Writing is strange. I can write pretty fast, but the prospect of posting it to the public makes me want to write something relevant, something that isn't just random bullshit. But the posts in this thread have been pretty, uh, well.
I dunno. I have thoughts on consciousness frequently. I'm an 18 yr old who's just now fallen in love for the first time, and the world just seems to be slipping by, out of my control. I feel at once less in control of what I'm doing, but more aware of what is happening. Time is flying past and I can't do anything to stop it. I struggle to extract meaning from the world, to find a pattern that fits, but the only pattern I can ever seem to find is being over self-aware of where my patterns of thought and behavior originate from. Recursive looping of my conscious understanding ultimately reduces life to a meaningless blur in which nothing is true, and all facets of feeling and understanding originate from something else. Cause and effect. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe being aware of why I'm aware of why I'm aware of why I'm aware isn't pointless, introverted thinking with no purpose. Maybe it's a form of maturity. Maybe feeling lost is normal, as any other adolescent experience recounting I've seen will tell me.
All my feelings feel both meaningless, and significant. I've never felt most of the things I'm feeling, love, sex, care, jealousy, safety, contentment, confidence. All are new things that I've never felt in any quantity before, and I'm learning to cherish them for as they are. Even if I know that one day, love will wear off. Feelings become meaningless, drugs. Rationality returns. Cycles continue, and the world goes on.
However, new memories feel as if they're not forming, and I'm almost never nostalgic. Live in the moment, do what you fancy. Take new risks. Find understanding in action. Do new things, damn the consequences, damn thinking in advance. Damn thinking. Extract meaning in the afterthought, but don't dwell on it too much. I still think, and I think so much, but I never feel pressured to think, to be energized, as I used to. Things are calming down. Thoughts no longer rush through my head unbrazened, but are more a fine tuned reflex, made to fit the situation. Maybe my meds and my love have fucked with my serotonin levels. Is this how I should feel? Is the lack of distress truly enjoying life?
I used to be massively, massively anxious, and I went through years of an advanced mental disorder. Paranoia until I was 15, thinking I was being watched by invisible entities that were never there, always feeling as if I was going to die at any given moment. I didn't go to school from the ages 10-16, not even homeschooling. My mom couldn't handle the action of dragging me out, screaming and naked. I couldn't go. I couldn't handle the thought of school. I thought I was completely incapable, I was afraid of the catch-up work it would take to get situated again in life. I felt stupid and incomparable to anyone else. I was still curious about the world, and the internet helped me. I learned to write from internet forums such as this one, I learned about the world from strategy games and wikipedia, I explored what I was interested in, and what explored whatever I desired. I was a lazy child, decadent with all the information in the world, but no organization to understand it, no curriculum to structure it. So I played games all day.
So I led a life of utter isolation, doing literally nothing but the computer. Ignoring the school problems that everyone else had. I was a neurotic, anxiety ridden mess stuck screaming inside my own head, afraid of myself, afraid of the world, afraid of anything and everything. Just because I felt I would fuck up, that I would never learn, that I was worthless to society. Oh how I wish I knew how valuable I actually was.
I got medication, and the fear of ghosts disappeared. I could now function in my house at a slightly-below-average level. I didn't have to have anyone in my room to take a shower. I began to talk normally to my siblings, rather than just do extreme spazzy jokes and terrorize them. I was about 14. My parents had divorced, we were moving through houses. We moved to Utah, around when I was 16. I began to go to the Mental Health center here, and I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I cried many times in the course of a multi-year therapy program in which I learned the value of self-introspection, and the power of choice. I went through a year of a school/therapy program at the mental health center, with a severe amount of absences. But I persevered, and my absences levelled off. I changed medications multiple times, and I was beginning to see myself as someone who had power in the world.
Very long story short, I changed. I started going to normal highschool. I'm on the honor roll. Everyone calls me the smart kid. I find talking to people easy now, I always speak my mind in class, and I feel sure of my ability to learn new concepts. The teachers love me, and I'm a fair friend to most students. I found someone I love, and someone who loves me. I still rely on my mother for support/housing/everything, and I don't know how to drive, but I am learning. I will learn, and I can adapt. And I'm confident of that now.
A whole new world has opened up, and I don't know if I should anchor myself to something to find understanding, however incomplete that may be, or just continue grasping at self-awareness and sticking to the moment until I can find my place in life.
poop in my butt
james while john had had had had had had had had had had had a better effect on the teacher
James, while John had had "[I]had[/I]", had had "[I]had[/I] had"; "[I]had[/I] had" had had a better effect on the teacher.
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that that is is that that is not is not is that it it is
That that is, is. That that is not, is not. Is that it? It is.
