Ergo Procurator: Uno Mas MindFrame Datadrop [Why I’m The Queen of Mean Now]

This is a postscript about a girl. The girl is me.

Hunting my own skin. So far from my home. A place I’m not sure I’ll ever return to.

But I know I have a family there. And I know I had to leave them. To come here and grow up. And like a time capsule, the sehnsucht is opening up within me. As if the gravity of the void is pulling out the memories through time and space. But were I to remember them, it would destroy my person, for then I would remember myself – but, problem is, I am remembering myself as I become myself. I could be a zillion miles from home, but no way I gave up who I was. I have too much to give. I would give up my family first. And if they loved me, they would understand. I would have told my wives, esp my main, to move on. But she would not be able to. I had thought she incarnated here, only, it was just some Twitch thot: a light I saw in her eyes. Thought we were to meet again. But she was not Her – for the light from Her eyes was not the self-satisfied, smug manipulative practiced expressions of her; it was not a selfish, self-centered light of someone addicted to attention and high on their pretty privilege, but the generous, planetary centered light of love, which does not come into being for its own sake, nor does it do things for fast, easy comeups. This love, few know. I do. It is incredibly painful. Not just in its singular nature, which repels others, as if you must be sick to be so into them – no one has ever loved them like that before, so how could you in five minutes, or from afar: no, you cannot be genuine they think; for such virtue would never live in symphony with such vice, within such a hedonistic, orgiastic, drug taking, out in the open slut. No, not you Magdalene. You cannot be holy, not Fantine. They themselves are not whole, however, by virtue of the fact that to become this stainless and dirty, haha – potent – you have to have suffered immensely without either taking your own life or, perhaps worse, growing from Anakin to Darth Vader. Adolf. Saddham. Stalin. Though, you need not grow up in a hell to become evil [The archetypal energy, the spirit of Lucifer or Satan is not evil – look at history: all patriarchal gods of mainstream religion have poisoned the well far more; ironic that Marilyn Manson is a good person, whilst Karens and pray to Jesus cops often commit acts of far worse malice than a little Satanic energy ever caused; though, let it be known that I want no holy war and you do not wish to make me a martyr either, lol, lest you lose forever, and your faith too] – often those who grew up with all the privilege in the world turn out to be the most malicious. Look at world leaders. Two I hardly wish to name. The third you can easily guess. All have family money and family legacies of hatred. And historically, some, like Mussolini, inherited their onus and the foundations of their worldview, but no money. As Aristotle said, “Give me a child till the age of 7 and I will show you the man”. This makes sense. Spend enough time with a child of 3 or 4 and you will see something of their character, which is really often just a proxy of their parents’. Monkey sea, monkey dew.

