sort -uing some big-ish lists of elements to hide (easylist, easyprivacy, fanboy-{social,annoyance,cookiemonster}, antiadblockfilters, etc.), and append to the default stylesheet, one gets very good results (along with having an 147MB /etc/hosts file :j). elinks has the benefit of not being able to or having to display any modern web bullshit, looking the exact same way on every website (no to-n-fro css switching or fiddling), and being faster to load anything. For reference material, fora, and plain text reading and dumping, it reigns supreme.
I claim that art can be (sub-/ob-)jectively good/bad---this gives rise to four distinct categories, illustrated in the below table. The subjective two needn't explanation. The others do---definitions for 'good', 'bad', and 'objective' are required.
| subjectively | objectively | |
|---|---|---|
| good | 4 | 1 |
| bad | 3 | 2 |
One the one hand, you can start a tirade on artist merit, tradition, technique, etc. On the other, a straightforward, qualitative measure such as 'how many people like this how much' (a histogram) could be used. A rough guide to examples of good/bad, but not good/bad themselves---the four categories pertain not to why, but to what, so is fine. Answers from a large enough, random population, clusters should/will form, widely appreciable pieces of art.
I hear you say, 'How is this not medium-agnostic bubblegum pop?' Intensity should cover that. Hearing a random piano concerto from the last 3–4 centuries, from a composer whose works never grew to a sufficient prominence to allow his name cause to be forgotten, i.e., a nobody, people wouldn't have on average the same reaction as to a 'better' one. Complexity's invited back if one starts asking questions: '(Why) is x better than y?', where x and y may be groupings (genres), creators (artists), individuals (band members), and not necessarily of the same type: 'Is Lars Ulrich better than Metallica?'. The latter is readily answerable when put up against: 'Is 'popular', radio music better than more technical, abstract, inaccessible, or experimental music? Surely a single high score can't equal 1000 mediocre ones?' A non-linear relation is mayhaps a remedy---logarithmically on a 10-point scale, the '8' of 1 person could be equivalent to, say, the 10 '7's of 10 others. The most accurate and precise discernment would take place only if perfect knowledge were issued to participants.
A 4-year-old can express liking (or at least consistently pick when given choice) one thing over another. It requires: 1. a natured and nurtured (human) being---this allows differences in preference to arise according to circumstances of both; 2. an object of evaluation. I don't think a fully tasteless, preferenceless human, even lab-grown, would be possible, as, given a set of goals (to live, to be happy, to etc.), there would be objectively and subjectively better routes of attaining these. I'm treading on rationalization territory in attempt to extend the argument. One without an overarching or short-term aim would nonetheless tend toward evolutionarily instilled, hard-coded likes and dislikes, albeit these won't as refined as modern-day choice'd grant, such as: fatty over lean meat, or sour/bitter over sweet plant matter.
A mature individual should be able to state, and continually introspect and permit change to (instead of doubling down) the why of its this-over-that. These two steps---acknowledgment of what and reasoning behind why, I think, are prerequisite to fair(er) appraisal of any objects to and not to one's nigh intractable liking.
To for the first time notice and observe that some feelings and emotions, and even states of being depend very much on context, is not merely eye-opening, but more akin to a dot being transported from a 1- or 2-dimensional world, to one of infinite dimensions. Say you've been stranded in the wilderness six months, and your pudge just isn't enough to permit that long a fast. Once the circumstances of your predicament settle in, hastened by the danger, discomfort, hunger, thirst, exhaustion circumscribing you---social media (dis-)likes, unfulfilling job, relationship, life, and many other previous concerns will be beyond trivial at this point, they shan't skitter around, nor across your mind. Whether you're happy, or were a good friend, family member, worker, whether you paid your bills, etc., will not matter. A sharp shift in one's context necessitates reshuffling of priorities and reasons.
The meaning of 'loneliness' given in wiktionary on at time of writing are: 1. the depression resultant from being alone or deficit companionship, and 2. the condition/state of being alone or without companions. Just as rich/poor are inherently comparative adjectives, so too, I think, are lonely and whatever its antonym may be. One may be lonely compared to a person with solid connections to others, or one, center of attention for multitudinous others, or one alone yet un-lonely. But always compared to somebody else. Never would you genuinely experience it in the wilderness, outside the context of human society. You wouldn't mind some help, or a chat over a beverage, but you wouldn't be sulking day in, day out.
In the context of the 'standard' (whatever that may be to whatever majority) or 'proper' course of live as considered by people, living on inertia for a year (or decades, since childhood), or having had the 'luck'/opportunity to do so, one could regard me as a failure in most if not all aspects they value. These, in general, are along the lines of the following with my say bracketed: no finished formal education (dropped out twice), no friends (left) (I've pushed all people---I've never considered myself as having had a friend---, for various reasons, mostly not living up to my standards), little connection with family (needn't a greater one, I gain nothing I value: these people give only to receive later on according to what they believe is right and proper---human selfishness masquerading as care, internalized and rationalized), no love life/partner prospects (eh), bad/shit job/pay (gives me freedom I'd not have elsewhere).
Big city life in so-called first and second world countries has degraded the quality of life for many folk by constructing a faux context---ostentation built upon sand or an eroding shore cliff. Perhaps this extends to smaller settlements too, but I don't have neither experience, nor information about which. Still, I'd wager the QoL of all on average is higher in these. There is much wrong with society. Somehow humans successfully, inevitably, intractably fuck up things---up the ass, up the nose, through the ears, in the unhealing, gangrenous stabs from chronic mutilation---for themselves and everybody else. It is a grim thought, that this should be the normal course of huge swaths of humans densely populating the same area. I am reminded of the 'takers' from Ishmael
by Daniel Quinn.
