifetime. And a paranoid response to the word “compassion”, which is forever linked with sudden deprivation in your mind.

And all because “compassion” was forced upon someone who wanted to exercise their need for dominance and control from behind the cover given by religion.

How very selfish of them.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

I can’t even

I keep endingup feeling really bad lately and I am sick of it.

Right now, I am in the “post bad sleep” version of feeling really shitty. I feel all floaty and dizzy and shallow waves of vertigo are passing through me constantly. As a result, I am weaving a little as I sit, and I feel like I am going to fall, or that I am already falling, or something like that anyhow.

That means I am also playing tag with reality. Or maybe pat-a-cake. I keep drifting off then patiently towing myself back into focus. It’s quite tedious and irritating.

Oh, and I am sick.

Specifically, have the cold type thing that my roomies Joe and Julian also have. That officially makes this a “sick house”, or masoin maleur, as we called it back home.

So right now, I have heavy lung and a runny nose. No doubt my near future will involve a lot of mucus. I am very tired (of course) and the urge to hibernate is incredibly strong,. But I am too stubborn to give in to it.

I want to live, god damn it, not sleep my life away.

The sensible thing for me to do, because it’s worked in the past, would be for me to simply induge the urge to sleep until I catch up with my dreaming backlog and can approach the world with something like true wakefulness, at least for a little while.

But I don’t wanna. I want to be awake and do things and live some kind of life. I might not have much of a life but I want to live it just the same. The idea of spending all day asleep, even if it is jus for one day and for completely sensible and intelligent reasons, is appalling to me. I don’t want to get left behind by time.

So I fight it.

That makes even less sense than usual when I know damned well that I am sick. What do people tell sick people to do? Get plenty of fluids and plenty of rest.

Those two things always seem contradictory to me, because if you are getting plenty of fluids, your rest will be interrupted by getting up to go pee all the damned time.

Take it from one who knows.

But anyhow, clearly, the sensible thing to do when you are sick is to sleep as much as your body wants you to sleep. That way,m your body can fight the virus or whatever without your conscious mind around to divert precious resources into things like thinking and moving and such.

But still, I fight it.

I fight it like some prize fighter who has taken too many hits to the head this bout and is half-blind and staggering around the ring punching anything that looks like his opponent and really should just go down and stay down but the part of the brain responsible for such decisions left early to beat the traffic.

And there’s no ref around to declare a TKO. In fact, my opponent left too. It’s just me fighting the ghosts in my head in an empy boxing ring in an empty stadium, the lights turned off exscept for the ones in the ring.

It’s all very arty.

Well I am gonna hit the mat for a while, I will finish here when I get back up.


I feel a little better now.  Enough to get some more of my words out, anyhow.

Still not sure what to do about the Xbox One. I could sell it. I could use it. Both options have their ups and downs.

Maybe this is one of those times where I should just myself what I want to do about it. And the truth is that what I actuallt want to do is hook that sucker up. My inner chuild is quite excited at the idea of having an awesome new toy to play with, one that will let me finally be able to play the newest hotest games.

Then again, so does this PC of mine. It’s affordinf them that’s the tricky bit. I end up playing games that are at least four or five years old becauise those are the ones I can afford. New games are like $60-$80 and that is a bit too much for me,

Plus, with a price that high, eve n if I have the money, the option paralysis that comes with the higher financial stakes would be crippling.

I am such a mess.

But I am doing my best to banish such negative thoughts and build some kind of workable psyche for myself. And that’s made me start wondering about arrogance.

You see, I think one of my big problems when it comes to interacting with others is that I send mixecd messages. I pretend to be normal-ish and I am always polite and sensitive and nice and in that sense I am sending the message that I am harmless and nonthreatening, and therefore not particularly dominant or alpha.

At the same time, I have a quick, forceful, and powerful mind and a strong personality that constantly demands to be expressed. I am naturally a pretty pushy person due to this energy, and if I was less depressed, I think I would want to take charge a lot more than I do now, which is practically never.

That’s all quite alpha.

This mixed message confuses people and adds to the strange emotional affect that leaves me feeling like an alien whne people stare at me in blank incomprehension when I talk to them.

So I wonder if I would be better off just going with the side of me that it cocky and arrogant and thinks he’s the smartest guy in the world. It woulkd do wonders for my self-confidence, and it would send a clear message as to what to expect from me to the world. It would disinhibit me and give me access to assets like my charisma and force of personality and pursuasiveness.

And all that is really stopping me (besides mental illness) is fear of people thinking I am an obnoxious asshole.

There are worser fates.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

In a word, bleargh

Just woke up from some of that rough sleep and hence I am feeling rather like I have been through the birth canal of a very petite woman a dozen times today.

I honestly don’t know bhow the rather compact Acadian ladies of my homeland manage to be so fertile.

I’m going to assume that the magic ingredient is Catholocism.

so right now, blogging is the last thing I wanna do. But as always, there is no question of not doing it. This space needs filling each and every day.