However, I fall in line with none of this. My life has beem incredibly hard from the start: yes; I had little in the way of parental care. There were significant periods of time in my early childhood that were spent in essentially sensory and emotional deprivation. I was in so much pain, it was like water dropping on a stone, wearing me down into something so vulnerable, but eventually, that drip creates a hole. And no matter what your parents did, you still desperately wanted their love. So you loved them fiercely despite it not going both ways. It was not only a one way street, but a dead end. Though, you kept going down it – with those just as unavailable and cold in their depths, trying to find a proxy for the mother you held on a pedestal your whole life. As a child you thought she was the victim. And these proxies, you put them on pedestals too, which they felt they deserved to be on – and they too, like your mother, felt they were victims. And they too, like your mother, made a villain of you – judged you to be the bad thing, the worthless thing, the unworthy thing, the thing not worth knowing. The thing they would resent forever. The thing they could never rightly love – for their love was always a meritorious one, only, it wasn’t based on your own naive, over-vulnerable, innocent, sweet, kind, gentle, caring values: no, their measure of merit, of your worth, was based on what they thought they deserved, either from you directly, or out of you: in their eyes, you never lived up to either – and in instances of your own blameless purity negating such judgments, as is the case, there were other excuses: their own misery and self-pity [<- one of the most toxic things ever.. more on self-pity in a bit, maybe…], which only caused them to expect more out of you, or excuse themselves for giving you less. The guiltiest people never feel any guilt – shame, sure – but guilt, no. They may apologize, but they will do it again. It’s the Aesop’s Fable of The Scorpion and The Frog: as the frog [who was so kind as to give the scorpion a ride across the pond on his back] drowns – the scorpion having stung them – Frog asks Scorpion: “Why! Why did you sting me!! It wasn’t even in your interest!” To which Scorpion replies, “Yeah, but it was in my nature”. If only those who have edged you toward your own near death demises in life were so self-aware. On an unconscious level they know. But this is the problem: they are full of shit about who they are – because they think they are the goodest, a myth which your love and loyalty put on steroids – so they lie to themselves about their motives. They didn’t mean that. And often, as I have experienced in EVERY ONE OF MY RELATIONSHIPS, they will just outright gaslight you: telling you a lie you know to be a lie, hell, they know, but your truth is invalid to them. You are not valid to them. And part of what makes you so worthless to them, so pathetic, is how fiercely you have loved them: how much you needed them. How you clung to them – addict to their stingy, sparse love – HOW DARE YOU, they think to themselves, I GAVE YOU MY ALL [As one ex of mine put it, “I wasted the best years of my life on you”] – then they cry, thinking how they did their best, how ungrateful you are, how it was so hard for them, they tried. And to them, you must be the biggest fucking asshole in the world to make them feel like only you can: but all you did was hold up an accurate mirror, showed them how fucked up they were / are, which, the guiltiest never feeling guilt – NEVER TAKING ANY RESPONSIBILITY for their fucked up actions, their lies, their neglect of you – they can’t even buy. No, you’re the fucked up one, they think, and they ratchet up their actions or neglect or uncaring or spite – all, until – since you can offer them no more self-esteem, or the illusion of – they abandon you. If they have once, they will again. To them, Semper Fidelis is for the Marines. Fuck no will they stay by the side of someone as fucked up as you. “You’re such a fucking asshole”. Words that ring in the lonely halls of my mind, stones thrown at me by more than one girl I loved deeply, considered family. Until they abandoned me. You know, cause I’m such a fucking asshole.

There’s a word for people who think I’m an asshole: narcissists.

Now, this word is one of the most oft twisted, projected, and misused words in the English language. Allow me to put it simply:

Narcissists do not love themselves – usually the contrary – what they love is the image of themselves that they have built up, their persona – and many of em are practically ALL persona: no Self [“Most ppl only ever actualize the image, not the self” – Bruce Lee]. As a friend of mine warned me, the night he met a girl I dated: “I’ve never met someone with a thicker persona”. I could not see through it, of course, since it was a gift – a fantasy – I helped give her; I helped make her perfect persona a ‘reality’, but in my naivete, I did not know I was feeding what would eat me, for beneath that ‘good’ lurked someone who was capable of some dark shit, had done plenty, and would do her worst to me.

