I anticipate this being such a bad,
boring, and redundant blog, I'm not even going to bother sharing it
to facebook where anyone might actually see it. If, by chance
accident you've clicked your way to it, it's your fault if you try to
suffer through it.
Thus we're brought to our theme. Blame. I certainly feel blamed for nearly everything. That's a great and ignorant way to start. An “everything” statement. Whether people have fun or not. When I have “friends” or not. Whether I decided to “mature” and take responsibility for the path my upbringing set me on. When people say things to the effect of “it boils down to the individual,” I think they mean it boils down to the handful of people “everyone” feels comfortable blaming for “everything.”
Elected or monetary leaders take a different kind of blame. That's too easy and prescribed. Of course, it's their job, if not explicitly, than as a natural end of their wealth and notable consequences they wreak. Billionaires deserve blame in similar measure to politicians. You can feel and see changes, for better or worse, as immediately as any over-arching conception of society can.
The other kind of blame is for people with clashing dispositions with norms. They get the emotional blame. They don't claim eminent domain and destroy your land. Instead, they describe the shared space or relate to that domain in ways that makes you feel as though someone has slashed and burned your land. Sometimes, it's antagonistic. Sometimes, it's just a survival strategy. The world is out to kill you, after all, and it takes a specific and small percentage of people who can play with that fact every day without breaking.
I've re-read a few blogs from the last year. The constant theme is me feeling less in control, being “broken by the system,” as I capitulate to jobs I don't want or time spent doing things “beneath” me as I wait, and wait, and dream, and wait some more as excuses are offered about why I can't move. In this instance, I mean literally move. I've said it before as well; when I had time, I had no one care to help. When I had money, I didn't have the space. Now that I have the space, my time is further occupied, and I was compelled to eat up more of my money than I cared to in needing a car or in doing necessary house fixes I was ignorant of.
If I had a ton of motivated energy, it would eat me from the inside. It's got nowhere to go. I took acid over the weekend at 2 in the morning out of boredom. I put together a little schedule of “minimal standards for engaging the world” like reading 10 pages, 1 news article, 1 comic, playing and walking for 10 minutes, and stretching, just so I can squeeze in a remote semblance that something “productive” is happening in my otherwise killing-time posture.
I know I desperately need to go out and make new friends. No matter how much I don't like people at large, the general strategy of meeting everyone and picking out the 2 who don't suck isn't the wrong one. It still results in generally good times more often than attempting to beat the dead horse of who I've surrounded myself with currently. Do I blame them for never wanting to do anything? Or, can I blame them for leading me on that it might be they just don't want to do anything with me? I feel like I'm thrown bones here and there. I'd rather be alone.
The line I appear to be stuck on, from those past blogs and what still rings in my head, is that I miss believing in things. I miss having the hope I could maybe have a life with someone I cared for. I miss thinking that your time and effort equaled what you could expect to take out of it. I miss writing with a sense of ignorant passion that it was going “somewhere” if only to a mental place that would allow me to keep outputting the intensity it would require to learn everything and take over the world. Now, it's like pressing my back against the seat of a roller coaster, pretending I'm making it go faster.
“It's just a ride, it's just a ride. No need to run, no need to hide. […] It may feel so real inside. But don't forget it's just a ride ”
Thus we're brought to our theme. Blame. I certainly feel blamed for nearly everything. That's a great and ignorant way to start. An “everything” statement. Whether people have fun or not. When I have “friends” or not. Whether I decided to “mature” and take responsibility for the path my upbringing set me on. When people say things to the effect of “it boils down to the individual,” I think they mean it boils down to the handful of people “everyone” feels comfortable blaming for “everything.”
Elected or monetary leaders take a different kind of blame. That's too easy and prescribed. Of course, it's their job, if not explicitly, than as a natural end of their wealth and notable consequences they wreak. Billionaires deserve blame in similar measure to politicians. You can feel and see changes, for better or worse, as immediately as any over-arching conception of society can.
The other kind of blame is for people with clashing dispositions with norms. They get the emotional blame. They don't claim eminent domain and destroy your land. Instead, they describe the shared space or relate to that domain in ways that makes you feel as though someone has slashed and burned your land. Sometimes, it's antagonistic. Sometimes, it's just a survival strategy. The world is out to kill you, after all, and it takes a specific and small percentage of people who can play with that fact every day without breaking.
