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Or Kill Me / I donít know what came over me tonight.
« on: November 01, 2019, 03:43:35 am »
https://share.icloud.com/photos/013Y1-T1mPppMO3NalxClRkxg

I donít know how to share individual fucking screenshots in a goddamn embedded way using this garbage fucking device I swear Iím gonna SHIT! SHIT!

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Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / Under Construction Eternal
« on: May 01, 2019, 01:49:17 pm »
This has been coming for /months/.

I have been rereading old posts around these parts, mostly as a kind of self reflection on the growth and progress I made over time, and I noticed something.

Everyone on this forum has changed. Not just me.

RWHN famously blew up about the Boston bomberís face being on a magazine cover, and we mocked him for it. Now we point out that the manifestos of white supremacists are probably not worth reading and definitely shouldnít be spread around. In fact, they should be removed from circulation. We donít bring up pixelating out the New Zealand shooterís face when we said before that the bomber kidís face being on magazine covers was important.

Knee jerk reaction kicks in; I had it too. ďThatís not the same thing!Ē And youíre right that, in a sense, it isnít, but how isnít it the same thing?

Some of us, myself included, jump from that reaction to a different knee jerk reaction: it is the same thing, and we were wrong before. Again: right in a sense.

Then some fewer might go further: it is the same thing, but we are wrong NOW. This sort of knee jerk response to knee jerk response loop can go on indefinitely, leading you to some warped conclusions if you let it. But as a man said some time, a conclusion is just where you stopped thinking.

Now, the reason this bothered me was this nagging feeling that I didnít /feel/ like I had changed my mind at all. I am still adamantly for gun rights circa 2008, and adamantly in favor of gun control circa 2017 onward. I still believe the Boston bomberís face and story needed to be out there, while I believe that the current crop of extremist killers deserve nothing more than mention that they are hideous beasts. Most importantly, I hold all of these beliefs /simultaneously/, even though they outwardly seem contradictory.

I donít cringe in the face of contradiction, but I want to consciously make that decision. Here, despite an apparent contradiction, I didnít feel any. They felt universally in line with Who I Am, which has changed, but they felt like they applied equally to both Old Me and New Me. Whatever changes occurred, they werenít enough that I no longer recognized my old moral compass. In point of fact, it seemed like the exact same compass, down to the scuff marks on the glass.

óó

Iíve let this hysteresis loop settle for a couple months, allowed my reaction to the idea that Iím hypocritical over a long period of time to stop bothering me, and started to reread things while chewing the gristly bits of the problem.

The thing that made it click for me was a thing Triple Zero (I miss that Dutch bastard, where is he now?) said in the sticky of this very forum.


Snip

i dunno but it seems to me that discordianism places "freedom" as more important than "happiness".

(freedom and happiness being two important calibrating points in philosophy of ethics)

Snip

I feel that the apparent change in the forum Iíve noticed is just a change in the circumstances around us all.

óó

If freedom and happiness are important calibrating points in ethics, but unrestrained freedom is obvious stupidity (see any decent argument against anarchy, communism or libertarianism) and happiness at the expense of freedom is somewhere in the vicinity of Brave New World, it stands to reason that ďsafetyĒ is a component of happiness.

Much of the PeeDee Drug Wars focused on Safety vs Freedom. But it seems (note, seems) that we have shifted gears.

That is because, as should be evident to anyone who has seen the news even once in the past two years, safety is no longer guaranteed. More to the point, a lack of safety has begun to impinge on the freedoms of a great many people, some of whom have lost such freedoms as sleeping easily at night, keeping their blood on the inside, and homeostasis.

It is difficult to be a free-thinker while you are leaking all over the floor. Or no longer breathing.

Nothing about us changed all that much. The circumstances are different.

ó

Going back to my hysteresis loop of knee jerk reactions to my own knee jerk reactions, I mentioned that the apparently conflicting ideas of ďthe situations are differentĒ, ďthe situations are the same and we were wrong beforeĒ, and ďthe situations are the same and we are wrong nowĒ all have some validity.

Taken on their own, in a vacuum, they arenít very different. Extremist kills some people, and then back and forth (at least internally) about censorship vs making an important point occurs.