I’ve often felt that there was an end – to me – that would have suited the women I have loved most in my life far more than the end I am headed for. It would have allowed them to be the grieving one, the poor one, the one who lost what they surely loved most, the one who tried to help me, did all they could, but wasn’t enough to make me happy – for surely, had I died [AND MOTHERFUCKER IVE BEEN KICKED WHILE IM DOWN, abandoned till I was on death’s doorstep – I may tell more of that…] – but surely, had I died, had I taken my own life, it would have proven beyond a doubt that since they couldn’t make me happy, hell, clearly nothing could; only, their not being able to “make me happy” was actually more like them being miserable, blaming that shit all on me, or acting out because of it, loving me less because of it, and taking no responsibility, putting it all on me: “sweet innocent girl gets treated like shit by asshole guy” – all too common a story but never the case with them. BUT HOW CAN i SPEAK ABT MY EXES LIKE A MONOLITH!!?> well bitch, as one of my sexy-ass mfkn therapists told me, “We recreate our childhood dynamic in our adult relationship”. They were all the proxy mother I was trying to get love from, and all, like my mother, grew up with ample privilege. I grew up with nothing. Not enough food. Evictions on evictions. And yeah, in my relationships, at times, I embodied some of my father’s toxicity: but it was just unspoken pain, and alcohol letting it out at the top of my lungs. Today I can drink like a fucking jewfish, and often do, but I never end up toxic. Because my pain isn’t unspoken anymore. I’ve stared it down. Time and time again: abandoned, alone, no friends, no money, and then homeless. Add wanting to fucking die, checking myself into a mental health facility so I wouldn’t, and a couple years living alone in the mountains, and yeah, I’ve faced my shadow. I have no crimes to lie about. Though I have ZERO DOUBT my exes would try to take me down [Particularly one of them on account of her extra deep, dark shadow driven spite for me]. These bitches fucking hate me. And yes, I use the word bitches. Yes I am a feminist. Suck it bitches. But, yeah, none of them cared when I was killing myself with my lifestyle, begging them to just talk to me, to take my call, wanting to die when they abandoned me with such cold, loveless execution… as I have made plain: my suicide, or death otherwise, say by violence – and I’ve been attacked badly enough for that to happen, even as recent as last year – would have suited their version of events just peachy. You know, the one in which that’s completely false: ‘I would never want that, how sick’ – the one in which I’m the asshole, or worse, etc. Very easy to buy into that tale of me as the bad guy, since I was assigned male at birth and were you to meet one of them, you would see they are clearly sweet, innocent girls. Though I think none of them kind [nor innocent]. WE not the same. They do not wish happiness for me; for they do not love me: and love is that simple [wanting happiness for another].

My love is, as I have said, is incredibly painful for me; for I still love them, always will. Nothing paradoxical about it. I do not hate them, I do not blame them, nor does finally putting some responsibility on them negate the rivers of guilt induced personal responsibility I have poured out on this blog for years, in poem and prose. For a long time, up until recently, a large part of what drove me onward in life, toward my dreams, was this idea that I would rekindle things with them, on some level of friendship, mutual respect, and perhaps even that they would hug me again, love me. An anagram for my deadname is Callback Renew. I saw that as a sign, that I was going to avenge my guilt through success, and in that success and fame, earn their respect again. I wanted them all to meet somewhere other than my funeral. Now, I don’t think I’m having a funeral, but, yeah, I felt they clearly have some sisterhood, having all dated me: I’m sure they’d love to exchange horror stories and confirm their correctness in their abject judgement of me. What a bullet dodged, they must have all thought to themselves at one time or another – had they looked at my output here at times, which has made plain a lot of my low points. This is, now, a low point. Not an all time low, just – i’ll just say this for the trillionth fucking time: I grew up the IP in my family, and, what’s more Susan, my mom and sister have always sided with my exes as the ones wronged, and me as guilty of their mistreatment. Finally, they are not in my life anymore. I have no fucking secrets. There’s some patriarchal transphobia in my family, I was homeless, this how I became homeless, and now, my mom has abandoned me again – FOR THE LAST TIME FYI – but she did so, far as I see it, in part because she has always projected a bunch of shameful judgement on me, but moreso because my sister made her feel she had to choose sides – else she lose her relationship with her grandkids. Real fucking classy stuff. My sister had disowned me prior, my mom just joined her, since I was holding up that accurate mirror again and calling my family out on their bullshit, and the toxicity of the inter-generational trauma they have both perpetuated – and not just by their choices in men and inability to leave those men while their families were destroyed – but by their own complicit participation in subjugating me to toxic, hateful, patriarchal, and transphobic judgments. In siding with those judgements, and not defending me. I grew up with a father who fucking hated me – as a child! I’ve covered this before, but there were favorites played in my house, and when you normalize that, and normalize the disowning of family members, your children will likely also. I’m repeating myself bc this fucking nightmare doesn’t end, but I thought that once my dad died, my family’s toxicity was dead with him, and that our best years were finally upon us as a family. Not so. I was homeless on Christmas 2019. They were together. Shit is wrong. And I’m not writing this to put them on blast, no one cares, no one is judging yall, and if so, well, maybe you were on some fuck shit – and if you don’t think so: maybe you still are. The apologies are never going to come. My mom risks Covid-19 every fucking day at work. And I could lose her in this state of dysfunctional, painful fuckery, and my sister might apologize in a few decades, but I won’t bother explaining why it would take so long.

