Of all things mildly uncomfortable under capitalism, retort: “Get professional help”.
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Stop complaining about other people who are what you’d like to be, just work toward being that, on your own terms, no one is building, painting, coding, writing, or curing diseases any faster because of your whining and inferiority complex.
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“That anyone should go through life ridiculed and legitimately embarrassed about their body,” one more reason to resign from life.
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Your own perceptions are often wispy like clouds, any old wind or feeling can sweep them away, but the perceptions other people glue to you, those tend to stay firm in you for a long time, even though they are in the other equally transient and wispy. But the reason other people’s perceptions endure, is precisely because it doesn’t matter as much, it’s shallow and about survival, so they’ve no inclination to think better of you, to update their view, because unless they live with you, in their eyes, you’re just another thing to deal with, perhaps a pleasant consistency to the texture and feeling of a place you both happen to frequent or instead an irritation or a threat which is to be remembered only so you can be avoided in future. No one will ever think of you as you think of yourself, they will think what they want, and what other people have told them, and the core of it lies in stereotypes and first impressions, in what it is you made them feel, or often instead what feelings they already came with but which you’re presence and appearance exacerbates. That said, however, there is grace in coming off as a stereotype, it affords you privacy within yourself as well as the benefits of exploiting appearances and subverting expectations.
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You can’t not be human, and looking as you look, you almost certainly fall into some kind of type or category people have set up either personally or in a cultural sense. Which is why when it comes to authenticity, what it is, is being a type while at the same time overcoming it without breaking it, because breaking it means eccentricity, which is typically not good (socially), while on the other end transcending it without blurring lines means being more than the stereotype is, going deeper into it, thereby maintaining the comfort other people feel in the box they’ve put you in, while simultaneously redefining (for them) what the box or type is. If that makes sense.
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“Ah, but of course your life is going to be empty if you have contempt for everyone, including yourself.”
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No more children, no more pain and heartache, let’s keep working toward some artificial general intelligence, and if it fails it fails, but either way, let us walk hand in hand into oblivion, we’ll set this horrible beautiful earth free of us, and us of ourselves.
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Looking at how other people’s lives turned out, and all their regrets, and thinking, damn right, never marry and don’t grow old (in your mentality at least).
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The difference of someone else is sometimes mistaken or their entire being, like a person of one race looking upon a person of another, and all that is seen is difference, as if it must define the person. Getting stuck on differences obscures the nuance and richness there is to a person, and thereby the recognition that most of what is there is indeed shared. People are more than their skins and cultures, they are the scars on that wider fabric, and the music that brings it to life, they each tell their own tale and pace their own rhythm. There are no rifts so vast that no understanding is possible, but it requires first seeing through the smog that is yourself and the phantasms of your parents.
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I am not the cause of my decrepitude, I am my own failed savior. But hey, I tried.
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And every night we had better be grateful for the lights in the sky, for the stars, because fuck knows how insanely maniacal people would be if the stars weren’t there to tell us how small we are. Our insignificance is exactly why there are still things to hope for.
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Human rights is nothing more than wishful nonsense when your baby brother is screaming in the oven, and your father is bleeding out while watching your mother get raped, and you are next.
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Tell me, do you know the place the eye of a dead priest belongs?
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Many things are fixable; the shortcomings of one’s formative circumstances aren’t.
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The poverty of a language is lies in its lack of nuance and sophistication when it comes to swearing and insults.
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When the fastest algorithm or most elegant theory is the true one, until another one is faster or more elegant, there then comes a curious point where one looks upon the spaghetti and decides that this shit’s too convoluted to be True. Hah! Human limitation as an indicator of truth. Of course, we love reality only if she throbs for us, when there’s elegance and grandeur, but (un)fortunately ya just can’t always count on truth throbbing for us, she’s a fickle gurl who loves subtlety, murder, and a little seduction.
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When you look at someone and wonder just how exactly they managed to survive this long, being how they are and all.
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Nothing is the cause of itself, so how can anyone be blamed for anything? Especially when considering how you can’t help what you desire and how it is that thoughts just “pop” into your head as if there’s a disconnect between “you” and the inner experience of you, like how brain scanners can tell when a person wants to press a button seconds before the person even does, or like the West World robo whore fizzing out looking at a tablet showing everything she’s thinking, succumbing to the reality of her unreality.
