— No more than one child per household, let this be our golden ticket out of existence.
~
The Madam: “What, pray tell, is the meaning of life?”
The Sir: “Punctuation.”
To spend a lifetime in awe of a dash, a life well spent.
~
A pastime of undisquiet: In bed, before sleep every night checking La Wik’s page of deaths this year, to see if a couple people you dislike and philosophers you’re waiting on, have died yet, also just people in general, it’s fascinating truly.
~
B: “Hey, wanna play ping-pong with the burden of proof?”
A: “Proof cannot even bear its own burden.”
~
Never mind how much fun and hope there is in apocalypse survivor stories or apocalypse role playing games, they betray reality by extending hope where there is just endless toil and drudgery, like walking 40 years in the dessert toward the promised land. Apocalypse stories are just another way of putting yourself above the common baseline human being as a kind of member of the “chosen people” or the “survivors” or the “strongest”. It’s nonsense, because all that is, is basking, for a brief moment, in the serene calm and quiet after the fight or trauma and before the shit storm that is ordinary human life and culture starts up again and everything just keeps going and going and nothing ever gets solved. If there is to be an out that does not mean the end of living, then something in or about the human is going to have to break, give up, and change entirely, what it means to be human is going to have to change entirely.
~
B: “I feel like this nihilism has robbed me of everything.”
A: “Like you were robbed of things that aren’t even there?”
B: “Exactly, it’s devastating.”
~
Poor in spirit, rich in platitudes, face a facade hiding only a broken emptiness.
~
How does one make them understand the need and desperation behind one’s pleas for silence and uninterrupted solitude?
~
Post-Traumatic-Self-Contradistinction, a statistically warrantable reaction to one’s parents.
~
Now just for a little main-text to the nonexistent footnote.
~
All I want is a livable quiet life, I don’t want to worry about money. It must be safe outside, no robberies, no hate. The house must not be claustrophobic, just livable. No dogs, No neighbors. There must just be decent internet and some delivery services for the basics. Please, don’t come round. Please forget about me, I don’t exist anymore. That’s all.
~
A Sign, which reads:
“Room and Board for the Homeless, Disabled, and Philosophical”
~
C: “Hey dude, no one likes you.”
A: “Good, I wouldn’t want them to.”
~
Letter to a Future-You:
Dear myself
Fuck that, all of them, and all that nasty shit, fuck it. It ain’t you, do better, be better. No quarrelin, feel me? If you still got dreams, eh, yeah, whatever.
There are tolerably shitty people out there, find them, befriend them. But, NO getting used by people! Also, if bad, no shame in cuttin people off. And seriously, don’t feel bad for shit that don’t matter, which I guess is everything, so, eh.. Try and make due, yea? Wash yoself, be outside once a week. You is heady, you is wordy, you is nerdy, use that, exploit that. But if it gets real bad, postpone, fuckin postpone, get you excited, wait for a new season of somethin, buy a fuck ton of games on sale, just make sure it is not yet, yo time. Don’t matter if you look like an ass, work on stuff, do something, fuck, exercise even.
You promise?
Peace,
Yoself.
~
B: “Oh would you look at that, I’m wasting my youth as we speak.”
A: “What do you mean? You got nothing going on. How do you waste nothing?”
B: “New lows erry day!”
A: “mmm-hmmm, heard that.”
~
Oh what scourge and curse it is to have been befallen so! For seest thou, twas a crusty fuck that hath managed to scratch one with an abominable toenail.
~
B: “You seem kinda mellow and deadish these days, what’s up?”
A: “Oh no, I’m fine, I’m just riding a wave of ataraxia you see.”
B: “So like, what? You’re giving up?”
A: “Yes I’m tired. Aren’t you?”
B: “I’m too young to feel this old, and not old enough to be as young as I should be.”
~
A: “What’s your vocation?”
B: “Amateur-Memetician, specializing in Dank.”
C: *overhearing* “Wow! That’s amazing, I’m still aspiring.”
A: “Jesus.”
~
Immured in disgust, it lives despite them
Away inside, where the base creature blooms
And is allowed to do so by its own permission.
Hiding? Yes, from this craven serfdom with all its values, cultures, and cultured values.
But ultimately? No, you can't hide from what's outside for it lives inside also.
Wasting? Only as we all do. This time, just in the serene solitude of a barren timescape immune to space.
So, what then? Everyone wants a confession. They want to believe the malady in me is in me and of me, perhaps even that it is me. Preferably also from a place of sickness, and not deliberacy (god forbid), so that it may "safely" be nursed back to the purity of the common pathos.