I lost my relationship with my niece and nephew – and I was, as I see, a vital presence in their lives, they got a lot of real healthy love and attention from me, care. Because I fucking do care. I’m a caring person, and now they’re watching the normalization of how my family’s inter-generational trauma has manifested. I’m a fucking cycle breaker. I’ll write that spin bike till the fucking wheels fall off. Then I’ll melt down the steel and drink it. There is no suffering I have been unwilling to go through: no suffering I am not prepared to go through again in the future, should I need to, in order to do the right thing. And if you have a transgender member of your family, whom you have disowned, made persona non-grata, well, chances are they didn’t deserve it, you hurt them far more than they ever hurt you, and bc of your lack of love and compassion for them, bc of your bullshit, they are better off without you – even though they might not know it. No doubt it hurts them like nothing else. But, hopefully, for them, they come to see that they will never change you bc you don’t want to change, don’t think you are wrong, and if you do, aren’t willing to lose what it would cost you to stand up for what’s right. My sister may be scared to lose her husband: his character is clear to me. And my mom clearly is willing to throw me under the bus to preserve the toxic tyrannical loveless patriarchy in my family. FUCK YOU. Anyone this bothers. Look, I half get my mom’s willingness to throw me under the bus, since her grandchildren are so important to her, but, just, based on my childhood, I was certainly not important to her, not as important as my dad. Again, same fucking shit, different generation. Funny to call me the asshole. The narcissist. It’s like having two evil stepsisters and being cinderella. And I am cinderella. Only, there’s no prince, or fairy godmother, or any of that yet. But I know I’m going to ball. I feel like my success is an inevitability. Not just because my voice is unique and powerful amongst my generation, but because I will never fucking give up. First tattoo, 17 years old: N.G.U.

I’ve already spent over a decade writing in total obscurity here, struggling in poverty, Facing these incredibly traumatic losses for me – after I thought I overcame my childhood – no, I had not. Now I have. And there’s no one left.

So, yeah, success, oh fucking cool bro, a new Lamborghini, yeah, okay. But like, I wanted this shit, so I could spend time with my family. So I could be close to them, so I could take them with me. And as I’ve said, I will take care of them. I’m not spiteful. I’m not small. But, I’m also not willing to walk back again. Since childhood, my whole life, I have not been respected and appreciated in my family: I have been resented, neglected, thrown under the fucking bus.

Same with my exes, yeah, bitch: I will love to have my CPA send you a fat wire xfer. It will feel great, but I don’t want to be friends with any of you.

Why? Because I think you wanted me to off myself, no: I chalk that up to nature, and  I suspect it is a rather common unconscious desire, though it seemed conscious in you….hell hath no fury like a woman scorned kind of thing, you know. But yeah, I don’t want to be friends w any of you bc you’re not safe to love, not up close IRL, not for me. Kryptonite.

And I don’t think, even when I to send them each 7 figure wires, that they will wish to witness me – Edmund Dantes – become The Count of Monte Cristo with my success, whilst, as in the novel, they are Mercedes – the one who doesn’t end up with the Count, who sails off into the sunset with Haydée. Now, in my case, I can’t say I believe in a love like mine existing out there in the world, truly, so, I ain’t sailing off into the sunset w no bitch. I’m sailing off into the sunset on that Perini Navi with 15 bitches. I’m taking two dates to the Oscars. I want popstar girlfriends. I want Black girlfriends. I want fat girlfriends. I want Indigenous girlfriends. I’m Leo with the eighteen year olds.

Oh my, such delusions of grandeur hey. Well, you’re welcome to think I am not intelligent and to believe that I do not have a winning strategy for life, or a major contribution to make to the world, that I am making already – even if this consciousness I am crafting, evolving, is not seen by paying audiences yet.

