9th June

What is the catalyst for change? I just don’t understand, or perhaps my affliction is to always demand explanations or theories before committing to a plan or action, seeing I’ve never committed to one and have instead deflected to it by the very overthinking which is supposed to help me. I don’t even know whether writing is supposed to help or not, my mind prefers to keep me in a state of paralysis, I’m not even sure why. Am I supposed to feel better or not? Why? I haven’t done anything or achieved anything, except fill up a ledger of shame, a big chunk of it something I hold myself responsible for. Sure, I can blame that the reason why I’m this way is because of the things that have happened to me, but I don’t really believe that, there’s only so much blame you can lay outside. But an example of the paralysis first, even when I’m writing these words, I feel an urge or a line of thinking automatically open up in my brain. It goes something like this

are you sure writing out words is the best use of time for you? the words only seem to flow out whenever you’re in a real pickle for some reason, and sometimes not even that. what is the purpose of writing out words, except than to waste time? is it even good to feel better? if i just numb myself and placate myself into my present circumstances by activities that feel good, is that something right to do for me? isn’t change easier when something is eating you up on the inside and you don’t try to deal with it or relieve it so you’re bound to experience discomfort and thus change? you’re being too smug by writing this, describing your inner world out to strangers. grow up, this is exactly what you hate about the modern world and the internet, of people packaging and commodifying their inner worlds for others to consume in lieu of their own lives. it’s not like the writers of technical things who can be excused since they’re not pimping out their inner world for clicks and likes and some lowly sense of gratification

But what am I supposed to do? Like what can I do if my brain only engages and wishes to write if I feel like there is someone else on the line, someone who might be reading or listening to what I say? Didn’t language at first develop for this very purpose? It’s not like I have people who I can talk to in real life, and to those I am close(2) I can’t speak about these things with. Especially in a sense of not messing up some of the few good relationships I have, I basically have no one else. I’ve even started disliking speaking to AI, for the reason that once it’s apparent that it is biased in a major way towards one of your positions, a person like me finds it hard to let go of some low simmering dislike. My internal monologue is strange too, I don’t actually have one in a sense, I’ll explain later, but why does it speak to me in “you” rather than “I”? Is this common? Whatever the reason is, I find it slightly deeply uncomfortable, isn’t my internal monologue supposed to be part of me in the deepest sense? Why would it speak in the second person to me like I’m an outsider and it is what, an interlocutor inside my head? Anyways, we’re getting side tracked, I’ll continue first

The reasoning on the other side goes goes, I want to write, for whatever reason. How can I go against what I want? How is it my fault if I don’t feel the urge to write except when I’m not in a pickle. Just because I’m self aware about something, is it my fault that it seems manipulative(in the loosest sense) and opportunistic in a sense? But there are obviously other more negative emotions driving this, shame of not having held up my commitment of writing daily. I don’t know the answer, even though some people will tell their own, if I actually had readers of course. Not just that, this is something that is pieced together on the inside so it’s not like what others say will apply to me, I’d like some more clarity on my inner pieces, but it’s just a tangled mess of wires, trying to sort things only makes it worse. The functionalists will of course say “do whatever results in the best behaviour, don’t worry about motives”, but is that how I’m supposed to live my life? I’m afraid I’m not that willful about being that stupid, unless there is an intrinsic reason to doing things, I just fail to act. I feel like I’m both the worst mixes of the inner and outer world reasoners, those who ascribe most of their actions to their rational sides(apply nuance here) and the others to their inner worlds about what they feel. I can’t do anything without inspecting it from the lens of the other that lets me feel the worst about the thing. Anyways, I’m getting side tracked again, in fact I’ve had too many asides until now, so much so that I’ve even started to loose the emotional drive that first led to me opening this post, which was to write out my both utter repulsion from the modern world and also the sense in which I’m drawn to it.

What can I do? My brain has to do something, I’m not as sloven as to lay down the entire day or stare at a wall or the sky like some dumb animal. I must do something, even if it’s to pour down words I despise into my head almost as if it is some kind of gutter. Is that all that I am? Is that all what I have been doing for the past few years? Being some kind of sewer for the internet? At least it fits in a sense, since I live in the third world, it’s not like my input or even effect on browsing the internet in terms of ad revenue is valued as much as anyone else’s. All that happens to me is sewage poured down into my head, and then for me to dish out the clicks and closing of tabs and windows in response, almost as if I’m some Chinese sewer out of which vegetable oil is being taken out before being sold to unsuspecting buyers. Yes, some will of course say, why don’t you consume better content? But how? Anything substantial is out of reach, not because I’m too stupid or foolish but because I haven’t ever had to develop the persistence to keep going after it in the face of failure and learning requires failure, learning beyond simple 10 or 20 minute puzzles or beyond the standard level. Sorry, I’m getting side tracked again, already reaching to defend myself against accusations, how strange that I find the need to add nuance, even though no one is reading, I know what I mean when I say something so I shouldn’t need to bother to add justifications, but what can I say? Perhaps I’m still too vain to think that someone may or may not read this one day. Anyways, I’ve been running out of steam typing all this out. How is it that the writers of old could write with such force and power? This all seems draining and it seems like my work is pidgin craft compared to theirs, at least I know my grammar and use of uncommon phrasings and sentence flow must be, since I’ve always detested writing ever since I was little in a sense, unless it was something that interested me and I’ve always been a much much bigger reader of things than a writer. I never edit my writings either unless I’m very sure people will read them.

