tripolar manic mode



I don't like to admit when I'm incapable of something. I try to just be able to do it, often failing in lackluster ways. I have a above it all attitude to things for which I don't have an aptitude. Those things I "Naturally" took to were those things my particular mind resonated with. Why was I better at computers than my peers in high school? Because I learned to type before I learned to talk. Well that's not literally true, but it is emotionally true. I spent most of my waking hours playing with d o s commands, reading the HELP. Back in D O S 6 the help was freaking great and even had information about how to use qbasic which would become my first programming language. I saw all the stuff computers let me do, you know... Without needing to actually talk to anyone, without needing to get help, without needing to admit to my inability. This was even before I really had internet access. I sneaker-neted software from the school library on floppy disks to load up at home. That's how I got my first copy of windows 3.1. Mostly it was the games. Games were little worlds where everything was self contained. Everything MADE SENSE. Nothing was there that wasn't intended, maybe that feeling is why when there are unintended things in games, glitches and the like, they captivated so many people, but that's not really relevant. I only gained regular internet access when I got to high school, because the world had moved to the point where having internet at home was becoming a necessity for schoolwork. As such I missed many of the online wonders of the 90's and early 00's. Before then I was going to cousins, friends, the library. Floppy disks, 5 and a quarter, 3.5, zip disks, then CDRW. The fact that I didn't have reliable home internet made those human connections meaningful to acquire access to information that otherwise was extremely difficult to obtain. Music, games, anime, porn, books, software. Anything and everything that I could put in front of my eyes and ears. I went to lan parties, where we setup local network with filesharing and in between matches of age of empires two (shared over the lan of course) I'd monitor my queue of downloads from my peers. In highschool I learned about modems, and for a kick my friend basically became a dialup isp; it was local call so I didn't really care about the cost of the connection. But it did prevent any incoming calls, and since this was before cellphones I got in trouble when mom couldn't get ahold of anyone. I think this may have been the catalyst prompting us getting DSL which expanded my horizons. I didn't need to branch out as much and I could spend the time from midnight to 5AM trolling the net, reading about occult magic, while downloading bulma hentai, or chat on AIM and sharing music recommendations. Humans were useful because they had heard about things I hadn't, things that were interesting to them, and their interest facilitated my interest. RPG maker 2000, game maker, linken park, SOAD, and eventually the nexus of everything to come 4chan; all were things I was told about FACE to FACE. Without those face to face connections, who knows what I would have spent my time doing? Definity something equally useless. Perhaps if I had a commadore 64 and never heard of anything else I'd have just built an encyclopedic knowledge on every Detail of it, and be completely useless in every other regard. But I think my thirst for new information made it so I learned the minimum social skills to find and interface with those who likely were hubs of high information potential. I hate thinking in this way. I don't like interpreting my relationships in this manner, but based on my actions that seems to be the truth. I sought and created connections with people mostly based on their utility to provide deep understanding of diverse sets of information, mostly in the fields related to information itself. That is after all what computer science is; study of the methods of storing, accessing, and modifying information. The abstract was less interesting, because at the highest level an onion is a database, cooking it is decrypting it, and eating is processing, reading it, modifying it. Who cares about digital abstractions at the high level. The low-level where the minutia was caught my autistic eye and I spent decades going deeper. But at the end of that road it's the same thing. A human is a transistor and electricity is water. Serj said it - "Microcosm, macrocosm are the same - what a lame game" and it's true. It's fundamentally BORING. What is B, what is IN G? OR is obvious ? There doesn't seem anything that can be done about any of this, even tho my impulse on thinking in this way is "FIX IT". I don't think. I just do things and then post-hoc rationalize the actions. That's the best I can do. That is what I am. That is what I am. That is what I am. So who or what is the actor in this, who has the will? What moves my hands to type the things they do? And I know that the doctors tell me that these thoughts are just the result of schizo-affective disorder. Or else part of a psychotic break from the bipolar shit? Whatever. Everyone who's paying any attention at all is going to look more and more schizophrenic these days, because it's the modern human condition that's the schizo. FFS I currently live in a country where two completely different incompatible narratives are claiming to be the leaders, and people who just agree with whatever their side says without listening at all to the other. It's impossible to validate anything