I gave up on competition a (as if) long time ago, that with others however. That with oneself, with one's ideal(s) is eternal for me, as it should be. Another crucial idea from Ishmael
: that 'takers' took evolution in their own too capable hand, and that man removed survival of the fittest, inter- and intraspecial competition for resources, mates, land, etc. Being alone in yours, or having no frame at all, grants the freedom to do as one wishes, to experience life without beforehand bias, priming, or expectations. You decide what has value (what is to be regarded and what ignored), and what that value is for you, and you derive these value, and opinions from your knowledge and your experience.
I gave up on people, on other people, on society, albeit not absolutely on the last two. Because one person rarely makes a difference---the amount of people with an IQ within 10 points (can't remember source for this) of me are far too low. The amount of people not on the same page is cosmological. I don't believe in exploitation, even though I was jokingly named science Hitler, SH, once, and it'd stuck. Given absolute power, it's very easy to end up being a dictatorship with population of yourself only: just see or study any leftist government from the past 200 years for examples for this occurring. Because the task is so towering, unending, because teaching one person is so hard, let alone all, because getting everybody to agree on the prisoners' dilemma is so damn difficult (although not impossible).
The single most depressingly frustrating fact about humanity's state of affairs on this rock is this---we are, on average, improving according to purely objective, measurable qualities like wealth, access to food&water, education, excess death, etc. (s.: Better Angels of Our Time
, and Enlightenment Now
, both by Steven Pinker). But this is done with extraneous hardship, excessive inefficiency, and that lovely human quality as if---prideful refractory ignorance and unknowledge.
I cannot stand this context. Rather, one gains nothing positive living in this context, others' context, big X's context (where X can be way too many actors), especially not of worth equal to the imposed perpetual suffering. I've isolated myself from nigh everyone I know/knew, from 'modern' ideas and gadgets, in a monk- and hermit-like state. My disappointment, my fury at humans I cannot put into words. I am so very malcontent only because I know how much more optimal, efficient, better things could be for everyone, directly and indirectly.
As it stands, I'd be better off 500km from the nearest other fucker, innawoods (or desert, boreal forest, tundra, arid mountain, maybe I'd even accept the fucking jungle). This is somewhat of a long-term goal of mine, if I don't off myself in the interim.
I don't really play much, I'm no gaymer, especially these last years. I wouldn't say I've grown out of it to escape the possible negative connotation. It's been a combination of evolving/maturing as a personality/person and a refinement of taste. I've been finding it decreasing rewarding over time, so I've cut down---less Flash, less MMOs, less open-world explorations, less RPGs, less of everything. Sifting to the quintessence of what I like: a spatial puzzle; a top-down, turn-based killing simulator with some RNG; and ripping and tearing. I doubt I rack up more than 2–3 hours weekly in tetris, likely less, and the rest see sporadic bouts every 1–2 year, though, possibly less often.
Tetris is an inventory management survival horror game from the Soviet Union 1984.
. 2010-ish I saw this lassie, I proposed, she said hell fucking yeah yeah, boiii
, n' that's all she wrote :j Before that I'd never felt a craving to continue playing, to do better. Very few puzzle games succeed at that with me.
This is a gem, a masterpiece. It don't get any better than this, yes, really. What Diablo II with modding is to the ARPG genre, this is to the 2D, grid-based puzzle genre. The near endless customizablity this mofo offers astounds. I play not for score---yes, T-flips are for the niggerlicious, the pansy-assed, the flamboyant homosexuals; speed is a young man's game too, for the most part. My favorite modes are: dig challenge in realtime, dig race goal 18, and practice. Nullpomino is the sole reason why Java and its runtime ever ought be installed. I play daily. It is a good companion, a friend. Headpats and tummyrubs.
Anyway, I played like a madman: 16-hour sessions, interspaced with minimal, disturbed sleep. And still, I wanted more. (When, in your dreams, you see both the keyboard controlling your effigy (third-person dreaming, ffs!), and yourself, being that effigy, from the third person, yet feeling everything, then you know you're overdoing it. Not doing well. Not knowing how to control yourself. You wake up---liquid panic not brimming, but flooding the floorboards beneath your soggy bed and mattress. This dream I've had with Cataclysm as well; both times I'd taken a 1‐2-month-long break to forget their control schemes and gameplay loops.) Well, after that came mods and attempting modding. The one that stuck, that kept me coming back was Resurgence. Both Path of Diablo, and Project Diablo 2 exhibit the exact same problems they attempt or claim to solve; MedianXL is a shitshow, visually and gameplay-wise, too complicated and distant from Diablo to be fun for me. 'Anti-cheat' mechanism baked in makes it some much more unfulfilling, unfun, unworthy. Fuck these three mod.
Loot-wise, Path of Exile might exceed even MedianXL let alone the base game. It don't scratch dat itch tho. D2 is the ARPG, and a quarter century later it's still fresh and enjoyable for quick, intense romps once every one-to-few years.
After a realization in the student bar under the chemistry faculty in the spring or winter of my 2. year in uni, I willingly or unwillingly started diving into depression. Not gonna write 'deeper'. Fuck that. I'm not gregarious, not a socialite, not social even, but I could go out, and have a ball drinking with people. Regardless what is was, that blight that struck me, led me to start imbibe alone---something I'd never done, because I thought it unnecessary or not fun. Alcohol accented, accelerated, buttressed possibly hidden, nonetheless extant thoughts and emotions.