I've re-read a few blogs from the last year. The constant theme is me feeling less in control, being “broken by the system,” as I capitulate to jobs I don't want or time spent doing things “beneath” me as I wait, and wait, and dream, and wait some more as excuses are offered about why I can't move. In this instance, I mean literally move. I've said it before as well; when I had time, I had no one care to help. When I had money, I didn't have the space. Now that I have the space, my time is further occupied, and I was compelled to eat up more of my money than I cared to in needing a car or in doing necessary house fixes I was ignorant of.
If I had a ton of motivated energy, it would eat me from the inside. It's got nowhere to go. I took acid over the weekend at 2 in the morning out of boredom. I put together a little schedule of “minimal standards for engaging the world” like reading 10 pages, 1 news article, 1 comic, playing and walking for 10 minutes, and stretching, just so I can squeeze in a remote semblance that something “productive” is happening in my otherwise killing-time posture.
I know I desperately need to go out and make new friends. No matter how much I don't like people at large, the general strategy of meeting everyone and picking out the 2 who don't suck isn't the wrong one. It still results in generally good times more often than attempting to beat the dead horse of who I've surrounded myself with currently. Do I blame them for never wanting to do anything? Or, can I blame them for leading me on that it might be they just don't want to do anything with me? I feel like I'm thrown bones here and there. I'd rather be alone.
The line I appear to be stuck on, from those past blogs and what still rings in my head, is that I miss believing in things. I miss having the hope I could maybe have a life with someone I cared for. I miss thinking that your time and effort equaled what you could expect to take out of it. I miss writing with a sense of ignorant passion that it was going “somewhere” if only to a mental place that would allow me to keep outputting the intensity it would require to learn everything and take over the world. Now, it's like pressing my back against the seat of a roller coaster, pretending I'm making it go faster.
“It's just a ride, it's just a ride. No need to run, no need to hide. […] It may feel so real inside. But don't forget it's just a ride ”
I have a trigger happy startle reflex.
It's a piece of the reason I have to focus on things like not
clenching my jaw or experiencing spasms of grinding teeth. Long ago,
I was trained to always be on alert, and the feeling of impending
doom and danger has never gone away. I was shopping for mouth guards
because I'm tired of the unnecessary tension in my temple. I was
envious of a monk I read about who was given a test to not jump at a
loud noise (he knew was coming) and he stayed cool. I bring up this
reflex because it's an example of me being “primed.” When I jump,
it's not something external's fault. That is, it's my mom's fault,
but today, you'd hardly get points for “scaring” me anymore than
you would a squirrel.
I think people at-large are similarly primed to react. Instead of facing how and why, they blame whatever scares them. They blame the “negative” influences that refuse to perpetuate their delusions. I think there's a disconnect between imagined circumstances and worth, and playing dress up. I think you can engage with the world, and everything about it that wants to kill you, and not be “negative.” I think my disposition is old-hat and cliché in different cultures. I think if I ever manage to find the right pocket of people who use language and recognize, both on and off paper, what I have and am preparing for in the future, every lazily hurled scornful sentiment will one day register as a fleeting memory if remembered at all.
I've wanted some version of the same things for 15 years. I want my own thing. I want my own space. I want to be loud. I want to have a sense of independence and autonomy. I want to pick my friends or at least the people who I'll give the chance to fail at being friends. I want to be able to have the time to focus on things that could grow to be more than hobbies. I want to experiment. I want to discover a resting state that isn't half concentrating on trying not to be tense. I want extremely first-world selfish freedom and access to pursuits I bought into related to the story of American Exceptionalism, and I have an array of wholly unexceptional masses to navigate through on my way there.
I want those things because I want to find more people like me. I want to create an environment. I want to prove that there's nothing “negative” about being realistic about the degrees in which things suck and the amount of work it takes to make them suck less. I want to protect a space that works overtime in disabusing the excuses and lies that protect useless flitting-about existences. I still retain the power. No matter how despotic of spirit I get, the land is mine, the house is getting complete, and the car will eventually be paid off. I can budget. I can choose to work more. I can force myself into finding new disappointing groups to interact with until the one-in-a-million person clicks for a while. I can record my effort and be as redundant as I want to be until I find the line or sentiment that keeps me going one more day. I will eventually remove myself from suffocating mediocrity.