And I need to do it. Otherwiose, the words in my head get backed up worse than usual and that hurts.

So merrily, I trudge along.


 

My Xbox One S finally showed up. The one I won from a McDonald’s contest.

I will pause now to take note of that, I’m a winner. I won something. Right now, I have a new, in box, never opened Xbox Obne S (Minecraft Edition) sitting on my bed waiting for me the decide its fate.

I’m not a loser. I’m a winner. I won something. I WON. I feel like I need toi repeat this a million times in order to counter the inner programming that says quite the opposite.

I really have no reason to hink myself a loser. After all, in order to lose, one first must play. I’m more of a non-player. A sitter-outer. A concientous objector.

SOmeone who has been on the injured list for a very long time.

I wish I could be reborn. Not in the birth canal way mentioned above. Just in the sense of being able to start over,. free of all unwanted contexts.

Like life had saved games and I want to load one from before I made a lot of crucial mistakes so I can now avoid them.

Life doesn’t work like that, though. Reality is broken, after all. Only the world of video games has perfect justice. Hard work is always rewarded, progress is mesurable and guarnteed if you put in the time, and the bad guys always get it in the end.

And at your hand, no less. Making you the oft praised hero of the land. Meaning your hard work is not only rewarded but recognized and acknowledged.

Marx would be please. Sort of. Not reallty. Forget I brought it up.

Not sure what I will do with the Xbox. Might sell it, might keep it. If I keep it, I can always hook it up to my  computer monitor and play games that way.

At least I think I can. Everything has so many input and outputs these days that I am sure I would be able to find a match. Might have to but some cables but that’s it.

And I suppose it would be nice to have a current-generation console. But I have a current-gen computer already and I can buy and play all kinds of games on it, so I am not sure why I would give a damn about playing games on a console.

And yet, the idea appeals to me. I suppose it’s nostalgia. I’ve had many hpurs of fun playing games o n consoles, and there is a purity to the experience – probably because there are no other things going on like with a PC – that is very appealing.

And o n a practical level, the games can look and play better than on a PC because they are being developed and programmed for a particular piewce of hardware with known capabilities, unlike on a PC.

So I don’t know. Might keep, might sell. Looked up the price. and it seems like what I have goes for around $300 CDN retail. So getting $200 CDN for it should not be hard.

Dunno what I would spend the $$$ on tho. So there’s that.

Damn I wish I could go right back to sleep. I want to sleep all the time these days. It’s like winter is making me want to hibernate.

Except at night, when the world is quiet and I am alone and most people are asleep and therefore I can play Skyrim for hours and hours without distraction.

Then I perk right the fuck up. Sigh. Those hours are my most alert and mentally engaged and on sync with the world.

The world of Skyrim, that is. Further sigh.

But right now, I just wanna sleep. That’s what happens when you stay up till 8:30 AM in the fucking morning. I have had spome sleep due to lovely Trazadone, but it is still not enough. I want to sleep for like, three days.

But nonight I have FRED and hanging out with my wonderful friends.and before that, oif course,I have to finisgh my words, and I will need to get a shower at around 5:15 pm in order to be presentable for FRED at 6 pm, and so forth and so on.

I would be so much better off if I got to sleep at some human time. But I can’t seem to remember that when I am in the zone playing Skyrim and reluctant (to say the least) to take a sleeping puill and leave the mental state where I am connected and purposeful and feel connected and contended and confident. and plunge into the draining and depressing world of sleep, where I always wake up feeling crappy and confused.

It’s a bum deal. But I asm not so stupid (yet) as to think I can solve that by means other than just going to sleep earlier.

Like that’s going to happen.

Oh well. Almost done. Then I can crawl back into bed and nap for a couple more hours and then get up to face the day with something like sentience.

Hopefully, this time, I will wake up feeling at least a little better than I do now. Lately, it seems like I end up feeling really bad every day and that really sucks.

Want to get back into taking better care of myself.

Right now, I gotta lay down before I fall down.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,

 

 

 

 

Like a microwaved hot dog

That’s hpow my brain feels right now.

Here, I will open up my skull so you can feel it yourself.

(SFX : Creaky lid opening, soft disturbing squishing)

I just finished a long and quite epic quest mod in Skytrim, the last part of which involves a hell of a lot of quite difficult fightng while trying to find my way through an underlit and visually boring dungeon (it’s a factor in the fatigue, trust me) that culminated in me having to fight the biggest fucking monster I have ever seen in the game, a giant brass monster who took many a concept and strategem to finally defeat.

In case that’s not clear (and why should it be), what I mean is that I had to think up and try many different ways to kill the fucking thing until I found omne that worked.

So right now I am in that special kind of mental state I used to find myself in after a very mind labor intensive exam. It is a lot like being drunk, only without the being relaxed and happy part. My brain is fried like baloney and I feel sort of like I just staggered out of an area hit by a bomb during the Blitz and I am still reeling from the shock.

So I figured this would be a great time for me to blog.