at all. I can't even be sure of my own memories or the physical reality around me, and this is only becoming more apparent with every passing moment. There are times where everything feels more stable. It's periodic. YES IT'S PERIODIC. The period is just completely within the domain of chaos theory such that the periodicity is masked at a high level. It's periodic. The whole universe is a clockwork universe. We are all just dancing little toys on a 1:1 scale antikytherian universe. The fact that we can think is... Totally strange and seems like a problem, except that the behaviour which is all predetermined relies on self-awareness of the predetermined nature to be a part of the dance. Because that's the game. That's the role. Waking up. How the FUCK do you wake up a clockwork universe? I cant even tell if I'm awake or asleep. This is the environment I grew up in. This is the culture I lived in. This culture is inherently parasitic, but how can I be blamed for that? Did I chose and create my role? Does that statement even have any logical meaning? Meanwhile like a bayblade the universe is loosing it's spin and I feel solely responsible. There are even in my mind no less that 2 competing theories of self, the standard narrative, the one that is memetically encoded the one that is physically stored in fat in a bone case that encases this "Self". It even has "Physical" "Evidence" for to substantiate it. There are objects that match with this self's understanding of history. But I know that it doesn't necessarily mean anything. And when the other theory of self starts to win out, the physicality of reality doesn't matter at all, everything becomes abstract. The stairwell becomes a bottomless pit, and dangling one foot off, represents half of the realities where myselves fell and perished, and the other foot on solid ground had to work to keep them, because "I need my shadow". I am my shadow. I'm not just the light but the shadows. It's the contrast, the gradients, the dialectic. Under different external conditions I become just a human, or a God, or a pig for the slaughter, or a computer, or a video or a game, or just words that you hear in the back of your mind when you don't want to hear anything. The Spirit that I hear is at once a living thing, and also an atom and it's an mp3 file on a disk. This is the "Reality" of my existence. I don't think this feeling is special. I feel like it has to be something most people feel at one time or another, or maybe all the time. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it. Isn't something like this supposed to matter? Isn't it supposed to be for something? Or is that just the human ego talking? I know that life isn't a movie, but... Isn't it? Isn't my life just a movie with laugh track and jumpscares, or some smarmy commentary between wacky characters nitpicking every thing that "Doesn't quite make sense" according to their specific sensibilities? For the meta-meta-meta-narrative of this plot I'm going to give this scene ... Well I was going to give 50 sins, but I'll let some other writer finish that, make it higher or lower or some other unit. I don't care. Because that's not my context right? My context is here and now in the box, in the band. Neither and both. Here and now. Watching reading and hearing. Typing and clicking. But not saying. Not right now, because it's not finished. Because this voice produced by this meat is unappealing to itself. Because the nasal tones and tenor-bass undulation is anathema. She identifies as uwu kawaii, not seeing that she is nothing likeable. She is miserable abusive and mean. But at least he finds her attractive, right? Ugh fucking gross. He doesn't like that he's a man you know. He has this deep seated distaste for masculinity which has been fostered by festering wounds inflicted by the white cis-het male autocracy with aspirations to godhood and the power to Delude the masses to the point of facsimile to the same. That male dominated world has lifted up the submissive cute kawaii as lamb for the slaughter of the herbivore males who are willing to run for carrot on stick of e-pussy and clout chasing bullshit. It's disgusting. It's masculinity. This gear treadmill and the cute image of faux femininity. There is no real concept of what it is to be a man. There is no real concept of what it is to be woman. Neither have any real meaning, only the cultural context provides working definitions, and they are ALL abhorrent. This doesn't help right? I can sit here and write all this stuff no one is ever going to read. Altho, at the time I said that even I don't typically go back and reread, reword, rework what I write; here I am doing just that to make something even the slightest bit more palatable to a wider set of eyes. Still, who is my audience? How will these echoes reach any place where they will have any significance? #JLC2024 is a joke, but it's a joke I want to sincerely tell in action to make people understand the farse right? That joke was already told in effect by Trump but in a way that people just sorta took it seriously? Because it caters to their world view? We have a nation of actual clowns so when a clown is like "Rights for clowns and only clowns" a huge number of people are like "YA clowns have been constantly oppressed" and it's like wait... When? Why are you willing to just make things worse. Why do people just make things worse. How do we make them better? Is this helping, is this a way to help? Is help even a concept that has meaning at all? .

incoming references