I wasn't drowning my demons, no. (I can't concretely say what I was doing: was withdrawing, pushing away?) At my zenith, I'd be doing consuming some combination of: 4–6 beers and either 1–2 bottles wines or 1/3–1/2 bottle gin, almost daily. I had a filled in heart of wine bottles in the middle of my room, an almost meter-high stack of these rectangular cheap gin bottles. (I'd gotten lazy with recycling.) Half-bragging, half saying this with zero feeling. But whatever the reasons, I'd been having less and less 'fun', or whatever pluses I'd seen. In my 3. year, on some sunny April day, it struck me. I'm wasting my and my parents' money. I could play guitar drunk, a single beer impaired fine motor control sufficiently; I sure enough study or read drunk; and paying attention the the extremes was difficult. I could down a bottle of vodka with ice or tap, and for what? Cold turkey stopped. Other than the less than 10 dreams of all the sensory data my noggin's stored concerning pilsner, no effects for the I-don't-know-how-many-years since.
Around here for a period of 1–2.5 years (?) due to the many things going sideways and loopty-fucking-loop in my life, the chronological order, as well as the details of who, what, when, where, and why, are missing, muddled, muddied. The narrative module of my CPU responsible excusing, explaining, exculpating shrugs and hand-waves it all away under '(acute? chronological?) psychological trauma'. I don't really give a fuck. Thanks to a then friend, I spent a night at the uni psych ward. Turns out, in some countries, the police are obligated to, if you agree to be taken/accompanied by them, to minimize your risk to living persons, including yourself, by handing custody over you to a psychiatric facility. Where from could agree to coerced admission, or decline, and be forcefully admitted through state-issued violence. Nah, mate, the state owns you. I've seen Lego blocks with more character, and less predictability the '''doctors''' and misc. staff there. It's almost as much a tragedy as the first 150 years of 'psychiatry', that somebody's subjective, unsubstantiated opinion about, in this case, purely subjective (and legal) matters, will get a pass as 'fact' to authorize serious drug-use and/or forced compliance through violence. Almost.
I stayed at an empty desk and basked in the hovering silence and stillness of the place. Thinking mostly. About how not to trust people ever. About the state's roles and actors. About Klara. About caffeine. I'd went to bed, but the screaming from outside my room by this lady with actual problems kept waking me up. The free coffee at 'breakfast', was nice, albeit they served nothing I can eat, so I drank 10 cups til noon, flipping through a book, and they let me go. I actually had to pay a bill for this shit.
My caring mother passed me some later summer to a some female psychologist. Big yikes. Women should not be allowed in many a profession, any requiring mental work, for example. Of zero help, I'm regret my mother perchance offering this quasi-charlatan money. The one thing she could suggest me was that I see a philosopher. Didn't know this was a service provided. Albeit, I'm to cheap to give anybody money for something I can do myself. Fuck everybody.
So, existential depression. Nothing to do with off brain chemistry, and even if it did, I don't want external or exogenous help, albeit I put up with insulin, reassuring myself I'd've never survived in the wild with these poor mutations, genes, etc. My one calming, soothing, equalizing thought is that suicide is always an options. And you really don't need much, a door knob and a belt or scarf can do the trick. You can have your final say in the matter if it's so bad. Is it bad? Yeah. But I've no firearm access, and the chance of botching it is frightful. Imagine screaming 'LET ME DIE' while your relatives or just somebody cuddles you, the sweet little potato, the vegetable boy, bedridden, with irreversible hypoxic brain damage. Defo don't want any of that shit. Be your own master, decide on something and do it. No point being a little bitch, whining and pouting on the crossroads of life and death.
Reading Geo Stone's Suicide and Attempted Suicide
among other references, statistics such as: 45m falls in any orientation have >95% fatality rate, shotgun blasts to the head are fairly lethal, etc.; were fun enough to read once, but frustrating or further depressing due to lacking opportunity. I decided, were to ever have a, say, 1 in 20 chance of a failure, I'd take it without prior thought. I say that now, I said and thought it then, but the instinct for self-preservation might holler depending on the means that appears. Up til now, I've not heard of force multipliers, steep cliffs, cyanide salts materializing for wanton ideation of humans. Were we only in the beginnings of the industrial era---you could've gotta cocaine as cough medicine without a prescription at your local pharmacy... If it comes, it comes; if it don't, it don't. Suitable arrangements are better created, not prepared for: reading up on the method(s), securing location having backup plan(s). If you can't commit to a proper creation, then for you is not suicidal ideation. (I wanted to rhyme, sorry-not-sorry.)
Until then, I pass the time. I live minimally with little-to-no stress from human things; human society. I do what I value. I don't actively await death, but I'd welcome its premature arrival. Were I to have an epitaph---He went through the motions.
I obscure my 'bad', useless thoughts by preoccupied myself constantly til exhaustion. I've no steady sleep schedule, often hitting it around dusk, seldom noon, rarely before midnight. Reading, music, games, movies, fora, etc., etc. Emotions are easy-ish. You perceive/think, and choice how to react. Keeping a clear head and thinking it through is relatively easy compared to being an third person observer of yourself, your life, your surrounds ever vigilant, strict and ready to take necessary action, not proceed on inertia, on defaults. Practice makes perfect better.
Suddenly, as with all things of import as if, it blindingly dawned on me around the time my condition was as if at its worst (if you could one-dimensionally measure it). Roughly, you can take either a proactive, or reactive stance. To what? To anything really. But 'anything', 'everything', 'everyone': there are nebulous terms whose meaning you expand as you go along on a case by case basis. Here I'd expanded mine to include depression and loneliness. (Putting anything into words subtracts a deeper felt meaning that you can easily act out. Rereading the text from few days ago, it strikes as insufficient, unworthy, imperfectly overlapping with what I meant. However...)
In the former, you take action---what that is, when it is, etc. is up to you to decide. In the latter, you fantasize about how you'd react, how things'd be if so-and-so happened. Well, nice things don't happen, generally, normally. Or at all, but that's an eternal disapproval. Being on the defensive, a reactive stance would seem natural. It needn't necessarily be wishful thinking---cocooning up, building walls could be viewed as a mix of both, albeit this happens when you have somebody to keep away, but you get the idea, it's not an either-or. But if you do engage with fantasy as your main strategy, only a catch-22 of deeper disappointment and further self-delusion comes of it. The former is an ever-present constant of life with others, not inherently bad; the other leaves you more vulnerable, less prepared. Neither extreme of accepting all blame for everything and attempting to remedy the world of its people's plights, or of wishful thinking, daydreaming without action taken or at least plans for it, help you towards any goal, possibly least to that of whatever you define friendship as.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, expect the unexpected.