But more broadly, the first case was about racism. Public assumption: grizzled old brown man with super-beard. Actual reality: some white kid who looks basically like any other white kid. This was important because the narrative being sold was racist and the reality was not.

And the second case is about racism too. Except here, expectations and reality match up. White supremacist is white, kills people of color. There isnít any value in spreading his trash around. Pixelating his face sends a message to others like him, and does no harm to the public interest because he, I am sure, looks like every other white kid his age.

Letís move a layer deeper. In the case of the Boston bomber, I donít think anyone even had an issue with the actual story itself. It was about how this kid got radicalized. It painted a portrait of how someone who was an ordinary kid got pulled into this darker path. Notably, nothing about his descent had anything to do with the stories of other kids like him, or manifestos. It was a lonely journey that was egged on by traditional values and a desire to belong and be cared about by his family.

In the case of whatshisfuck in New Zealand, or that punk motherfucker in San Diego, we know their story, because itís a story that has been told to us over and over again. Further, we know that they were in fact inspired by other shooters. We knew that before they told us, though the confirmation was nice to have for the particularly thick-headed people. And their stories do have to do with manifestos and copycat acts.

So, to bring this back around: surface level, theyíre the same thing. But treating the Boston bomber the way we treat the bigoted goons we have now would have done the public a disservice, and treating these shitbags the way we did that kid (who did monstrous things, I must make absolutely clear) would be exacerbating a problem thatís already out of our control, because the details of the surrounding circumstances /are/ different.

Moreover, I feel that itís safe to conclude this is one case where we had no need to change our minds to reach the same decisions and value judgements we did. Some of us may have changed our minds anyway. Thatís fine. But I had this feeling that I hadnít actually changed, and I wanted to investigate that. What I found was that What I Thought I Believed was not the same as What I Actually Believed. And that I never actually changed, the world just whirled around me in a dizzying kaleidoscope of bullshit and goose-stepping.

What I Thought I Believed: Freedom, to the hilt.  Let people fuck up. We have laws for those who go too far. Safety is a crutch for people living in the Stone Age.

What I Actually Believed: Freedom, to the hilt, and enough safety that people can live to use it. We have laws for those who go too far, but some problems cannot be solved through application of law alone without making a police state. Safety is a vital component of freedom, but is easy to over-utilize and should be used with caution.

óó

My view is consistent, I just never had to explore this part of it at a point when I had the time to make sense of what I was seeing. Or Iím full of shit and this was an extremely lengthy exercise in rationalization, but I think that if thatís all it was, it was an important one.

Even if it is both true that my viewpoint on this matter has not changed, and that this is a lengthy masturbatory exercise in rationalization, it reminded me of an old truth around these parts, that an upright and bipedal human is Under Construction Eternal.

My viewpoint may not have changed on the issue I was concerned with. But I know myself a fuckload better than I did, and I have an actual response to things that I honestly would have just had to handwave away and ignore the subsequent queasy feeling about before.

I was confident my views now are the Right Thing, or at least in the ballpark. And I was confident my views before WERE the Right Thing but would not be now. But before the insight that prompted this post, I could not have explained how or why to someone, and under pressure I might have given a different answer that turned me into a shithead.

That didnít happen, for which I am grateful, and any shitheadedness on my part is, at the very least, the result of long hard thought rather than blind flailing last minute stupidity. I laid these bricks, they werenít just some rocks and mud I slung together. If nothing else, that is a valuable thing.

óó

I donít actually know who might get anything out of this here, but it seemed worth putting out there. As for why /here/...

It isnít a rant, it doesnít belong in OKM. Itís serious, not quite AT. Itís philosophical rather than political or scientific, so I decided it belonged in TFYS,S. That said, I havenít actually got a clue if thatís the case, so disclaimer: might be the wrong forum, please complain to a mod or use your mod powers to correct any perceived failings.

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Or Kill Me / Fragmentary Pressure Release Unit
« on: April 15, 2019, 06:14:07 am »
Warning: this is probably, I donít actually know because Iím a terrible judge of this sort of thing due to my innate biases with regards to myself, badly written, self-serving woe is me dramatic bullshit over most of its length. About two thirds of it is aimed at a small collection of random people I wonít name, who will never ever read it anyway, because absolutely none of them are, ever have been, or ever will be on this forum, and the rest is just saying things to no one to get them out of my head where they arenít doing all kinds of horrible damage to me.