~
A: “It’s possible for things to be wrong with a person or even entire groups of people that can never be fixed, at least not ethically.”
C: * Gasps in horror! *
~
One wonderful thing about code, besides that there’s no truth in it, it either just runs or doesn’t to various degrees of shitness, is that in a way it’s your will externalized and being executed without you, in other words it’s a way to live without having to be the one who’s doing the living. Well, that was until this wonderment was supplanted by words when I finally discovered for myself what they can induce in other people, who like a console, can’t help but execute them and have their spirits stirred by what it does inside them. But that seems all too sinister I suppose, not that it matters.
**
It’s worth the trouble learning to code, though, at least for yourself. Code literacy helps with your thinking process and even creativity, because yes, coding is creative, and, if you can become proficient in it, then, where computers are concerned, you will be infinitely more of use to yourself, possibly enough so to make things other people might be willing to pay you for. It’s easier than math, it’s not impossible, and you don’t need to go anywhere for it, you can sit there in your jammies and code up a storm before breakfast. A good start is always either with Python (the newer version), or with the most booming language of the 2010’s, JavaScript which runs in almost every browser on almost every website, and even powers servers and apps for mobile devices. Do yourself the favor, search online for a “JavaScript Cheat Sheet” and linger on one for a while, you will probably understand enough to write hello world and do math with code in just 10 minutes, then try a 5 minute video or web page on HTML and see if you can start copying, pasting, and doodling your own website into existence, and then, go on, just for the heck of it, spend 20 minutes each day just looking at simple code examples, and try in your mind to break down what’s happening in them, search and ask about what you don’t know. It doesn’t even have to cost anything, you don’t need a degree, there are myriad excellent free online videos that break down every aspect of, not only JavaScript, but just about any facet of computer science there is, it’s all right there, habilitate yourself, there’s no reason not to.
The only real downside to coding, besides occasionally unbearable amounts of frustration, is that it can eventually become excruciat
ingly tedious, repetitive, and thankless, it can absorb your whole life, your everything, depending on what you’re doing and who you’re doing it for. But that said, it is better than the vacuity of a timescape wherein, for years, you are nothing and you are doing nothing, becoming nothing, so yeah.
~
There were many words once, few now.
~
B: “You sir, are a fine specimen of pusillanimity.”
A: “Hah.. Brah, I’m not stjoepit, it sounds like you’s a naaiende poestelensie yourself.”
C: “A what?”
~
Ugh, and what’s the use of a dictionary and philosophy if they don’t let you smash with it?
~
That a piece of nonsense, somewhere at heart probably knowing itself as such, still bothers, with the utmost seriousness, to start with a proper introduction and layout of the differences of inanity that will be explored or taking place.
“[…] In Chapter 3, warranting our attention, at some 3 centimeters down on the dark obtusely cylindrical object of focus and substantial viscosity, there is a corn kernel close to a peanut, the connection, nature, and origin of which we shall explore in such depth as to deliver a formal teleology. […]”
~
A: “I’m guessing there’s more than one, so ok, come on, gimme the diagnoses Doc.”
Doc: “You suffer from a severe normalcy intolerance and miserablism; also, you seem to have contracted pessimistic nihilism from somewhere. It’s a rather deadly hodgepodge really.”
A: “Eh, so what’s new?”
~
“Go ask your great-funcle.”
~
If it is possible to simulate a real human mind on a plain Turing machine, then let us imagine they install someone onto your mother’s slow computer from 2004, and somehow, they manage to keep that computer on and running, in a glass room, floating through space, with an infinite battery, for a potentially endless amount of time; now, for the person living in the computer, you could just imagine the mere thought: “I”, taking like 300 000 years to compute, and of course for the simulated person, that’s going to feel like real-time; oh man, and just imagine the horror after enough thought (after finally figuring out drivers for the webcam), when they discover the reality of their situation and realize that, on the outside of the computer the universe has aged incredibly, and trillions of years have gone by and there is nothing and no one left but black holes at the end of time.
~
A: “Please explain how it is that you would fight for peace.”
C: “Well, first we’re gonna bomb ‘em into submission, and then we’re gonna give ‘em over to democracy. Ain’t it glorious?”
A: * sighing the sigh of resignation * “Sure.”
~
B: “Some things aren’t even worth criticizing, best to just let time wash it away.”
A: “Yes well, that worked didn’t it.”
~
Sex and Violence were quite all right, but Disney, Harry Potter, and YuGiOh cards were most assuredly of the devil. After all, his father said that the videos at his church said so, so, no arguing with that.
~
C: “You call that sorry cry-for-help art?”