Only, be rational and weigh things by their estimated likelihoods---it's possible to win the lottery, just not too likely (s. also: birthday & Monty Hall problems for how human don't do well with probabilities)---, as well as your (in-)capabilities and circumstances. Nothing is static. Forget the first third of the quote: don't hope. As Bane says: there can be no true despair without hope
. Just don't fall for a saving angel. They don't exist. Symptom is externalizing all your problems' solution into a near (wo-)man-shaped package (or child, if you're into that thing). Only you can save yourself. See also, Adlerian theory and or my remarks on The Courage to Be Disliked
by Ichiro Kishimi, Fumitake Koga.
All music linked to in this article was composed by me, and is licensed under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0. If you hear a guitar, then the piece is playable, and done by me (on a, like, 40–50cm cheapass guitarlet, I got as a gift; my good ones were back home) (also, recording quality is spotty at best as it served as audio providence: I sure wasn't going to write it all out in MuseScore); if you hear piano, it is very possible to be composed for the music's sake, without regard for performability by even a five-handed virtuoso.
I use MuseScore for composition. It's a score-typesetter, whose feature-functionality creep has from has yielded something really nice actually. Considering I've never accomplished more than (un-)installation with any DAW, or tracker for both Windows and Unix, I am content. V2.x's grand piano soundfont was kino, and thankfully it is free for use and download from the site, which I recommend, since the new one sounds hollow, meek, and flat. In the following, under 'ms' sheet music for some pieces may be found in the MuseScore website (requires JS); it can be played there. Exported score .pdfs will be under 's', and the .mp3s'll be the piece titles themselves. I do absolute music: music for music's sake and my sake, therefore, mind not the titles. I also fancy atonal, or frequently modulating music. I wish I could begin composing with any variety of microtonal music too. I don't despise repetition, even though I inadvertently, unconsciously doodle the same ideas over and over often enough. Forget about chronological order, years've past and, yeah... I've no surviving records of at least two complete pieces, and so many more DNFs, which is unfortunate. But hey, spillt milk and all that jazz.
s
s
s
s
There are no nice things.
from above; and have barely listened to music, trauma and and all that, for 2.5y, as the index notes. But I tried my hand.
The theme for the April 2023 /dmp/ album was to be genre-less, or genrefluid, or genrequeen. To me that'd not mean a quodlibet, like what I usually (poorly) do with my compositions. Not a a mash-up either, a chaining of interpretations and or remixes of existing melodies, whole pieces. I wanted a few genres flowing into once another. However, even when I did music semi-proficiently when I wasn't rusted as Mars' surface, I still did transitions, non-repetitions, variation, and extension/idea-development very badly. I wanted to do a French 20. century jovial chançon, (atonal) free jazz, eurobeat, soundscape/environments, some jazz shit, idunno.
As of writing, there 4–5 days extension on the deadline for submission. Another 'part' and polish may be cobbled together with spit and yarn. Copious duct tape. The version here, the beta's beta, you will discern, as I know, abjectly denying as you my be about it, is problematic: my attention is/was distributed very unequally; the french fancy's ending is too long and dead, I have to infuse those 4 bars into the preceding ones without changing their intensity or disappear them; beginning is too short and don't grow, doesn't lead anything decisively either, rhythmically repetitive too; the whole thing is rhythmically malnourished and harmonically surfeited, yet poorly, the latter. I'll not let the idea putrefy and sublimate. Again, fuck both of you, three of you, so so much.
Name might've'n the date of the germination, that is the fourth of March. Though I've worked less than 36h in toto on this due to 2–3 week-long emotional setbacks. Name requires both hands' work and there are no "q"s, so it's must be neither placeholder, nor laziness embodied. Has too many 3 too many key strokes for the latter.
are alive, conscious; perceive directly and indirectly; focus on at most one thing at a time, can (attempt to) direct your focus, can be distracted, can distract yourself, can decide, can think, can not simply react, can observe yourself impersonally. In my case, the prior sentence wasn't etched into my eyeballs for reading ease, rather over 7. grade's the autumn-winter I remember being conscious for the first time. I remember realization. Actually thinking things through. Principal thesis of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning is precisely this, with more sentimentality, wishful thinking and other shit things.
Years later, around 2016-ish, a study about the prevalent (overwhelming whose had them) absence of an inner voice in test subjects. These were memed as NPCs. Never mind the meme, it's still staggers, given solipsism, and the psychological phenomenon of believing you're the center of the universe, world, other people, etc., that you're the action hero there to undo injustice against unfair odds, and succeed. I'm not even gonna try searching for that one. It might have overlap with maturing, unveiling just how insignificant you, your life, possessions, family, choices, job, etc., etc., etc. are in the scheme of not only the world or further cosmos beyond, but within your country, state, city and very likely even neighborhood. Hell, most people have conversational, ethical and intellectual capabilities on par with a bonobos, and struggle getting those most tightly bound to them to cooperate, obey, listen, understand, etc. What animals have over humans is honesty, in strength and cunning, in relationships and intentions. Good-faith actors in human society are few and far between.
I use the word 'reactionary' in a non-political fashion, as in 'of or pertaining to reaction, as opposed to action'. I have, over the past, say, 6 years, tried my hand some 3–4 times during longer conversations, at augering this concept through my mother's thick skull. I failed. I believe not once have I taught her something. She's a woman, and old, though neither of these is a valid or acceptable excuse, and even if it were, excuses are of no worth, they're mere superficial social lubricant with bad aftertaste, that drive nothing close to the goal. She plows on, reactionarily.