I wrestled with even posting it after I wrote it all out, but I decided not to let that ... two hours, I think? Go to waste. Maybe itís garbage, maybe itís not, but itís mine and I made it and if someone anywhere finds even a single turn of phrase that was worth the time they spent reading, fuck it, it was worth it.

For my part? I have warned you, and that is all that is necessary from me.


óóóóóó


Nothing tells you youíre in for a wild ride like when you arenít rich and a pig says ďI heard about you.Ē Itís not a mark of pride, he didnít hear about you from being an extra on his favorite TV show. He heard about you in the context of ďone of those people,Ē take your fucking pick who ďthose peopleĒ are in your case. Depending how fucked up you are by the standards of those /other/ dirtbags, youíre between 100% and 40% likely to be right. Either way, itís time to shut the fuck up and be careful.



If one more person cuts contact in an absurdly over the top and aggressive way because of my psychological damage being ďscaryĒ Iíll just tattoo ďSybilĒ on my forehead and start breaking out the psychotic grin every time I meet someone. Theyíre going there fucking anyway, I may as well have fun with it.

True facts begin here. My damage is mine, and in this particular case I like it and want to keep it. Yes, I am crazy, and if given a half a chance and some decent health care Iíd get on just fine, I promise you. My little collection of people sharing a body doesnít need integration, itís not going to kill you or even talk too loud when youíre listening to the same song for the four-hundredth time, and every movie Hollywood has ever released and 90% of the books written on the subject by so-called professionals lied to you from start to finish. Your head is full of bullshit and you need your meninges scrubbed clean of the scum before you can be trusted to interact with a third of the human species in a healthy manner, and you can just keep threatening the fucking cops if I ever ďshow upĒ again, because Iím never going back to Fresno, or to California at all for that matter, and you can eat the shit I trailed in my wake like a leaking septic waste removal truck.

Besides all of that though, ďWe canít include the mentally ill in our activism because of the opticsĒ is a statement that needs the full, furious attention of someone with the psyche of Spider Jerusalem and the impulse control of a panicked wildebeest. What the fuck is wrong with you?



People keep dying or disappearing or else ending up so fucking horrible that I wish I could trade them for someone who had, one for one, I donít really give a fuck who shows back up just so long as the world gets a little fucking better and a little less horrible.

So much incomplete shit, notes left unfinished and then lost when everything ends up in a dumpster, a yard sale, an eBay listing, in a scrapyard. Iíve been dwelling on that for about a month now. I started finding all the shit I never finished that I can and backing it up with as many different people as I can. At my current pace I wonít complete a damn thing in my life but leaving those fragmented works out there for someone else to make their own ending to is a gift to the world in its own way. And while I hope one day I can offer more, I have gotten to understanding that itís okay if this is the best I can give: the world only ever gave me feces to paint the fucking canvas with, its not necessarily fair to expect rich blues and bright, clean greens out of my palette. Maybe Iíll find some nice colors in there anyway, and maybe some others can see what I saw in them too. Maybe one day Iíll find some real paint and a brush instead.



Yes, Iím angry, yes, I hate your fucking politics, yes, I really meant it when I said never talk to me again. If your worldview involves me or my friends, acquaintances, people I met once online and felt that unavoidable BPD flush of love for, suffering or dying or second class or imprisoned, then fuck you. Fuck what you stand for. Fuck your house, I hope it gets termites. Sit down and delete me from your Steam friends list or get used to my toxic spew, you rotten traitor fuck.



Iím emotional all the time, yes, and Iím anxious and I apologize all the time, Iím sorry. I have so much damage that my SAN has long since burrowed into the negative triple digits and shows no signs of decelerating. I try to keep it from splashing everywhere and wrecking the place, you watch me physically wrestle that shit down to present a socially acceptable face, so you can pretend itís all okay, nothing you need to be concerned with, so you can turn back to the TV and watch baking shows or game shows or sports games and say: ďthis world is okay, nothing is wrong, I donít need to be concernedĒ while you live in your house you own, drive your car you own, watch the TV shows they make for upper middle class white people, pretend and pretend and pretend that Neroís Boot isnít hovering, shadowing the fucking overcast sky, while it snows in mid-April, while I have to silently swap who is controlling this meat-puppet just to dodge the fucking psych ward ó /again/, while they talk on the news you try not to pay attention to about how people like me, like my friends, like that cute girl we saw at the restaurant that first week I was here, are all slowly becoming, legally, a little less human every day.