A: “I’m not signaling for help, I’m saying that there is a brokenness to this reality that goes beyond blame and failure. Whether I can deal with what it does to me, is quite beside the point.”
~
When the worst things to ever happen to you fits under category 26 b section A, and you fill out a form and the wait is terrible, and everything is happening right now, and there’s nothing you can do, and you have to fill out a form, right now, and you’re a number, and the guy sitting next to you has not only had it worse this is also the 3rd time he’s here, and you don’t matter, and it doesn’t matter, and the PAIN oh the Pain, and it doesn’t matter, and you’re here, and they’re not and you’re here and they’re not and it’s not ok, no it’s OK, it’s OK , it has to be ok, no it’s ok now, and THE PAIN, and it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter, just a bit longer, a moment longer, it’s not OK, it’s really not, I’m going to cry, and it’s not ok, it…
~
When you are sorry for everything that it’s possible to be sorry about, regardless of what’s what, and it’s still just never enough. And it is your fault, eternally your fault.
P: “And sorry for the beating of my heart.”
X: “Yes alright, just do something about it, won’t you.”
P: “Certainly Ma’am.”
P: * tries to stab self in heart *
X: “Oh this boy, he’s useless. Here, let me help you..”
P: * hurting, cough cough * “Thank you.. ma’am.”
~
B: “Creativity, how? Nothing is working for me.”
K: “Find trauma and stew in it until it speaks for itself.”
* But, of course *
C: “Or be frivolous and make sweet mostly meaningless nonsenses, just as you please. Put little angels on sticks with glue, or paint a cushion with a cow, one that says, moo.”
~
A Picture of a slice of Heaven: On a comfy couch, covered in thick warm blankets, watching a good binge worthy show, eating a huge bowl of half decent pasta with a fork, the AutoFelator 2000 going full speed pinched between your legs, coffee nearby, no alarms, no people, and no surprises, the world shut out, just you, god, and what’s on TV.
When Reality Strikes Back: Waking up, to an urgent knock at the door, with a sore neck and cold feet, your body and blankets absolutely covered in an ant ravaged cummy pasta mixture. You realize the show went on and now seems a couple seasons further, and you cannot remember which episode of what season you were on last. You reluctantly stand up and with your feet tangled in a sticky cummy-ant-pasta covered blanket, you fall over yourself, injuring yourself after crushing the now long dead and leaked out AutoFelator with your hip, then bumping cold coffee on the coffee table over and on to your head, all while smooshing loads of pasta all up into the carpet. You look like shit and the knock is getting louder and more urgent…
~
B: * hiding his crying, feeling and looking like life is falling apart, which it is *
C: “Hey, hey, no, what’s wrong?”
A: * puts a hand on B’s back * “He was born is what’s wrong.”
~
* A soft buffer for prying natalists (Don’t you just love that word?) might be something like this *
C: “And you, what are your thoughts on future and family?”
B: “I don’t think I’m mature enough to be a parent to someone[, nor do I think I’ll ever be].”
~
Some people just like the idea of kids, but when the reality strikes and its diapers, constant tight and loving emotional involvement, constant clean up, baby food and cooking proper meals, crying and whining and breaking things and accidents, and being gentle, kind, and understanding NO MATTER WHAT, and expensive doctors’ appointments, and exhaustion, and education, and paperwork, and money and money and money and money, and being there, and when not, being permanently on call for them, and fighting and hurting, and petty shit and teacher parent meetings, and resentment and regret, and never ever giving up on them or yourself, and fitting a [social] life in in-between, and yes joy, wonder and woe, and constant worry too, and 20 years probably still before you can start to think about having something vaguely resembling the life you had before kids, and realizing that you are old now, and your life was spent on loving and caring for other people, then, yes then, it might not be so fun anymore. Can you handle that? Because anything less is not good enough.
Children are not dolls, they are not mini-mes, they are not your entitlement, they are little people for themselves, who depend on you, they are not your legacy or play things, and when you are gone, in their own small or big way they will become the new face of humanity on this planet. And if you have reproduced, of your own volition or not, then it is your duty to provi
de for them in every way necessary and then some, it is your duty to habilitate them to the best of your abilities, to help them, to make them functional in a world that you are not always going to understand, there is no playing around with people’s lives, people are not toys.
~
One of the tragedies that often befalls us in childhood is having our emotional needs go unmet for too long. And then when through the desperation you suppress and mold yourself into whatever you hope your guardians want, so that maybe, if they could like you and have what they want, then they might actually reciprocate and provide some much needed humanity. Ugh, but this rarely ends well, such deficiencies can follow you to your deathbed.
Morsels for the Depressed, Depraved, Pessimistic, and Otherwise Declining Page 10