All my words

One of my formerly close friends today messaged me to say he appreciated my notes and sent me a few of his own. One of them was so raw and vulnerable and ME-FOCUSED I could barely read it. I had to get up several times to prepare myself for the rest of the note.   This is a smart guy. A like able guy. A guy who my community audibly longs for the return of. He was a foreign guy… kind of silly, FAANG Software Engineer, so I knew there was something more to him. I think I realized in the past few years that silly smart guys are the best friends. So I wanted to make him some friends and maybe even “leech” his intelligence.   After about a year and a half of good times he quit his job and his visa no longer supported his working in the United States so he had to go. Everyone was really torn up about it. And so was I. As much as I can be, about someone leaving. I think I’ve lost the ability to care in a real visceral way, in a way that might make you cry when someone breaks up with ...

I walk around with this constant delusion that in like 5 years I’ll be filthy fucking rich. Like I have an inheritance or something. Like I’m on track, in some way, and it’s only a matter of time.   Despite the fact that I have no apparent route to any sort of wealth. I don’t even have a job. I’m just scamming. But still, I look forward, thinking about how grateful i’ll have been to lived through this extended period of humility. Maybe the reason I feel uncomfortable and out of place all the time is that I’m supposed to be somewhere else. I’m feeling my potential being wasted. Why I could never enjoy a vacation.  Yes, it’s main character syndrome. But what do you expect. My parents were nice to me.

The constant entertainment strips people of their humanity. Their freedom. Their will to do anything besides sit and consume. Mindlessly, endlessly, with eyes and ears and heart.   It makes you hollow, this constant consumption. There is nothing inside you if all you do is consume. You're either a creator or a consumer. You’re either doing one or the other. Internalizing this made me quit watching TV. But social media is a different beast.

Getting Tacos in Capitol Hill. It’s a real family joint, they got the big grill three feet from the register, right in view, they’re doing a million orders at once, and most of them don’t speak english, except for the register guy who kind of speaks english, and there’s a big gay festival happening in this neighborhood this weekend so they’re beyond swamped, and I’m waiting in line for way too long, hungry, sick, self conscious, feeling attractive and a bit too seen by every human in this dense room, and i’m still in line, and i notice there was a fucking kiosk I could’ve ordered from the whole time. God damn it. I’m at the front of the human line anyway though, so I might as well stick with it, is what I think, until this bitchy little adult girl parks up beside me with a pouty look on her face and outstretched hand holding her plate of tacos resentfully up towards the lone register guy who’s also filling horchata and now i guess she’s in front of me and after like 12 moments of uncom...

A lot of young men have this preposterous belief that if they "just stack on 10-15 lbs of muscle" they will be suddenly greek-god level attractive, drowning in pussy. Here are my two cents:   YOU NEED TO CUT, NOT BULK! NOTHING YOU DO IN THE GYM MATTERS. PLEASE JUST LOSE BODY FAT UNTIL YOU HAVE A SHARP JAW LINE AND IGNORE GETTING BIG AND LIFTING -- JUST RUN OR SWIM OR EVEN FUCKING WALK JUST EXPEND MORE CALORIES THAN YOU CONSUME FOR LIKE SIX MONTHS AND YOU WILL BECOME DRAMATICALLY BETTER LOOKING. YOU ARE FAT. YOU’RE NOT SMALL. YOU’RE FAT. CUT PLEASE JUST CUT AND THANK ME LATER.

I never thought I’d be a rave guy. Now every crowd I'm in I wish we were moshing. I wish we were all throwing each other. People open up and smile way easier when they’ve recently been touched. Lets ACTIVATE these dusty oxytocin receptors begging to see some play. I really like when people get rowdy at a concert. When people become bodies. Rag dolls. Half-dancing, half-fighting, rolling, tripping, grinning, pushing people down, helping people up. I really really like it.   It’s more real than anything that happens in civilized human life. I’m starting to get whatever the writer of Fight Club got. It’s totally honest. Pure play. I would do it sober. All the time. There’s nothing sacred about human touch. We're just constantly deprived of it. And we’re so nervous and self-conscious for it. We shame the "touchy" people, especially if they’re low-status. They're "creepy." We’re too sensitive. Touch is communication deeper than words.  I t scares us.  But a c...

I can’t stop noticing little power games play out in conversation, the way people avert their eyes when they feel defeated, the way they laugh when the superior in their proximity laughs, the way their eyes move. The way so many so clearly see conversations as not an opportunity to learn but an opportunity to win.   I let everyone own me in conversation. I know nothing. I lose every time. I am Joe Rogan. I just go wow, man, and ask a lot of questions. Hopefully something new, probably something that starts with “How do you feel” or “How often do you” or “Why”… something that cannot be Googled.    I think I know what we are to each other, and it’s not pretty. We only see tools. We don’t see each other. We see only what we can gain from each other. And this isn’t a moral outcry. This is just what I have observed. What I wish I could stop observing. 

Yesterday I played a game of soccer under the influence of Marijuana. I played with the most creativity, confidence, and enthusiasm I ever have.   I was physically aggressive, unafraid of “attacking” with my body and charging in to fight for the ball. I jumped for headers and fearlessly rushed into skirmishes. It was a different me. My team and I are severely out of practice for the public adult Rec league. Most of us haven’t played since high school, and almost all of us, except maybe me, are severely out of shape. And, until last night, I couldn’t really dribble or pass or shoot.   But last night I could. Last night I would get the ball and instead of nervously looking for an escape route or making a rash decision, I naturally scanned the field or instantly decided to dribble forward. And when I decided that, magically, I COULD DRIBBLE FORWARD. Close to my feet, fast, accurate, overcome by a strictly better version of myself.   I sent the through-ball for at least three...

I fear that twitter and social media generally incentivizes people to sell themselves, sell their thoughts. I can't get comfortable on there. I always feel like I'm Whoring Myself Out in some way by participating. I can’t even think about Instagram.   The sad reality is that my people are on 4chan. I had to make a concerted effort to stop using that web site because I found it so much more gripping than scroll-through social media. Full anonymity and no rules makes people write some pretty interesting stuff. Stuff they might not say to coworkers, friends, parents or any person in their life — if they even have anyone in their life, because most people can’t take the raw ugly autistic honest truth. They don’t want to hear it. Or they don’t have the time for it. Which is the case for me, which is why I can’t go back.  A few types of people on 4chan. There’s the “newfag” who hates just for the sake of hating, because they’ve never felt true freedom before, they’ve always bee...

  instantly hear an animated character on screen in one of the previews:   “i think i’m… HAVING A PANIC ATTACK!!!!!!”

  i feel like they couldve put more effort into naming the wheelchair