So, are more people philosophical zombies? Reactionary automatons? Nested chains of if-statements? I'd say no to the first due to untestability by nature of definition. Latter two, however, I'd answer positively, prostrating years of observations. If I---, a bright but not genius, 1-in-1e7 human being, can model the vocal output (true thought is personal) and actions of individuals in my head with accuracy >50% (let alone approaching 1), then either I need better subjects, or... the hypothesis is not disproven. For all relevant purposes, most people I interact with or observe are hollow.
Before wrapping your taffy around this concept, that you inhabit (some portion of) the space of a meat suit, that you are and are not it---a fetching name for this period would be what? 'Pre-enlightenment' bares historical meaning, burdens. 'Pre-consciousness' is probably false on more than one grounds. I'm groping for something like 'pre-consciousness-consciousness', anybody dead or alive can tell you that's a bad name. I'd call it 'pre-consciousness-awareness' (still ghastly). Regardless, until my 14. earthly roundabout, I'd been riding a monorail. No control over direction or breaks, no knowledge of being transported through life. And sitting down and enduring it is perhaps the default behavior of any conscious animal---expend less energy, survive, procreate, repeat. The danger of easing back in persists, looms. Saying 'be self-aware, ever-vigilant' is easy, whereas being in the mindset to do so, and further so doing it, exponentially harder than one another. But it is your choice. If you're know: nothing is static, almost everything depends, much is relative, little is certain, you know fuck all overall, you can only trust yourself---, then can decide. And really, it's not a decision. You know which future you prefer, trudging through to it is wherein the rub lies. Defaults kick before the observer's noticed, if the other's not done the mental exercise of asking the right questions, realizing this and that, pondering it some time, wanting to know, etc.
Your arrive at awareness of your agency once, afterwards you remind yourself, or are reminded. It's profound similarly so to how sometimes simple, or rather short, equations in physics describe physical reality. Just as some believe civic duty should be inculcated in school (and in pre- and uni, too), and as some argue that critical thought (however you may define that as a subject) should be in curricula, I think, one should realize and every day not forget that one is human, one is conscious, one is aware one is conscious, and can. take. action. You can decide and take steps towards, e.g., becoming a Somali pirate, or a New Zealand goat-herder; becoming less angry at things of no direct consequence to yourself, or fully controlling your emotions, their ultimate intensities; thinking through your current life situation, where you'd want to be, where you'd not want to be.
I dunno, man, but calling it empowering is like calling electricity 'shocking'. No. It's the difference between being given an nonfungible, irrefusable movie ticket to the 2.1/10 movie named "Life" starring (You), feeling every moment of it without ever noticing the all millions sitting beside you, nailed to their seats with canvas tunnel-vision (never mind, they're doing it most likely to distract from the fact, the cinema's built on a mound a bones so high, Everest's pale cheeks would crimson); and looking around, picking a better seat (continually so according to current scene), or chatting up some other awake anon, or going to the concession stand.
You can even decide on how you'd like to leave the theater, if you so choose.
Anyways, I have learned nothing of value from any doctor, endocrinologist, diabetologist, cardiologist, neurologist, or ophthalmologist I've had contact with over the years. No-thing. Nada. Naught. Nil. Zilch. Fuckall. Calling them 'baboons' would be a deep insult to these 'lesser' primates. These complaisant, stupid mites---these '''people''' should be hung for their crimes against humanity. University and higher education is an often a self-contained shitshow of cosmological proportions, but when it seeps out---by, say, ill-educated drones regurgitating provably, objectively false information as 'medical advice' (and defending it via arguments to authority, popularity, naivety, and much, much more) to the general population---then, motherfucker, we have around a third of the major issue. The other two being current system of higher education, and the people themselves.
Anyways, a year and something in sticking to whatever they'd told me, unconsciously I was noticing things. After the honeymoon period, in which exogenous fast/mealtime insulin requirements sink drastically (possibly to 100%), already with an interest in science, I'd searched around the internet and came across the arguably single most valuable resource for a T1DM: Dr. Bernstein's Diabetes Solution, (crucial information/chapters are provided gratis on the website in the form of navigable html pages, if you would rather not pirate the book).[5] Bernstein's story is astounding: that of a child diagnosed with T1DM and living through the tougher years (he says in interviews he's the only diabetic from those days left alive, not to mention his top notch health; reminder: T1DMs, on average, live 10 years less), when insulin's discovery permitted longer lives with less suffering, later getting hit PhD in engineering and dropping out to go through med school and specialization as an endocrinologist/diabetologist to be allowed to publish his various findings from experimentation with himself over the years. At some 85 years, he is still active, has new patients, gets articles published, and is even on YouTube.[4] Type1Grit became a thing after 1–3 low-carb conference talks on T1DM: it's a facebook group with strict rules that is tight-knit, encouraging and helpful to T1DMs. I know of two papers comparing results from Type1Grit and a control, the standard of care.[6,7] I've never had any, nor needed any, support, and have always disliked top-down, communal things; fb is, and I say this with no humor, evil, and about as pernicious as cpp-funded reddit. The people you can meet there, could be invaluable to your health journey. Personally, I dislike all the emotional, communal, top-down shit, but if it works you, if it floats your boat, don't let me stop you. This last example is of a family with child going through the ires these same ires, albeit two-fold (I doubt it can perceive all the damage being done to it, let alone comprehend all the science behind it) or more, since they'd be feeling like impotent parents.[8]
Post-Bernstein, I saw significant improvements glycemic variability and value range, and general salubrity. These have, with the years, become better (albeit diminishingly so) with diet strictness and adherence . Various other health markers (in standard T1DM bloodwork) also swam to the respective 'better' limit, up or down, of the reference range for normal, healthy individuals (not diabetics!). Docs be, like, Yo, dawg, I dunno wu'kindsa magic you be spinnin', dawg, but, so long's I gotsa do nuttin, you cool wid me, dawg.