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In a cosmic sense all crime is legal, well.. sort of, criminal or not, everyone gets the death sentence, nobody wins.
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Going through childhood having never expected to make it past 20. Sort of like, oh ok, and now, what now? More of the same slop? Eh.
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The limit of what is possible in life inevitably seems to lie and die with other people.
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Alone you are very limited, but together you cannot always be free nor be yourself for that matter.
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It is in anger that our true beliefs reveal themselves, that scared and defensive base animal comes out, the one who sees things as a reflection of itself turned against it, a world full of evil anthropomorphizations. Only in anger, are we stooped down, like toddlers thinking: “How dare it! It’s unfair! World should know better than to mess with me.” Painful as it is, the better response to angry-making things is almost always some variation of sadness or grieving, because while it hurts, it doesn’t destroy, plus you get to reflect on things and learn and with enough time get numb enough, so it doesn’t matter as much anymore.
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Things are only as good as they can make people feel.
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It does not matter that he is not real, you cannot simply run away from it or deny it, sometimes you have to first move through it, faith is understanding why it was necessary, forgiving your father, beyond blame, beyond logic, breaking the trauma bond, and letting his corpse rot in peace.
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Of dogmas defenestrated yet undead: And but of course it’s going to be irrational anger, they have no other choice, they cannot accept what it is and succumb to the grief of it.
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Misanthropy, a fetish struggling as a commodity.
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Cathexis — as in the investment of emotional and mental energies into people, things, and ideas — is at once, the root of all suffering, and an unavoidable part of being human and grasping for meaning and connection.
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“Word Salad” is actually an idiot-proof insult, because if you call it and no one agrees, well then, there is a consensus on your stupidity. Not sure if word dense or brain.
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All those working class parents who just have to believe that their Johnny is a bright kid who stays out of trouble, b
ecause fuck knows, he has nothing else going for him.
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And if a transaction involves any personage with some variety of wishy-washy mindset, then be damned sure you’ve got everything recorded or printed out.
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When you realize the neighbor’s dog has a better life than most people do.
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And you finally brush out all of the knots in your hair after it’s been too long to care anymore, and feel a scrap of dignity, or no, maybe just rather a flitter of ok-ness, come flying back home.
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Universal basic income will be a good thing, because, beyond mere survival, it will force humanity to admit to the profundity of its pointlessness and incompetence.
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And think of all the things future people will diagnose and re-diagnose past people with, given that their likenesses and stupidities are suspended in cyberspace for a longtime now.
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Life is an open sewer, and in it, success means being the firm logs that don’t come apart, the ones which keep afloat, heading blissfully all the way to the sea.
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There is no ultimate shield. For the most part, the only way out is working through it until it doesn’t mean anything anymore, even if it ends you.
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Narcissus died of broken heart when the female figure in the water refused him; his ideals bested him, not his love for himself. It was parataxic distortion, and failed absolutes, not narcissism.
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When there’s your house pants and your people-are-looking-at-me-exist pants.
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And when through the years you see the light fade in the eyes of a childhood friend, as he succumbs to the lived-in metaphysics of suffering for the causes of his parents in the horror world of their society and its expectations.
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The beauty of being a living emptiness is having an unsoiled and unsoilable abyssal infinity of potential, beautiful endless hollow potential.
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Why destroy someone in an argument if you can just have them destroy themselves?
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While pessimism and related ailments might be their own hell, oh man, still, one is blessed, blessed if one is free from being trapped in the horrors that is accounting or marketing or lawyering or teaching or other kinds of degrading sophistry and paper pushing.
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Analyzing and mulling over the tragic horror of this life over and over again to the point of a boredom where it feels like one might as well have achieved the status of a beautifully sterile and perennially blank canvas, because truly, the possibility for any real personality or desires have gone extinct.
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Sure, you can say nihilism is stupid, but just wait until you get all your feelings spent and your expectations subverted, and a boredom and dissatisfaction sets in that eats at the edges of your soul, one that does not budge no matter how big you build things, who you love, or how much doddling, sex, drugs, alcohol, or anything you get up to. It is the realization of your own uselessness in everything, the excruciating fact that you exist, that there is something looking out from behind your eyes that is broken and alone in this world, and to top it all off there’s the fact that you must still die, and before that, watch others do the same. There is no dignity, there is no redemption, there is just degradation and decay.