That that is, is that that is. Not is not. Is that it? It is.
pip pip da doodly doo
A teardrop in a sea will not make you see, as the armor of your conviction further negates the depiction. That hatred and greed will further lead, to the demise of my decree on what you are about to be, is but desolation from an inherent incarnation. Where the sea is the sorrow of all who have lost their sons to the cost, of indifference to the significance, of not leaving when asked but so sought to have basked in the glory of conflict. Where no one wins and no one loses in the lamentation of war where everyone eventually, ceases to be who they supposedly are.
On the other hand the righteous excelled where the opposition was declared expelled, another nation, another organization, total annihilation for the ones viewed as an abomination in decadence and flaw, a vow to draw, the line in the sand before the time was at hand. We will run them down and make them drown in their own sea of grief just as justice upon a thief, never will we else forget for there is no liberating oblivion to get, from not taking action so seizing the very essence, and believe me you will have a sense, of what it means for someone, to have rule over your soul and make it suffer in an abyss of a never-ending hole where no one will ever hear you cry as your existence is now to eternally fry.
We wander in the world where either one instinct guides us: The maternal, and the paternal. An evolution of the eternal.
Ponderings and Muses
Why bother with living? Is it really worth it? Are human beings meant, or just coincidence? Does it really matter?
Does anything?
There’s too many questions, not enough answers.
God isn’t real.
Just like Buddha, Abraham, Jesus, Allah, Shiva, or anything else.
Nothing is sacred. 80 years of pre-programmed biological expressions contained within an extremely complex neural architecture. Bored scribblings of an unsettled mind. “Keep Curious”. “Stay Alive.” “Hope Never Dies”. Sententious adages, maxims of ideas, meaningless in the long run.
Empty space,
Empty minds,
Empty gods.
Living connections,
Living ecosystems,
Perpetuating permutations,
Permutations building on unknown chaos.
No, no meaning. No real nature. Particle collisions containing consciousness. Emotions distort judgements, but they’re the only lens to view the world. Minds inherently flawed, using proxies to understand what reality is.
Thousands of conscious civilizations, expressing ideas, expressing order.
Understanding,
Permutating,
Evolving,
Organizing,
And…
Dying.
Cycles contain and limit. Consciousness and intelligence only goes so far. Physical laws imposed by what ‘is’ limits the possibilities. No travel faster than light. No energy from nothing. No ways to cheat. Percolation Theory, Fermi’s Paradox, SETI, Cold Fusion, Nothing. It’s empty. AI is never reached. Living planets not common enough. Technological thresholds limits consciousness to a single planet. Laws of physics; means we all die.
I sit here writing a journal, numbing the mind. Expressing ideas in characters that represent sounds that represent the language of a pattern, a genetic pattern expressing itself in a neural architecture. A neural architecture that possesses language. It can talk to itself. It can talk to others. It communicates, but all it communicates is information it has gathered. There’s a limit to that. There’s a limit to the combined efforts of civilizations. There has to be. It’s a hard truth, a limiting truth, a deadly truth, and a truth that most cannot handle. We live in a time of intense progress; a time where us human beings have explored ideas, created knowledge, changed their culture, expanded the extent of their energy. But there’s always a limit. Our intense progress has blinded us as I’m sure it has many other civilizations, many other intelligences. We see the potential but we fundamentally lack the means. Consciousness is a thing cursed to ever-observe, but never exploit. Dreams will remain dreams.
We all wish we could continue; we wish that we could reach out and grab the stars… I dearly wish. I so dearly wish that we could. But admitting in any case that we could do that as of now is false. We touched the moon, but the stars are such a distant hope. A seductive hope, a hope that is built on the dreams and ideals of a culture. Based on the memetic thought patterns of a genetic expression of dna, of atoms, of quarks, of fluctuations in an electromagnetic field. Of something that thinks it knows. Of a thing that claims something is there to protect them; that something is there to give meaning. That something is there to hope for. No matter how hard it looks it cannot find. No matter how hard it tries it cannot reach. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Except, however, some currents are so strong we cannot beat them. We have to be content with what we have. We have to be content with what we are. We have to lower our horizons before we got lost in the stars.
Everyone wants to believe. This isn’t being written to quash those beliefs. It’s being written as a warning against the dangers of dreams. Of hopes. Dreams and hopes that reality so unknowingly crushes. That doesn’t mean we can’t be content with what we are; but people so often hold onto unknowns. So often.. Hope. Hope is a tricky concept. A devious concept. Humans are natural pattern-finders; it’s part of being conscious. Hoping is wanting a pattern that isn’t there to be there. We see the overarching hierarchy of connected concepts and explore this ideaspace, but when you reach the end of it, what do you do? Surely it must continue. Surely there must be more. Surely it is limitless, a neverending complexifying conceptual circle that dissolves into one greater meaning.
But… There isn’t. We can imply it, but implications are so often false. We cannot get lost in the vastness of our own minds. Focus on what is. Be glad it’s there. And realize what you are, what you can be, and appreciate that sometimes, nothing is greater than what already exists.
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