And that becomes an alienating thing too which people will resent you for. Forget aggression. When people see you excited and enthusiastic, knowingly or not, they find ways to pick at it. They know you like them? Time to cite the depression and not answer texts or come hang out. They know you had an idea to save money and eat better? Better blow you off at the time and wait 3 months so they can implement your plan with someone else. They know you have a few solid things you like to do that are fairly inexpensive and low effort? That's okay, I'd rather go out with people I've had more shit to say about than you ever could.
Is it better to hate from a distance? Is that genuinely a “good” thing to have a looming resentment for everyone around you as opposed to voicing concerns or opinions? People seem to like it this way, even if they hate each other. They sure get to appear in more pictures together. The “negative” kept at a safe distance. I think this is more an American thing, and I think it's horrible. Just like you can't escape either, it's a million piece puzzle with numbers to match where they connect how we got Trump. Don't face your racism, elect a white nationalist. Don't tackle your fear and bigotry, beat your chest with your gun. Don't admit you're stupid and poor, blame the poorer and desperate. Don't help and believe in things, find poster children to blame, endlessly.
I think I'm tired of being blamed for making sense and pointing out inconsistencies. At least I don't lie about my circumstances. When you want to bemoan the circumstances that have me sleeping on a couch at 30, that never erases the house waiting for me and land I'm begging to occupy. When I finally got pushed against a wall, I used my degree. Whether I practice for 8 hours a day or only read 10 pages, I'm a composite of hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and achieved some technical sophistication that's outpaced the majority. I am an exception to many rules. I have a good reason and good history to believe as much or more awaits me.
When do I ever hear this from anyone else? Or, they do something in secret and save their struggle so there's more room for the social media story. Or, they keep their goals contained to more “realistic” and palpable responsibilities. “Why, yes sir, in 5-10 years of slogging along, I'll have quite the 6 month travel fund, huzzah!” Maybe that speaks to an important distinction. A sense of urgency. When you “know” a certain path, say the collect a regular paycheck path, is going to work for you indefinitely, you adopt a concept of yourself to match. “Oh, I could never achieve that without at least another 6 months!” Not so much doing the math or theorizing other sacrifices or experiments, just spit-balling you're “stuck” for another safely anticipated period of time. I can't operate like that.
I don't have the money or level of health insurance to get “seriously” sick. I don't have the resources to rebuild if everything burned down. That friend who's about to die unexpectedly in the next 2 years I'm almost certainly never going to find the time to visit if I keep at the paycheck-to-paycheck pace of modernity. Not to mention, I don't want to just visit, I want a working and consistent relationship with my friends. I want my time back. In many many ways it was better being bored and alone awash in study money than it is being mildly engaged and ensconced in a regular work environment. I'm getting more stories, and everyone isn't the worst, it just simply isn't “me.” It's another game and procedure I find distracting and haven't figured out how or if it speaks to the whole in a more helpful than harmful way.
I don't move enough. I fidget, and toss, and drive, and tap, but I don't flow. My moment doesn't carry into enough breathing examples of what I should be doing, so it feels stuck. I'm left to be airily amoral waiting for a cue from a god I don't believe in. I've every excuse to lounge and enjoy and excuse and blame, and when I get up and look for agency, I take myself down errant paths evading the feeling that it's more and more seconds eroding in service to fluff. I appreciate relative stability. I like being fed and warm. I'm trying to set my house in order. It's as messy as I'm letting on, and I'm trying to deal with it. Don't be so negative.
I think people at-large are similarly primed to react. Instead of facing how and why, they blame whatever scares them. They blame the “negative” influences that refuse to perpetuate their delusions. I think there's a disconnect between imagined circumstances and worth, and playing dress up. I think you can engage with the world, and everything about it that wants to kill you, and not be “negative.” I think my disposition is old-hat and cliché in different cultures. I think if I ever manage to find the right pocket of people who use language and recognize, both on and off paper, what I have and am preparing for in the future, every lazily hurled scornful sentiment will one day register as a fleeting memory if remembered at all.
I've wanted some version of the same things for 15 years. I want my own thing. I want my own space. I want to be loud. I want to have a sense of independence and autonomy. I want to pick my friends or at least the people who I'll give the chance to fail at being friends. I want to be able to have the time to focus on things that could grow to be more than hobbies. I want to experiment. I want to discover a resting state that isn't half concentrating on trying not to be tense. I want extremely first-world selfish freedom and access to pursuits I bought into related to the story of American Exceptionalism, and I have an array of wholly unexceptional masses to navigate through on my way there.