Hey, might as well make the most of this rare mental state. It takes a lot of strain to put me here and I am guessing (hoping) that my writing will be amusingly different if I write while I am feeling so mind blasted and slap happy.

Take that, Happy!

(SFX : Face being slapped, male voice saying “Ow!”)

Never could stand that guy.

Eventually, the adrenaline portion of this mental state will wear off and I will take a very deep nap. Right now, no matter how wigged out I feel, I could not sleep without the intervention of a very heavy sedative or a very heavy hammer.

Wouldn’t it be great if that’s all it actually took, just like in the cartoons? JUst a bomp over the head with a hammer and you get a little raised bump on the head and some deep peaceful sleep.

It would put the sleeping pill people out of business, unless they got in on the burgeoning new nap hammer business.

It was a pretty good quest mod and I got some pretty sweet gear out of it. The gear would be a lot sweeter if I was a warrior instead of being a mage, but whatever.

It’s the thought that counts. Plus, I can kill dragons with lightning, so that’s a plus.

This mental state is notg entirely unpleasant. There’s a certain giddiness that comes with being so mentally blasted. Perhaps that’s the sort of state the casual users of various stupefying chemicals enjoy.

Myself, I am too goddamned paranoid and controlling tofully enjoy being temporarily stupid. My sense of safety, such as it is, is dependent on keeping my wits about me  and constantly trying to look in all directions at once in order to see danger coming in time to deal with it.

It’s no way to live, really. But it’s the only one I know.

I would be way better off if I could relax, trust the world, and free myself of this nightmare burden of anticipation. It would makes me a much calmer and happier and saner person if I could change that fundamental sense of how safe I am variable that got harshly set to “never ever ever safe” when I wasn’t even old enough to cross the street by myself.

I did it anyway, of course, but I wasn’t supposed to.

But I don’t know if it’s even physically possible to alter that variable. Like I keep saying, between birth and the sage of five, we acquire most of our adult brain mass. That means that trauma from that period can become part of the actual physical structure of the brain itself, and that’s not something you can fix with a nice long chat about our feelings over a hot cup of tea.

The best that I can hope for is to either get used to feeling unsafe and habituate myself towards sanity that way, or continue to lead the life of the recluse because I can only truly feel safe is when there are no people around to threaten me.

Not even my loved ones.

People have told me that part of the appeal of bondage play is the level of trust involved, and that would explain why I could never, ever, EVER be a part of it. I don’t trust anyone enough to let them tie me up. Nobody. I can’t even conceive of someone I would trust that much. It’s simply impossible.

God, the adrenaline is wearing off and I really want to nap now. But I have 200 more words to write and there’s a pizza on the way. So that’s not gonna happen.

UIt’s a lot like my inability to believe there is someone who can help me. Obviously that’s not true, because I have improved greatly under Doctor Costin’s care.

Therapy works, folks. It just takes a long time.

What I truly mean when I say nobody can help me is that there is nobody who can do it by being stronger than I am and thus being true authority to me. I have been mentally stronger and faster than those around me for my whole fucking life. The only people who could stand up to me enough to make me feel safe were both women with strong personalities who were tough enough to handle me.

But I was a kid then. I pnly got bigger and stronger as I aged. Now I literally cannot imagine someone being strong of mind and spirit and heart enough to make me feel like I was not all alone in the world and that someone was watching over me.

And I need that. I need it in order to finally finish my childhood and grow up.

But it just plain ain’t gonna happen.

So I am officially fucked.

And not in the good way.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

The brighter side of the street

Feeling fairly up today. The dark shadow of depression lurks eternally, of course, but right now it seems content to lurk grumpily in a corner with its best friend, anxiety.

Honestly, it’s like they are the same person.

Should I have capitalized them because I characterized them? Nah.

Yesterday, as you know, I went to Costco with Joe. And while I really should have eaten lunch before leaving the house, and the resulting blood sugar crash fucked me up good for at least twelve hours, some good did come of it.

First of all, I saved a lot of money by buying a 1100 mg bag of Hostess Munchie Mix.

This bad boy right here.

I had never seen such a huge sized bag of something I like. It’s hard to describe the feeling a fat person gets when they see a larger size of something they like than they have ever seen before, but it’s practically spiritual.

My eyes must have been as big as a kid’s on Xmas morning when they see that bike shaped present when I saw it. I was truly in awe. It was SO BIG.

And then I read the price and it was on sale for only $4.50 or so, and I was like “SOLD!” because that is exactly how much I would pay for a beg 1/5 the size at 7-11.

I might not have gone for it if it had been a single thing instead of a mix. No matter how much I like something, I would probably be sick of it before I finished a back that mondo huge. And that might well happen here, too.

I mean, to this day I can’t hack Jolly Ranchers, and that’s because I made a similar mistake at a Costco in the USA when I lived in Silly Con Valley.

And I used to love them! I’ve always liked hard candy (always nice to have something to suck on) and when JR’s came out, they were the hard candy that tasted a lot more like actual fruit than the usual crap.

I was an instant fan.