Lest I question them on important to me and my fucking life with this permanent fucking chronic illness details, the answer to which they cannot hope to fathom to guess at, my visits are prompt and pleasant. I'd read Steven Phinney's papers, and the resultant books from his work with Volek.[9,10] I'd come across Jordan Peterson as he was experiencing his 15' of internet fame. Them first did I get ac,quainted with carnivore diets, from his daughter's and his experiences with it.[11] Here are two other resources, one of a Navy SEAL dude turned doctor and spreading the word, albeit in a very American-y, annoying at times way, and the other very focused, proper way.[12,13] Low Carb Down Under and AncestryFoundation conference introduced me to many new ideas, information, things I hadn't thought of myself, and I'm most grateful for getting to think about exclusionary principles in life, in general (big X wants you to buy product, add more stuff to fix problems), e.g., 'carnivore' diet, and (intermittent) fasting, and plant toxicity.[14,15] Paul Saladino was a new-comer with his own story and journey, although he kinda became a shill and annoying, to me at least. He is very thorough with the science, however, look in both camps for all the best evidence, and isn't afraid to 'get technical' which might scare the lay.[16] His book includes many key citations, pieces of information, and is, I'd say, lay-friendly. What then for me then was new: archaeological and anthropological data, and studies on plant toxins.
As of initially writing this, I've been doing (mostly subconsciously) intermittent fasting for ≥18–20 h with one meal consistently for 3.5–4.5 y, and have been consuming (almost) exclusively animal products: meat, lard, butter, eggs, fish, some cheese for ≥6 y. Once a week I may have sugary dairy, and once to twice every season plant matter due to rare meals with others cohabitants, or pressure + exhaustion. They're accommodating usually to prepare separate no-carb food for me. If I lived alone, I'd not have any trash (food) in my household (like, back in the day); being among people, however, can be another stimulus: every second eye-stabbingly reminding me of what happens when you're a comfortable, stupid fuck, replaying all the detrimental effects on your health, wealth, and on the country paying for the former. I easily recall the effects of every infraction, every misdemeanor, every 'try', or cheat, or anything wrong: be it a thin film over chompers, hour-long bloating, flatulence or loose stool, dehydration, bad mouth-feel, or just overall not-well-feeling... Being alone and conscious of one's duty toward oneself; and reminded of others' failures to themselves, their society and world grants me resolve to be strict (not 'uncompromising'---shit food doesn't lose any quality or quantity when you very one-sidedly forfeit to surfeit) and thorough. But getting back to some stability is easy, if you're smart.
veg\w+ who some-fucking-how practice low-carb without withering and dying too much. But I take for extreme perversion of the case being made (it's actually been successfully implemented and carried out for millions of years...), as are attempts to substitute high-carb meals, e.g., any cake/bread/dough-thing/candy, with a low-carb version---wholly missing the point. You're feeding the wolf, the addict, deceiving your brain---it's nigh the same with artificial sweeteners (natural ones aught not be excluded: the stevia plant had one major sweetening chemical and the tens to the hundreds of derivatives---I assuredly do not want that amount of unresearched bioactives in my body).
The amount of people not: feeling better, experiencing major health benefits, having happier yet more bewildered doctors, are scarce or nonexistent. Given it's evolutionary history and anthropological findings, it should possible to ween some, say, 99.99% of all humans off of carbs, and get back to essentials, genetic abnormalities, mutations can, of course, make it unsuitable for some. Examples of elderly (>80–85 y) or middle-ageds abound, who have completely cut out or severely reduced up to 10 different medications for: hypertension, water-release, capillary perfusion/blood circulation, depression, anxiety, skin conditions, Crohn's, Alzheimer's, T1DM, T2DM, gout, bowel conditions, kidney stuff, appetite suppression, etc. Currently, there is not enough livestock to exclusively feed Earth's populace even inadequately. Nobody expects an overnight transition, but one over, say, 25–50 years is feasible.
Speaking of sustainability, according to vegans themselves, the average, let alone the median, of adherence for newly initiated is 1 year. The rest, whatever their reasons might be, visibly deteriorate, degrade, degenerate physically and mentally. Ample evidence of this exists on video-hosting sites. veg\S*ism is neither sustainable for humans, nor for the planet; and it's more tragic than humorous.
I would like to direct anybody interested in the discussion, argumentation, and refutation of claims most brought up the off to Peter Ballerstedt's YouTube channel.[27] He is a well-connected forage agronomist and is trying, and succeeding, in bringing together people from low-carb, animal producers/farmers, the wider public. The guests on his podcast are people most would never talk to, or see, unless you haunt cow-calf/grazing/forage conferences, and they provide valuable, indispensable even, information about soil, plants, ruminants, their interactions, dependencies, and so on. tl;dr, there isn't enough arable land on Earth to sustain whatever this hell is supposed to be called, there isn't enough usable water for continuing it, it's extremely damaging to the soil with restoration lasting into the decades, ruminants produce high-quality, highly-bio-available micronutrients and macronutrients in the form of meat, fat, and dairy, in proportions required by the human organism with the input of fucking grass. They also fertilize everything around. They also sequester more carbon than they excrete via burping and farting when managed properly. It's a win-win-win-win situation.
A requisite would be a goodfaith within the majority, if not all, and---, not everybody being on the same page---, but at least a good myriad of the period in change, of the period in exploitation reaching some level of knowledge, reading some 100 key books, something like that. To have enough wits about themselves to stop themselves and those immediate to them from reaching for utopias. The latter, lit. ancient Greek for 'no-place'. Wishful thinking by adult-sized toddlers. Embrace hardship, seek knowledge and multitude perspectives, help yourself and then others---but don't fuck it up for everybody (yourself included).