I want those things because I want to find more people like me. I want to create an environment. I want to prove that there's nothing “negative” about being realistic about the degrees in which things suck and the amount of work it takes to make them suck less. I want to protect a space that works overtime in disabusing the excuses and lies that protect useless flitting-about existences. I still retain the power. No matter how despotic of spirit I get, the land is mine, the house is getting complete, and the car will eventually be paid off. I can budget. I can choose to work more. I can force myself into finding new disappointing groups to interact with until the one-in-a-million person clicks for a while. I can record my effort and be as redundant as I want to be until I find the line or sentiment that keeps me going one more day. I will eventually remove myself from suffocating mediocrity.
And that becomes an alienating thing too which people will resent you for. Forget aggression. When people see you excited and enthusiastic, knowingly or not, they find ways to pick at it. They know you like them? Time to cite the depression and not answer texts or come hang out. They know you had an idea to save money and eat better? Better blow you off at the time and wait 3 months so they can implement your plan with someone else. They know you have a few solid things you like to do that are fairly inexpensive and low effort? That's okay, I'd rather go out with people I've had more shit to say about than you ever could.
Is it better to hate from a distance? Is that genuinely a “good” thing to have a looming resentment for everyone around you as opposed to voicing concerns or opinions? People seem to like it this way, even if they hate each other. They sure get to appear in more pictures together. The “negative” kept at a safe distance. I think this is more an American thing, and I think it's horrible. Just like you can't escape either, it's a million piece puzzle with numbers to match where they connect how we got Trump. Don't face your racism, elect a white nationalist. Don't tackle your fear and bigotry, beat your chest with your gun. Don't admit you're stupid and poor, blame the poorer and desperate. Don't help and believe in things, find poster children to blame, endlessly.
I think I'm tired of being blamed for making sense and pointing out inconsistencies. At least I don't lie about my circumstances. When you want to bemoan the circumstances that have me sleeping on a couch at 30, that never erases the house waiting for me and land I'm begging to occupy. When I finally got pushed against a wall, I used my degree. Whether I practice for 8 hours a day or only read 10 pages, I'm a composite of hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and achieved some technical sophistication that's outpaced the majority. I am an exception to many rules. I have a good reason and good history to believe as much or more awaits me.
When do I ever hear this from anyone else? Or, they do something in secret and save their struggle so there's more room for the social media story. Or, they keep their goals contained to more “realistic” and palpable responsibilities. “Why, yes sir, in 5-10 years of slogging along, I'll have quite the 6 month travel fund, huzzah!” Maybe that speaks to an important distinction. A sense of urgency. When you “know” a certain path, say the collect a regular paycheck path, is going to work for you indefinitely, you adopt a concept of yourself to match. “Oh, I could never achieve that without at least another 6 months!” Not so much doing the math or theorizing other sacrifices or experiments, just spit-balling you're “stuck” for another safely anticipated period of time. I can't operate like that.
I don't have the money or level of health insurance to get “seriously” sick. I don't have the resources to rebuild if everything burned down. That friend who's about to die unexpectedly in the next 2 years I'm almost certainly never going to find the time to visit if I keep at the paycheck-to-paycheck pace of modernity. Not to mention, I don't want to just visit, I want a working and consistent relationship with my friends. I want my time back. In many many ways it was better being bored and alone awash in study money than it is being mildly engaged and ensconced in a regular work environment. I'm getting more stories, and everyone isn't the worst, it just simply isn't “me.” It's another game and procedure I find distracting and haven't figured out how or if it speaks to the whole in a more helpful than harmful way.
I don't move enough. I fidget, and toss, and drive, and tap, but I don't flow. My moment doesn't carry into enough breathing examples of what I should be doing, so it feels stuck. I'm left to be airily amoral waiting for a cue from a god I don't believe in. I've every excuse to lounge and enjoy and excuse and blame, and when I get up and look for agency, I take myself down errant paths evading the feeling that it's more and more seconds eroding in service to fluff. I appreciate relative stability. I like being fed and warm. I'm trying to set my house in order. It's as messy as I'm letting on, and I'm trying to deal with it. Don't be so negative.
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