But then we got a big bag of them from Costco, with Dhugal telling me that it was a dumb idea because I would be sick of them long before we finished the bag, and he was, of course, totally right.

I barely even made a dent in the thing.

So I could be setting myself up with something similar with the Munchie Mix, but I don’t really care. There are lots of things to eat in this big ol crazy world, and if I ruin one for myself, I can always go on to something else.

And honestly, it would be worth it for the epiphanous moment I had when seeing it anyhow. It was amazing.

I also got a 36-can case of Diet Coke in order to help myself cut down on the stuff.

That might seem counterintuitive, to put it mildly, but hear me out.

See, I have had a 2L bottle a day Diet Coke habit for a while now. This would be consumed in roughly 1L portions as a beverage to go with a meal.  I would drink it from my big 1.8L 7-11 cup.

The other 800 ml would be ice.

But lately I have been wondering whether these large caffiene infusions are causing my high background anxiety levels and this feeling of being hunted and haunted and generally not at all happy and calm that I have been having for a while.

That’s what tends to happen when you give a stimulant to a depressive. In theory, it would give us the energy and stimulation to get up and go get the exercise we need to break us out of our funk and make us happy again.

And if you believe that, I have some real estate on Mars I want to sell you.

To be a depressive is to have one’s motivational system clogged with bad brain chemicals. This imbues us with incredible inertia and cannot be overcome by adding energy to the mixture because all that does is get blocked by the clogs and ending up getting backed up into our default repository for excess energies, anxiety.

It’s less black and white than that, of course, but you get the basic idea.

So the only time it really makes sense to add a stimulant to my system is when I am about to do something that can make use of that excess energy… like blogging.

So having some Diet Coke while I blog makes sense.

Other times, not so much. As much fun as I have in Skyrim, playimng it does not exactly put a lot of strain on my brain or my body and so adding energy is kind of dumb.

Which brings us back to my Diet Coke habit. By getting the cans and limiting myself to one 355 ml can per meal, I can cut my 2L a day habit down to 1065 ml a day habit, and that’s if I have a can with every meal, which I probably will not.

And the thing is, I know I will not feel the loss, because for me at least, there seems to be something magical about a can of pop that makes it seem like a big drink, more than enough to accompany a meal.

I think the magic must be that drinking from a can restricts your rate of intake compared to drinking from a glass, and that makes it seem like more.

Whatever the mechanism, I love it, and so I should be able to cut back on the stuff and maybe be a less anxious person.

Then I can go back to being depressed! Which is just as bad, but a lot less work.

Seriously, though, if this works, I might try to wean myself off of the caffiene entirely and move into drinking something healthy like fruit juice with my meals.

That way, I still get my flavour fix, and healthy nutrients and hydration as well.

Well, after writing that exciting update, I need a nap.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

Ice forms on the surface of the river

Good news, everyone! Tonight I am blogging while in the middle of a low blood sugar incident! A truly triumphant first.

Don’t worry, I have eaten, everything will be fine. Right now, I am stuck impatiently waiting for my metabolism to do its thing and put this right.

Otherwise, I would not be blogging. I mean, my actions are not always the wisest but I at least know how to prioritize.

Most of the time, anyhow.

Right now, I mostlty feel cold. I have cold spots all over my body, especially in the hands and feet. I also have a certain telltale shivery feeling inside and I am trembling slightly. Emotionally, I feel cold and vunerable, and the voice in my head berating me for being so goddamned stupid is really getting on my nerves.

I really neeed to shut that guy up. He’s not helping.

Had a really good therapy session today. Very productive. My therapist absolutely nailed it when he said that the reason I have found it impossible to promote my own work is that I would first have to value it.

I would have to be prepared to say “This is awesome stuff and you should read it! (or watch it, or listen to it, or whatever)” instead of waiting for external validation before actually showing it to people.

I trust that the issue with that is obvious. You don’t get the reward before you earn it!

Come on, carbs, make me feel better already! I just gave my body every level of carb from whole wheat bread to chocolate pudding. I should be feeling better by now.

Instead, I feel cold and sluggish and scared. Did I finally fuck up so bad it does me permanent harm? And what if the answer is no? What will I have learned?

Not to skip lunch then go to Costco, I suppose.

Joe was off work today due to leftover vacation time, so I was able to go with him to Costco and pick out some things for myself.

And you know what? I’m a funny guy. I was riffing off all kinds of products. I really should gwith a descreet digital camera and capture that shit on video.

But I can’t think about that right now because the very thought of the work involved is making me feel sick to my stomach.

Had to beg off the Paragon meeting tonight. Which sucks. I hate the feeling that thuings are going on without me. It feels too much like being left behind.

Oh, and I keep fading in and out of concentration. I just stared in the general direction of the bathroom for three minuites because my mind was following a tangent (never could resist a tan gent) and I kind of forgot I was doing something.

And what hurts the most when that kind of thing happens with me is that moment when my mind has forced a hard reboot in order to get me back to reality and I suddenly realize what has been going on.

That shit’s scary, man. Like fading out while driving a car, then suddenly snapping back into focus and realizing you could have died a million ways.