I donít hate you, but I almost wish you hated me so that I could justify it to myself. Even if I benefit from you, you are, in some small way, what Iím fighting against, and I have to hope you lose.



I have stopped caring about my health all that much these days. It turns out Iím loosely held together with paper clips and chewing gum, a bundle of misdiagnoses and outright lies and addictions and weird dietary shit hiding that Iím deeply, deeply ill, itís a wonder Iím still alive, still able to move, still seeing most of reality. On the bright side, if I stay in Michigan long enough to see my doctor, itís an easy and cheap fix as far as surgeries go. There is a possible future where I become as productive again as I was when I was 17, and that is a bright future indeed. And no longer turning that alarming, blotchy red color I did earlier today.

Besides all that though? It turns out the food we eat is becoming more poisonous by the day. Thereís lead in the water half the places you go, if not worse shit. So yes: I smoke. I smoke to keep my intestines anchored on the inside, apparently to keep my body and mind from collapsing under thyrotoxicosis, and because when it comes right down to it, the chances Iíll live long enough to die of lung cancer are growing smaller by the day, through no fault of my own. So yes, I beg a friend with the cash to spare for ten bucks once or twice a week, and I spend it on something thatís ripping me apart from the inside. Yeah, I could spend it on food and not leech ďas muchĒ money off the system by way of food stamps. Or I could just not beg my friend for money that I havenít ďearnedĒ. Whatever. Itís not your business and you should fuck off.



One day, if this keeps on repeating, inevitably there wonít be a ďnext spotĒ to jump. One day, I will have reached the end of the line. This is a mathematical certainty. There are only so many people in a position to help out there, and I try not to burn bridges but it turns out it ainít me with the butane, the flamethrower, the acetylene cutting torch, the thermite charges and demolition cranes, oh no. And more and more often it doesnít matter if the bridge burns or not, because soon thereís two of us, both hoping thereís another stop on this crazy ride. I sure hope I find a safe landing spot before the last car on this train derails. I hope everyone else out there, all the people cast out like me into the cold, living unbound and untethered and uncared for, I hope they can find shelter, an address, some warm food and some human comfort and dignity, someday soon, too.



And I hope one day I wonít be staining the screen with this disconnected word salad bullshit, yelling from the gutter surrounded by rotten wood and old McDonaldís sandwich wrappers, trying to let out 29 years of being stepped on, making my self small so others can pretend not to notice me when they pass, being turned away because someone read a book or saw a movie once where the bad guy smelled like me kinda, getting thrown down the mountain, a shadow of Sisyphus, every time I get the strength to try again to claw myself up another inch. I hope one day I wonít have to worry ó is this too defeatist? Is this too sad emo kid? Am I just whining? Because I hope one day Iíll have different stories to tell, stories of victory and progress and improvement.

And really, above all, more than anything, ultimately, I hope one day I can look back and, if nothing else, see that I didnít make the world any worse as I passed through it. If I get one wish in this life, let it be that one. If I canít stop the tide of bullshit, just let me not have contributed. I donít care if people /think/ I did or not. I donít care how or if history views me. Just donít let my final karmic balance, so to speak, be negative.

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Aneristic Illusions / Christchurch shootings
« on: March 15, 2019, 05:25:11 am »
Finally ditched the IRC for good. As soon as white boys started telling me that we should just wait for the fash to go away because they wonít win I was through with that shit.

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Apple Talk / Doktor Howl to the situation room
« on: January 04, 2019, 09:20:49 am »
Iím in Arizona right now, passing through by bus on my way to LA. Holbrook is colder than parts of Canada, and I hear the temperature madness extends nearly to Phoenix. What did you do for the powers that be to try and freeze Tucson over?

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