I just don’t understand, but I think there’s in a sense nothing to understand, about why the things that I HATE about the modern world are the way they are. Most of it is exaggerated but even beyond that, why? I’ve never been good at ignoring things that deeply disturbed me and have had an effect on me, am I fool staring at my own kryptonite? Maybe, but there’s nothing else I can do, at least for now. With the CONSTANT, constant things I have to undergo, I can’t even separate out whether the things that are happening to me are reasonable things I should or should not be able to overcome/deal with anymore. In fact in a sense basically my entire sense of self and mental stability is being propped up by almost laughably large amounts of self delusion and faith in myself. Anything that threatens that is both basically my cure and my source of pain, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t test the belief in myself without risk and without risk I can never change, but everyone already knows that, as have I for most of my years.

It’s worse in a sense, and I’m sure that the heart of the problem lies in my sense of entertainment. All my life I’ve had an active source of imagination, as back as being when I was around a child around 6 or 7, going to school on my bus, I remember daydreaming or imagining things, whenever I had free time and nothing to do, as on most days, I sourly felt bored interacting with other children mostly, or worse, a deep sense of uncomfortableness. In a sense, in all my years, I have dreaded going on a walk with anyone or talking with them. What would I talk about? I just don’t know, and what is worse is that I don’t want to talk to them and neither do I care about talking, except with my dad, since we fit well with each other. How am I supposed to connect with anyone if I don’t even want to talk to them? Unless there’s some common topic or goal that I’m interested in, I basically just feel uncomfortable. But is all that I am capable of in as a person with human connection? Talking about the news, or something like a technical topic? Are people really supposed to speak about their emotions? I could never. What else is there to talk about with people? Does anyone know? I sadly would love to find out, but I have no idea since I don’t know anyone. My closest sources of authorities are probably my dad, but he is a loner too who speaks to no one except me. Perhaps the sole exception is my mother, but she’s a gossip, and she’s mostly talking about house or family drama, and I’m sure that’s not deep connection, if it were, gossipers would be the persons most in touch with the souls of themselves and of others and I find that false, unless I am deeply mistaken. Anyways, how are people supposed to become friends?

I remember an incident a few years ago, of me having a friend, well, not really a friend, or okay, yes a friend. We spent time together, okay, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what the term means. I’m going to be honest. If it means, “speak about your emotions or anything adjacent” I’ll just have to say I’ve never spoken to anyone that way and neither do I wish to, perhaps if it is to strangers. Hah, now I wonder what degree of hypocrisy I’m engaging in since I have a problem with modern hookup/casual sex culture, putting it down on the grounds of it being something too intimate to do with strangers, but one of their most frequent counterarguments has been that since you don’t care about strangers, nothing is involved and there’s no judgement so there’s no shame? If so, am I doing something similar here? Writing out my emotions to strangers since I know no one will read them while I’m afraid of speaking of them to people I know and should connect with? I’ll at least go ahead and say that this isn’t something I would wish for either, but what can I do? My brain only engages when I feel like people are there on the other end. I guess I can at least slightly defend myself by saying that I hope this is temporary and may even slightly seriously reconsider writing things out in the future(hah! How many analogues are there to casual sex? Even the phase of “this is temporary” has occured here! I guess they just share a similar nature). Though at least I have the defense that I don’t want to want this. Now, some of the people(hypothetical) will throw out the “Of course, this guy is a maladaptive daydreamer”.

Anyways, my “friend” aside over, I basically never felt deeply connected to him, or I guess I did, I wanted to at least not be uncomfortable to talk to him, but I guess there was nothing that could be done. All I in a sense is regret not being his friend because of a certain incident that happened. Another one of the permanent marks on my life, ahh. Some truly bad memories have come up, how shameful. Sometimes I wonder whether I’m just an oaf and a fool who talks to loudly and can’t hear others. With no sense, since I also have a hard time hearing in loud spaces or on things like phones. I’m sorry, I was probably insensitive and said something truly unkind to my friend because of a false assumption in perhaps one of the worst moments of his life. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do and I can’t hear well, even when I was little, I was sort of sometimes told by others not to speak too loudly, perhaps that’s because I’m slightly hard of hearing, I just don’t know what the problem is with me even though my hearing is sensitive in silence. Or well, perhaps I know the answer but anyways. I’d forgotten completely about the incident with my old friend, at least I hope the last time that I saw him he seemed well and friendly to me. Or I guess it’s not like I have a monopoly on insensitiveness so he perhaps had already had experience with it or similar things and thus forgave me. Now, dear reader, please do not psychoanalyze me too deeply, I don’t hold too many emotions about this incident, though I guess perhaps hearing the incident you yourself would cast yourself against me so who am I to say that. Anyways, at least from my end I’ve sort of dealt with it internally in all the ways I could. Sometimes I wonder whether all of my beliefs and reasoning is deeply connected in some way that I can’t fathom. I seem to hold an intense hatred of club and party culture, but is that because of me having a hard time hearing things in such settings or me being doubly uncomfortable because of having nothing to talk about there or me truly holding rational reasons(at least I think so)?