Fading out of awareness then suddenly snapping back into consciousness has happened a lot in my life. I have always had the kind of mind that wanders if left unattended, and that inward tide never stops trying to pull me deeper and deeper into my own thoughts.

And I am so scared of passing the event horizon of that black hole. That’s why I am always running to stand still. It takes so much energy just to figght that crushing gravity field that it leaves percious little for other things like living.

I guess you would call my black hole “depression”. It’s also the force that powers my endless grinding and compression and purification of what I know to produce a clear view of the truth,

I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not, though.

I think I would bebetter off deluded.

Oh well. Some of us are born to be visionaries and the power and curse of the visionary is to see everything very clearly, as it really is, without any filters or cushions to protect the visionary’s poor cold heart.

We’re the ones who take the philosopher’s route – better miserable than believing in lies. And there is a certain hermit nobility and honor to that. The one who chooses the harsher path, and so on.

But at the end of the day, no matter how far I can see or how big the picture I see becomes, I am still only human, and I want to be happy.

Or at least comfortable.

But delusion (sometimes called faith) is by its very nature impossible to embrace consciously. You cannot say “I choose to believe this lie” because you already know it’s a lie and the mind iwll not accept that level of falsification.

Then again, there’s various levels of “real”. Take religion. Billions worldwide believe in an afterlife, but few want to go there right now.

Some beliefs are true enough. Enough to get the job done and solve the problem. Resolve that inner conflict. Answer that pressing question about life.

So hard to focus. Just 114 more words.

And as hard as it is for us brainy liberal types to imagine, that is good enough for most people. For them, the ultimate Truth is not their highest priority. Their highest priority is to get through life by living it, not stop to ponder where it’s all going and what it all means. and what is truly truly true.

Well I guess thjat’s it from me for now. It’s been a day of ups and downs, shally we say, and right now, I am going down… for a nap.

That should give my body time to process what I have eaten and correct the imbalance and put things right.

And when I wake up, I will feel… awful.

But in a normal way.

Fucking sleep apnea.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blast from the past

(Editor’s Note : The site came back WAY before the guy said, like I predicted, and that’s why I was able to post the results here, as written. )

 

My site is down, so I am blogging into a Libre Office document tonight, and that’s depressing to me.

It’s all because of that thing I mentioned before, where I failed to update my credit card info in a lot of places, continuing to haunt me.

And that all stems back to my apparently entirely fraudulent belief that I had updated my credit card info on PayPal, and that all my bills went through PayPal, so I was covered.

Neither of those things are true, as it turns out. And I am still paying for it. Had to pay an extra $15 US to set in motion the return of my blog.

For some reason, that process will take between 24 and 48 hours. I call bullshit on that. Sorry, Nazeem my live chat customer service guy, but it does not take that long for the change to propagate through the DNS servers of the world.

I suspect that, on some level, my web host is holding out for more money. Like this is the sort of thing that is supposed to get my to pay for a more expensive package, or something.

Well I got news for you. I might ditch the whole privately hosted blog thing instead.

I think that, while having my own blog on my own server has its advantages and while it soothes my obsessive need for control, I think that for the most part, it’s put me at a huge disadvantage and cost me greatly because that’s just not how things work any more.

Everything is interconnected now, and if I want there to be any sort of chance that someone might stumble across my words and become a fan, I have to move the whole damned thing to a public blog host like Tumblr.

So as loath as I am to have my precious words end up in the hands of a freaking corporation, it’s a nove I need to make.

Been thinking a lot about my ambitions lately. I swsear I used to have some. But they retreated back into their default “maybe someday but probably never” position due to the new Ice Age of my latest bout of depression came crashing in.

I still have them, but I don’t do a damned thing to pursue them, and that shit’s got to stop. I have to either decide that I am perfectly happy rotting away in this tiny pocket universe of mine till the day I die, never growing up, never making a mark on the world, and never being noticed or taken seriously, or I decide that I am going to start striving again.

But striving is hard, though, and spending all day playing Skyrim is so much easier.

I don’t know. I know I am growing increasingly discontent with this sad Skyrim lifestyle of mine. So I am trying to cut back.

But like any addiction, it fights back hard and plays dirty. So right now, it’s a pitched battle between the addiction and the fact that I know that I am happier doing something like this, writing on my blog, than I am when I am playing Skyrim.

But Skyrim is so much safer. When I am playing, I forget everything else. I am busy, I am occupied, I am pumping out my energies, and I am content. Time flies by. It’s a lot of fun.

It’s hard to say no to that. Who explores the world when they have Heaven in their back yard?

<——–pause for sudden nap attack——>

I’m even part way through figuring out how to get the sexy stuff working in Special Edition.

As you know, my sexuality and my libido have been surging as of late. Perhaps it’s that portion of my teen years finally showing up that is doing it.

But I get real horny now. And it’s kind of stressful but rather fun because it goas me into exploring various aspects of my sexuality – my real one, that is, not the virtual one I use when I am being Fruvous that I have explored to death.