Society all too often is prisoners' dilemma with the caveat that you only postfactum, if at all, realize this. Defeating all prisoners' dilemmas, that is, of all goodfaith players, is intractably difficult and daunting, if at all possible. Nevertheless, one should strive toward perfection or excellence, if only to grasp slight improvement of the shared lot of humanity/local society.
For the past, almost exactly four years, when my (planned) life had collapsed sorta conclusively, when I gave up on competing, on the rat race, on ambition, on society; I have been living Camus's The Stranger
's eponymous character's life, as if. My role in my life is more often passive than not. I try not to react, not to feel, but to observe, to note, to pass the damn time. Side note: I had had this though at the beginning of my depression, that at the end, after having stayed busy and isolated from thoughts of self and world, from feeling, I will have living almost exclusively vicariously, and I will have 'passed the time' where time equals my life's length, that that could have been my epitaph, ha. It is arguable whether he had made conscious attempts towards this, at being passive (consciously, that is, actively being passive, lol, I can not into language), whether it was his normal state of being (little-to-nothing of his past), whether he was a sociopath, whether he was (just) sequentially misfortunate. Given the author, I take it to be a chain of misluck: mother dies, small spat with employer, separation with/from female, intimate (as in 'fucky-wucky') friend, being seen, being heat sensitive, et cetera, et cetera.
Refocusing on me, why do I do it? My reluctance in participation in society, in association with other has to do with my failure to teach others, to bring them to a higher level, as perceived by me, to be of use. Adlerian psychology claims that what brings most happyness is the perception of being of use others. I shrink in writing and reading that.
A shoulder tick I do not possess awakens.
I feel unwell.
I itch.
That aside---that is, wholly ignoring that for the sake of my mental health, just skipping to the third...
This is no essay, is not thoughtful, nor thorough. About 15±3 years since my voluntary perusal of porn on tv or 4chan or the wider internet have passed, so nearly a generation has passed for our beloved pornstars too. They have either: retired officially (those of Ron Jeremy's age); or have commit suicide (August Ames, there were two more though); or seen their 15 minutes of fame (Mia Khalifa talking American footy); married (into money, lmao) and retired (Britney Beth) (other just do not retire from the industry, like, ever, like Johnney Sins and his wife or the Italian stud, Rocco S(t)iffredi); got MMA'd (Christy Mack); and so on. A great many of those have who had tried making it, have given up, fucked off from the West or East coast to the literally corn middle, and gotten a local job in their bleakly propositioned, sub-1k-population 'city'. Only now they permanently look rather unnatural, under they lay under the blade again. They have met and worked with (much) people, if even mildly successful, may have seen exotic or at least fancy locations, expensive houses, or may have just been facefucked for 20 minutes for 200 dollaridoos in a derelict in New Jersey, they may have put away enough dosh for an investment, or may have just barely made ends meet in the Bay Area. Belle Delphine was making a mill a month for basically nothing in return for a year, then did something and then nothing again for 1.5 years, and other similar simp stories, where barely-legals and 20-somethings making obscene amount of money for minimal effort and (some) loss of face, abound. Rachel Cook, a model, whose name was branded on my brain when I first laid my peepers on her 14–16-year-old face and then body in a Sears catalog around 2010-ish. Likewise, Taylor Hill for the same breed, but who grew chunky and fell out of fashion with most lads.
What in the fuck are you on about, mate?
Do not harry me, unkind sir. I shall get to it. So, what have I done in the past 4 odd years other than, you know, fucking aging and wasting muh potential? I got job in science where I hail from. It was and is shit: there are no avenues for success, there is nothing to look forward to. There is gray, corruption, flippantry, superciliousness, soviet bullshit. Countries that failed the transition (opposite the counter-examples of Czechia, Hungary, Poland, Romania) are horrible in many a way. I am in unofficial leave, fucker does not want to fire me because there's barely any people as is, let along below the 45.
I have: read some books, learned some language(s), gain some knowledge, acquainted myself intimately with one person, who fucked me over (arguably my fault for not seeing and or heeding the signs and not thinking), and shallowly with a less than 5 others. I am not young anymore. I do not consider myself young. I did not then. The stagnation in and of my life. Everyday life of the working joe or just of a statistically normal adult human of a non-third-world country is unexciting, unnovel, uninteresting, mediocre, mundane. Bad, but not too-too. I feel a numbing inertia of the day-to-day. I am repeating myself more often or am not having novel thoughts, I think. I more frequently feel unwell, unlike years prior, when this was both more intense and more sporadic (the depression curve is flattened over the rest of life, yey? integrate to kill, pls).
Unless in my next turning, at around 40-something, something 180s, I can see myself just buying any old firearm any-fucking-how from any-fucking-who and shooting myself, no will, no note, no preparation, no requirements, just off to La La Land.
Right, aging. Having lost what I initially intended to write about, and having not jotted down notes, and having talked about grills and suicide, updates to this text will be necessary. But in time. ---,
lmao, yah, nah, cunt.
Ain't no fucking hurry since everything is ultimately meaningless.
Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever floats your boat.
It is rather strange being an observer in life, in one's own life, in your life.
Camus's L'Étranger
floater nonchalantly bys me. As does The Doors' Jim Morrison's chorus:
People are strange when you're a stranger.