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No its true, it’s real, consciousness is indeed a tragic misstep in evolution, but, fortunately, it looks like it’s going to be a short detour on the path back to nothingness, being as we are and all.
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That there will be a time when not even our minds are private anymore.
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Pessimism is probably what happens when the tears have all dried up, because they don’t mean a damned thing anymore, because what caused them keeps going on and on, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, and so you just give up and say fuck it all, fuck everything, I don’t deserve this, existence is torture.
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Ain’t nobody shady like a future-you. Unless you have retro-causality all figured out, don’t place bets on a future-you you can’t guarantee.
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It is its own horror living with someone who might go do something stupidly irrational and life destroying if they’re sufficiently angry or upset.
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When you hate where and who you are for not giving up on them, for keeping on trying beyond all hope or reason. Love is not always a healthy thing.
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We don’t need life, life needs us, or at least something like us, something that doesn’t ask too many questions.
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If they gave me back every hour uselessly spent attending school, I’d have years added to my life.
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Do unto others as you would unto an irritable mad man who wants things from you and is capable of ending you. Treat with kindness, never show contempt, do not argue with emotions, tolerate what you must, say what you need to, keep what you can, promise nothing, try not to get swept into the madness...
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Humanity has such an abundance of stupidity and audacity to pretend that the earth is not slowly dying under our tyranny. I am ashamed to be part of a species living on a branch that it is actively sawing off.
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And if all I have is the one string, then dammit, it’s enough to make music. I’ll keep plucking on it every which way until either something matters or it lights an ember somewhere for someone, even if I’ll never know.
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Facelessness grants vision above the fray, yet comes at the cost of knowing and staying away.
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The all too clear futility in continuing to cope after the “grown ups” have themselves resigned from life.
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One does not grow personality in a vacuum. Although, the internet can get you pretty far.
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Don’t worry, you’re probably not the most pretentious thing in 100km radius.
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Obscured at the core of most every religion is simply: giving up. So why not do it openly? Resign from life, hypocrite, damn you!
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In some ways, economically, sacredness or grandiloquence comes from scarcity and the fixation we have with final limitations, like birth, death, or the limit of what can be seen, measured, and dreamed about in the greater beyond that is space. People obfuscate or complicate things so it’s more or less out of reach for most everyone, and by doing that they create a token of fancificity that has value because even if people don’t know what it means, they feel or at least are coerced into feeling that it holds some deep hidden meaning or at least keeps to a pattern of desirable fanciness or sacredness that big someones either long ago or today somewhere up high, and probably far away, knows and uses everyday.
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There’s probably some wisdom to those rodents who literally fuck until they get exhausted and die. #LiveYourBestLife, #DeathBySnuSnu
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“And we’ll give science its time of day when it starts producing answers that are friendly to us.” Hah! Have fun with that. Oh please, just because repugnant conclusions are out there doesn’t mean they’re wrong, or that your particular egregious nonsense gets to fly.
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Sure you can leave, always you can leave, but just know, where ever it is you go it will be there too.
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Don’t let your emotions be the reason you hit a child, they don’t always understand what you’re feeling and why, so when you hit them, it feels arbitrary, so arbitrary it might as well be abuse. You need to calm down, let rest whatever vengeful spite or even animosity there is, be rational, and talk about it only if there’s still something to talk about, because, there are no take backs, and while trauma and damage from mixed signals does not take long to set up, know that it can take them a lifetime to undo the damage, damage that can happen in an instant. And no, it’s not always your fault, you can’t help how y
ou feel or come off to them, or, how they feel and how they take things, but you can handle it in healthier ways. One way is to have the strength to be vulnerable and establish love and trust, so that no matter what happens, there is still the understanding that deep down there is love. And please, apologize, always apologize, even when you don’t want to, because it shows that you are human and own yourself, you are not just a monstrous force in the capacity of a parent being moved along with whatever arbitrary feeling happens to take hold of you right now.
Morsels for the Depressed, Depraved, Pessimistic, and Otherwise Declining Page 7