The real thing is always better anyhow. Or so I have heard.

And at this phjase of my life, it would be really great to go back to what I had in the original Skyrim, namely a vast amount of sexual options at my hot sweaty fingertips.

I explored the fuck (ha) out of them when I first discovered the world of Skyrim mods. That was what triggered my slide into total addiction, in fact. I would stay awake and neglect all my bodily needs in favour of working like hell to get this and that working.

It was glorious and horrifying.

But over the months, the thrill of it all went away and I got far more into actually playing the game and the sexytimes stuff faded into the background.

Then I got Special Edition. And I learned the facts of life about it, namely that only a small percentage of all the fun stuff I had in the old game had been updated to work with the new version.

But there was still lots of good stuff, so I was not too worried.

Eventually, though, I wanted the sexy stuff back. IT made things so much more fun. The ability to go from killing monsters and collecting loot to some good old fashioned fucking whenever I liked, purely on a whim, was thrilling.

So I sought out the updated version. And it was… sort of there.

Right now, when I initiate sexytimes fun, everyone involved just stands there while the sexy sounds play. And that’s no fun.

And I know what the problem is – something called ‘beaviour files’ are not being generated – but I have no idea how to fix it.

It makes me consider going back to the original game. Sure, the graphics were more primitive, but there was so much cool stuff out there for it.

Right now, all that is keeping me from doing it is sheer stubbornness. I made up my mind ot make the move to Special Edition, damn it, and to go back to the old one would be to admit defeat.

So for now, I struggle to get the frigging thing to work.

But who knows. I might cave in one day and go back.

Or I might even find something better to do with my life.

But don’t count on it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I’m not really here

I just woke up after staying up till 8:30 am playing Skyrim, so forgive me if today’a magic missive is a wee bit more rambling and incoherent than usual.

If that’s possible.

I realize recently that this habit I have fallen into of playing Skyrim for eight hours straight when everyone else is asleep basically means I spend half my waking hours (at least) playing the damned thing.

That’s a sobering thought. It’s one thing to know you are addicted and quite another to look at the hard data that proves it.

I can’t help but think of all the human potential that I am wasting. Here I am, brain and talent the size of a planet (and a fat one at that), and I spend most of my time doing something utterly unproductive.

What I need is some crazy new porject. And I have one in mind but it’s not quite fully baked yet. I know the basics of what it will be about and what it will be like, but it hasn’t coalesced into a mental picture yet. At some pointm critical mass will be reached and it will jump the synaptic gap from ideas and notions to something I am wildly enthusastic about and raring to do, and that’s’ when it will become a reality.

Until then, all I can do is stay busy while the charge accumulates and gently shepherd the process forward.

Every creator worships the same God  : their muse. Their process. Creativity is a proicess that defies direct control, and so we are left not so much controlling it as managing it and trying to make sure it has what it needs while staying out of its way.

It’s like being your own inner agent, in a way. Or parent.

I think that’s part of the reason why we tend to be such a neurotic and impulsive bunch too. Even in the relatively cerebral world of writing (as opposed to the more right-brain arts like painting or music), to be creative one must have direct access to one’s emotional core as possible because that’s where the raw stuff of inspiration comes from, and therefore that’s the wellspring of our creativity.

PErhaps that is also why we tend to be a shy and reclusive bunch. You have to have some serious alone time to clear your mind enough to hear that all important inner voice. Also, it’s us urban hermits who have trouble expressing ourselves in the usual ways that end up having to do it through art.

And that means that all the energies that usually would express themselves widely and overtly are squeezed through the narrow apeture of our talent instead. To us, our talent is far more than a way to pay the rent.

And that’s good, because it rarely ever does.

No, our talent is our escape valve for all the repressed feelings and pent up passions we have so much trouble expressing in our normal lives.

Or at least that’s how it works for me.

This little blog o’ mine is my vital link to the world outside my dimly lit garret. In it, I can escape myself for a bit as I, quite timidly and quietly, reach out to the world that so terrifies me and offer it something of myself.

And seeing as I am the sort of person who blogs about his experiences with his latest butt toy, it’s often more of myself than the world really wants to know.

In that regard : I seem to be getting better at using it. I suppose you get better at anything if you do it enough. Had a lovely time with it last night in bed.

And this pleases me not just because it felt wonderful and not just because I need all the physical pleasure I can get in my metaphyrical little life in order to ground me in reality and remind me I am alive, but also because I think some of my depression comes from a vast unsatisfied need for sex/romance/kicks, and therefore I would be a happier person if I could express someof those vital energies more fully.

Does it seem weird when I talk about such intimate things so clinically? Because it’s honestly the only way I know how to do it. There have been people in my life who have accused me of using “fancy language” to “show off how smart I am”, but I can honestly say that it’s my native tongue.

Everything else is an act of translation.

It’s also the only way I know to achieve the sort of message density I need in order to stand any sort of chance of getting what is in me out. Simpler language doesn’t have the degree of nuance and intricacy needed for the sorts of things I need to express.