In the subway today I was meditating slash resting my eyes since I'd been pushing 22 hours, intrusive thoughts be gone, yet inadvertently I held on to one, namely that I was right in my initial thoughts and assumptions more or less about the person, and that thinking with your lizard brain or your cock---which, I'll remind you, is an indelible member of any (male) lizard, lmao. Anyway, I'm no longer mad/angry/something-negative at the person, who turned out to be shit, and probably maybe always was?---that'd contradict my belief that anybody can do better by themselves and others (in whose eyes?), so no---, they'd rapidly changed---devolved really---, in a year and change into a malfunctioning perversion of what I (thought I) was initially acquainted with and then came to know. Disgusting, repulsive even given my knowledge of them. So, I was thinking of their hypocrisy, see: they claim to be steadfast religious, however: their goals, motives, actions are always self-centered, self-ish, in goading others towards their goals rather than theirs, insidious, I know, often not to the desired effect, I reckon, but they're learning; they claim to (want to) be chaste, puerile, clean, pure---why not unmolested?---, but exhibit and or don't inhibit wanton sexual behavior and thoughts; (there was more, but I'll add when I remember it); then I thought of my claim that the (human) world runs on it, on hypocrisy if you don't wanna play the pronoun game after a bigass sentence.
That led me to recounting my considerations of hypothetical trade-offs, that nonetheless force the answering party (here me) to (re-)order their values and priorities. For example, (assume) you are a parent with more than one child, you must choose one to die, not horribly, and neither would you be executioner, nor spectator, but one has to go somehow in the very-very near future. The classic of Oh, I could never---never! between my babies fizzles out if/when they are or would be in physical and or mental agony, otherwise said, torture. When push comes to shove---and push always comes to shove---a parent would ask oneself questions like: who do I love least? who's done the least for me? for theirself? for society? who's the least accomplish? who's a KH, NEET virgin? who has least to live (for)? to aid in choosing, though that would work for developed children, not saying adults, 4-year-olds can have a distinct temperament, a bit later maybe even the silhouette of a personality, future permanent character traits. Still with me? Would the person above (woah, species dropping much?) sacrifice their reckless behavior, assume (strict) control, accept responsibility, admit fault and make amends with others and, most importantly, themselves? Trudging forward, what would they willingly sacrifice to have that remain true? Every life has a value, ask life insurers and Somalian piracy response teams; every property has a value, ask property insurers (or whatever they're called); and so on. These of course aren't absolute, and have in isolation from other answers (of the similar questions) little-to-no value. Relative to one another though, they, supposing truthfulness and charitability in answering and no mental illness or severely low IQ, say, 3 standard deviations below, paint the picture of who the person is. Depending on who the person is, how extroverted they are, who codependent and social they are, it may also paint who that person want to be according the themselves and or others, not necessarily who they are.
So, ask yourself, what do you value? How much do you value it? Put a price on it and update it monthly, or yearly, when critical. dew et.
Dirty Dancing
..?. They disco don do duh dext dirty dove disposed (or not) do descry duh dancing debasement. My debilitated
People cope---well, you don't flipping say.
American History X
was so powerful. I could have in poor taste for cheap male rape joke said 'forceful', but I didn't! I recently had told a person, that I couldn't spontaneously articulate why I'd rather be stabwoundfucked rather than buttfucked. See, grievous corporeal harm and potential maiming (maimage could've'n a cool word :| but we can't have nice things after all) isn't most peep's cup of tea: most aren't the Ss in extreme S&M, though theirs is consensual and sexually gratifying, not a shoddy either-or (if you're of the , say, ~98–99% of heterosexual pubescent or adult males, I'd venture to say), and neither are they apotemnophilics. I can't speak for any other male with certainty, can only grasp at the straws puncturing the slightly opaque, inhomogenous tangle that is the collection of all my thoughts and opinions, preferences and experiences, that I can consciously arrive at.
Yeah, looks nice. (Reeeeeeeeeeeeal niccce.)
. (Never you mind the double entendre with 'stuff' collective noun and verb.) The weaker of women probably get turned on from time to time by looking at a hunk, their conception of what one is, or has: can i get uuuuh triple biceps, extra extra sweat, a 7-foot girthy dick, a 64 abs (arranged in an 8x8 grid, ofc), and a squirt of general telepathy? kthxbai.
Whoops, wrong hole.
back when sex was still a thing. Perhaps the feeling of tightness, (greater) constriction is the appeal? But men don't want pornography---, I don't and never did watch pornography imagining I'm the phallused phallasing bedfellow (lmao, literally), and imagining the feeling, no it's mostly just visual stimulation---Grug see booba, Grug peepee hard.
This shallow prattle can't substitute discussing the question of why you'd prefer being on the receiving end of a wounding instrument and being there penetrated to gently having your fudge packed, or if you prefer dysphemisms, getting your shit pushed in. While Toto's Africa sets the scene :^)
Struck me just now, I'd been conceiving a foreign, perfunctorily malevolent, nondescript human (that is, unsexed, blank). A loved one, had I any---, say, a past friend of lover with the then relationship intact being the perpetrator would invariably push me towards 'butt stuff', slightly, that is I reckon not enough to make me choose otherwise. Were they also the ones to do the other act as well, fucking or pegging, nothing would have changed significantly, for me at least. Would one have lost an imagined, a desired anal virginity? There's the old adage of It's okay if the balls don't touch.
. It parodies insecure men questioning others online whether a single discrete sexual encounter of exaggerated intensity or not turns them (irrevocably) into homosexuals. I think the take-home from it is that one should feel confident with what one does and is doing and that your opinion is most important, others' could at best inform yours.
I need a dommy mommy to keep me on track. I need a friend.
Is men's perception of their masculinity remarkably fragile? I'd think so, but, again, I'm diffracting everything through my distorted ideals, myself. If you're going to break down a man, build him back up strong, or help him do that himself. You yourself decide what you value, in yourself, in men in general, in yourself set against others, there is not one truth. Your truth is shaped by your will, your goals. Don't know how women are made more feminine, or what femininity is exactly. Topic for another time.
I'll improve this shit in the future, so bare with me. Bear with me. Something a momma ursus would totes hurl her handler.