But this isn’t that. It’s not like I’m thinking about weird scenarios the entire day. Or maybe I slightly am, but it doesn’t involve me much anyways, most of my day is just spent trying to find something, that’s all there is to it. I basically find nothing that really sates me, so of course I’m like the addict looking for his next hit, but no hits exist for me. Only the permanent hamster frenzy of trying to do something since sitting still is too unbearable. Anyways, even I’m surprised on how many words and threads unspool and tumble out of me when I put my mind to putting them on paper. I guess it has to do with how I mostly think, I just mostly hold compressed thoughts in a sense, like a collection of tangled up compressed thoughts, that in a sense are sometimes wrestled with or added to as new data comes up. Less like building a building and more like throwing on different colored sand onto a big pile and then sifting through sometimes. Or hmm, the analogy seems severely lacking, guess I can’t hit the nice analogy x accurate representation part, so let’s just say something quite strange and weird is going on, enough so that I never have an internal monologue basically unless I’m choosing to type out words, since this requires it and is slow enough to stop the chunking that occurs with reading or other high speed outputs since writing is like what? I type at 70-80 wpm? So quite slow, at least the process is basically going on side by side, not completely stopped, the big sand pile being sifted through for the colors and links. Again, aside end.

So, what is my brain’s problem? The problem is this, it needs to be deeply stimulated, otherwise it starts to conk out and starts to generate boredom. Something like foolishly grinding especially against a single path problem, where there is only a single line of correct reasoning A→B→C(answer) is downright impossible for me. Not even impossible, it is feasible and doable but I hate it. I’d rather stare at the clouds actually, look at the various shapes, or the shape of something like the way my fingerprints on my hand are oriented and flow, whether all tips end in spirals or don’t(some don’t!). Unless what exists inside is at least as complex as something visual, like the problem space/solution space is at least that rich, I just start to find things boring. Sure, I can do them, but it is boring. It’s like seeing. Why do children love to look at the natural world outside(ignore actual reasons for a second). Because looking is enjoyable and deeply so. I remember a certain essay/hallucinatory experience by Huxley on this, perhaps some of you may know it too, but I’ll also say beforehand that I abhor and detest Huxley in a sense and I’ve not quoted the essay precisely because I do not wish to give him further publicity, I brought him up in the smallest sense(his name) to give you the reason of why I hate him. At least I don’t really hate him for anything he did in general, but rather what he did to me. There’s actually a long list of writers who have deeply, deeply wronged me, I guess I’d say one of them was the author of Are Universes thicker than blackberries? (or was it blueberries? Have trouble remembering meaning when two words can be flipped, no anchor in a meaning sense though my memory is otherwise flawless)much to your astonishment, given that it is a pop sci book mostly, but those who are similarly dispositioned as me will immediately catch what I mean. Anyways, children love to look because it is amazing, it is basically the greatest pleasure available to man. Ask any visual astronomer, or anyone who is not a base creature(blah blah, apply nuance). Why do mathematicians and physicists so enjoy their work, or other thinkers? Because it applies the same level of engagement and enjoyment and seeing, in fact most of their thinking processes are similar, such as Hadamard who is said to have thought in image space(Elon tweet/heard from AI, whatever). Anyways, for me my problem is that the level of engagement doesn’t click unless it’s something like really visually rich. Raven Matrices kill me, basically, too little visual information and things like there seeming to be more than one answer, not just that, but rather give me a pentacube or other similar puzzle and I’m golden and immensely happy. So basically my brain is a very picky eater, though another surprising fact, I’m a picky eater too(to the extent of choosing to go hungry sometimes). Wow, not sure how long the threads are. Didn’t Feynman say something similar about mother nature weaving out the tapestry of reality with the longest of threads because she is clever? Perhaps it is the same for a mind or the makeup of a person. Anyways, I hate Feynman too, so also put him in my bad books in your own head. So the problem is with all of my deficiencies and deficits I’m basically something who can only really get excited about puzzle games or other such lateral thinking like things and also physics and math(remember I’m a physics undergrad) when it involves a lot of visualization(and they do a lot for some areas! Like GR that I took which felt quite easy!) but the supporting scaffolding and mathematical tools are kind of the opposite which sucks. So this is my primary problem, everything I wish to do is basically something that I inherently find boring but which I wish to do, sometimes in the deepest sense, sometimes not, like passing a course. Cue suffering. Oh well, anyways, guess whatever will happen will happen. Hmmm, now I think I’ve taken you up for quite a long time, so my dear reader, let me discharge you from my stream of flowing consciousness, and I hope you have a wonderful day. This took me about an hour, but I think it was well spent, at least better than scrolling X or something similarly time wasting like a manga site.