No Hemingway here.

It’s partgicularly true for this blog, because this is the place where I express myself most directly, and so I am always articulating the previously unarticulated, and need the full range of language in order to stand a chance of doing it.

When I write prose, which is high density by nature, I can been less high-falutin’ in my language. Medium-falutin’ at most. Prose requires me to express myself in a different direction and drains those mental energies of mine in a different way.

This blog is where I spill my guts.

Prose is where I dream out loud.

You use different skills.

I would probably be better off if I wrote more prose. It takes more out of me and that is a good thing. Writing my book shaped thing last November was a lot of fun and made me a calmer than usual person, and that’s always good.

But it’s hard to stay motivated when none of it really goes anywhere. By that I mean that nobody but my beloved loved ones will ever read it. And while I appreciate their attention to my words more than even my words can express, I want more.

And that means opening that door and letting the world in.

That’s my Holy Grail now.

That’s where I will find my home.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

Let the right one in

I hear it’s a very good movie, but for the moment, it’s an unrelated blog post title.

Back to not being able to let people in.

It is not without cost, and I am not just talking about the icy starvation I talked about the last time, although that’s more than enough.

I think I suffer from the numbness of the interface layer as well. I think that the lack of the emotional input that should be there is painful in and of itself, and that I avoid social contact as much due to this pain as due to the usual social fear.

And I suspect that this pain is the palest of shadows lesser, but of the same kind, as the pain autistic people feel. And possibly also the pain that drives some sociopaths to act of violence and sadism.

Deep down, we know what should be there. And so even when the part of us that senses the missing thing is dead or numb, part of us cries out with pain from its phantom, like when your foot falls asleep.

Technically, you are not in pain. Pain is a sensation, not a lack of sensation. But some deep inner warning system is tells you something is WRONG.

And whatever part of you receives the input from that mental limb is picking up nothing but painful static and a tortuous kind of dial tone.

Holy shit. Kids today will have never heard a dial tone. Let alone dialed anything.

I think this pain fuels and informs my social anxiety. On some level, it hurts to be around people, even when it is otherwise quite lovely.

Luckily, I am not the sort ot turn that kind of thing into some grand philosophical system of misanthropy. I have never been able to image the grapes to be sour simply because I want them and can’t have them.

Maybe I would be better off if I was. The deluded seem so much happier.

This painful isolation of mine began at an early age, as we have discussed, and so I don’t know how much of my sense of abandonment and feeling that I was lost and neglected is legit and how much was simple due to being sealed off from the world by the traumatic scar tissue from my early childhood rape.

Sex has such a powerful effect on us that it’s no wonder some retreat into prudery. If some stranger had walked up and socked me in the jaw, sure I would have been upset and I would have taken quite the blow to my sense of trust in the world, but it would not have been the same kind of deep trauma.

It also would have been something I would have immediately told people about and the perpetrator would have instantly been seen as a villain and dealt with accordingly. Because no dark and tender taboos were involved, the situation would have been easy to talk about and deal with, and I would most likely have seen justice done.

But because it was a sexual attack, I never told anyone about it. That’s common in victims of sexual assault. The deep sense of violation brings with it a very deep sense of shame. It’s the only way the brain has of interpreting the experience.

Intellectually, you might know and believe that you did nothing wrong and that it’s the perpetrator who should be ashamed, but on a deep level that doesn’t matter because it’s something far deeper than reason and logic that has been injured and nothing rational can penetrate that deep.

I have internal injuries, and those can be tricky to spot.

I still think someone should have noticed how poorly I was doing outside the academic arena and arranged some kind of intervention.

The right child psychologist could have done wonders for me. Or even just someone who cared enough to invest sustained effort and lots of love in me despite what an odd little creature I was.

I try to imagine what it must have been like to be around a highly unpredictable and willfully independent child as I was. I did not follow any of the usual patterns of behaviour people expect of a child.

I had little to no interest in toys. In fact, I never really “played” in the old fashioned schoolyard sense. You never would have found me happily building a sand castle or pushing a toy car around making vroom noises.

I never saw the point of that kind of thing. Even then, I was constantly hungry for mental stimulation, and toys don’t provide that on their own.

It would never occurred to me to make up little stories to go with my play. No Spaceman Spiff for me. I can only assume that most children do this sort of fantasization because of some deeply programmed social instinct.

And even back then, I was not one to act on instinct.

And that should have been a sign that there was something very wrong with me.

I was not going through the usual stages of development. I was not doing well emotionally or socially. I was very ill, and nobody knew.

They were too dazzled by my precocious intelligence to imagine that there was anything wrong with me. And those who knew better found me strange and unpleasant to be around and therefore did not want to deal with me at all.

And I was too shy to demand attention.

If I could go back and start over (preferably skipping infancy, because eww), I would be one feisty little kid. I would not allow myself and my concerns and my wellbeing to be ignored. I would kick up a fuss whenever I was being neglected and given my native IQ and sharp mind, I would have a lot of fuss volume.

And I sure as fuck would not let myself be bullied or let my bullies go unpunished by the authorities. I would demand action and if I did not get it, there would be heck to pay.

I’d be too young for hell.

But it’s far too late for that. All I can do is try to cope with reality the best I can.

That’s all any of us can ever do.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

It’s all a blur

Been thinking about my dizziness again, and the effect on my emotional state.

To recap, I have realized recently that I am slightly dizzy pretty much 24/7. Even just sitting here, the small movements my head makes as I type give me a tiny bit of vertigo. I feel like my head is one of those watermelons spiked with vodka and every time I move, the vodka and watermelon juice slosh into a new position.

It made me a little nauseous to type that.

It’s so fucking hard to be me.

No wonder I have the urge to go to bed all the time. As anyone who has suffered from vertigo can tell you, the only way to stop feeling so dizzy is to lie down. That removes the feeling that you are constantly in the danger of falling, and lets you rest you head on a pillow and keep it more or less level.

It has to be a sinus thing. Or maybe blood pressure. But sinus would make the most sense. My sinuses get blocked up and cause there to literally be flud slshing about in my head. I’ve had bad sinuses all my life and they only very very occasionally caused vertigo before, but it’s the most plausible explanation that fits the facts.

And that means it’s probably right.

And so I have been introspecting on this idea and how it relates to my emotional state, and I think it goes all the way down to the core of my current malady. It would explain the suspended, frictionless feeling I have had lately. Like I have no traction in life, and no impulse, which is what I call the sort of twitch of life that drives me forward.

It’s hard to explain. And if I try, it will only cause topic drift.

Unsurprisingly, when you feel like yuou might fall at any second and that you are suspended in a frictionless fluid like a pickled specimen, it makes you feel kind of insecure. And that insecure feeling is poison for my fragile mood.

I talk about safety a lot with my therapist. He’s shown me that a lot of depression has to do with a potent prioritization of safety above all other concerns and regardless of the cost to other areas of my life.

That, obiously, comes from having been hurt at a very tender age. As I have said here before, that fundamentally wrecked my sense of safety and left me anxious and insecure because I always feel like danger is lurking all around me.

The bullying didn’t exactly help with that either.

And so I float through life, without the ability to impel myself in any particular direction (and how does one choose from a vast ocean of options anyway), feeling as trapped and helpless as a fly trapped in amber, and dependent on random fluctuations of my internal chemicals and, for all I know, the cosmic background radiation to decide when I will have energy and drive and optism and the ability to move forward in life.

It helps to have a reasonable goal, and by reasonable, I mean one I can achieve despite my issues. Signing up for Kwantlen was online, and ergo within my wheelhouse.  Ditto VFS. It took relatively little sustained effort to get the whole thing start and then it had its own momentum that I could surrended to.

In order to combat this mucousoid vertigo (fancy, no?), I am going to have to resume my vigilence over the state of my sinuses, and keep both my nose and my ears clean. I felt an itch in my ear the other day, and in the process of scratching it, I discovered that my aural canal was very clogged, and upon clearing it and its twin, I felt a great deal of relief. I guess when the pressure and the sloshing are there for long enough, I stop experiencing them consciously.

I am good at that. Pushing things out of my conscious mind. Too good for my own good, to be honest. Sure, it is what gives me the sharp clear logical mind that sees so much and that has so much room for big ideas and complex creativity, but there are some things which should have override priority because they represent valuable information on how to be less miserable.

In other words, some emotions should have permission to kick down the door, shotgun in hand, and say “All right, nobody here is getting out alive unless we deal with this shit RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”.

But no. I just drown myself in my distractions, never getting traction enough for action, choosing the numbness of inaction over the dim prospect of successful transactions almost every single time.

That may or may not have been poetry.

Perhaps I am emotionally dizzy as well. I feel so disoriented and unable to focus sometimes. Like I have some kind of malaria type malady that saps my energy and makes my life that of the invalid of old.

Except, of course, that they had people taking care of them. At least some of the time.

Maybe that’s the key, though. They knew they were invalids and had a certain sort of place in society that was understood and accepted. We don’t have that now.

And maybe what I really need to do is stop pretending that I am a functional person who just needs to get over a few things and face the fact that I am a fundamentally broken person, just as surely as if I had muscular dystrophy, and the wisest thing I can do is to accept that fact, gather what assets I have, and try to use them to build some kind of a life for myself. One that takes my limitations into account.

I think that, deep down, I have had this feeling that one day, when I have success and romance and a career, I will simply walk away from the fever dream that has been my entire adult life and then I will be a normal healthy person.

And that’s definitely the direction I want to go – but I have to accept that I might never get there. And realize that I am not a temporarily embarrassed healthy person who is going to snap out of if any day now and only then will I start truly living.

I’m alive now. I should be living now. Forget all my dreams and lofty ambitions and concentrate on being as happy as I can be with what I have.

And stop waiting for the bus of life to arrive, because it ain’t coming.

I’m just going to have to learn to walk.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.