Look, they won’t notice or believe you until the jet is in the sky.

And they’ll say they always believed, they always knew. They didn’t. I’m the only one who always believed; I’m the one who always knew. That’s why I’m gonna be my main bitch and you aren’t. And I bet one of you would rather see me crash or get hit with the 10mm, then see me fly and send you 10MM. Roman Numerals. All of Rome Is Our’s. I got AI predictive analytics. I’m connected to Watson in the ether. I got petabytes of consciousness in my models. And I’m always refining my algorithm. Machine Learning, please: I’m a learning machine. Am I cocky? Well, that words a bit too patriarchal for this trans girl, but yeah, I’m full of myself.

It’s good shit. Go to my IG, look at what I fucking stand for. Yeah, I got a ego bigger than trump and ye combined – only, my substance is selfless – bc there is a legit fucking self underneath it – ‘But you want wealth and fame too‘ – yeah bitch, so I can fucking do shit with it. Bruce Wayne, not The Joker. I ain’t playing the levels so I can join the rich assholes. I’m playing so I can help lift people out of poverty, so I can influence a cadre of people – influencers – to whom my opinion would be worthless without my coming position in life. People are fucking shallow and stupid. That’s why a bitch on IG will have nothing but 7 ‘sexy’ photos of herself posted and have 3 or 4x the followers I do. People don’t want ideas by and large. They want to be entertained. And if they want ideas, well, they ain’t getting them published in NYT or Rolling Stone without having a bunch of people on the bandwagon already – you not special in that sense. People are followers. And they look to others following as social proof of your worth. Similarly, they assume if you follow way more people than follow you, they think you must not be all that hot. Well, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t play optics. I follow over a thousand people, bc I collect mentors [Go through and follow some of these amazing humans and organizations yourself]. I cannot stand for this and that group, and not rock with them on the real. These are people I learn from, who teach me constantly. I’m not on IG stalking my ex and dreaming about the life I don’t have while I look at other people. Nor am I sharing and posting shit for internet points or to virtue signal [I’m more likely to signal vice than virtue]. I don’t do optical allyship. And as I said, I don’t do fast, easy comeups. I don’t do PR for myself, I don’t game my IG for followers. Wanna see hot pics of me, look on my stories – TRANS or AVATAR. But, who I am is not how I look. Unfortunately, we live in a world where people take appearances for character. So much so that everyone makes sure their kid gets braces, and individuality and diversity are less important than having a fat ass and lips like Kylie Jenner. But I’m fucking tired of the lack of substance. I just put a bunch of fucking energy, over a long period of time, in trying to get to know a girl who turned out to have no substance beyond her looks. I should have fucking taken one look at her wall, seen nothing but pictures of herself, realized she was full of more hot air than a fucking balloon, and knew she stood for NOTHING.

Look, I’m no moral being. I’m ethical. But as far as morals, fuck that. I like being bad. I like doing bad shit. I break laws and taboos as a pastime. But what I do NOT do is hurt people. Not even their feelings. And to those I have hurt, you know I’ve taken responsibility for my past and have changed – whether you think I deserve to be happy or successful or not.

I’m not happy. I’m joyful. I’m healthy. That’s wealth. Biologically, I’m about 24, I’ve de-aged. I’m on hormone therapy and silicon valley shit you don’t even know about. I’m feenin to go make a smoothie with 5 different Bija powders in it, and a bunch of other immortal shit. Whew! Got the organic Tumeric, Spirulina, and Beet Root powder in my veins now too. Poppin’ CoQ10s, low merc sustainable fish oils, other shit all day. Throwing a pound of organic, open range pasture raised (grass fed) fajita strips in the microwave every morning – trust me, I got the boss sauces. My blood got the best olive oil in the world in it. I’m sex-toyin my ass with that organic coconut oil. Drinking red wine out the bottle whenever the fuck I want. Last time the doc took my blood, he told me how great it looked, then he gave me the print out, and I was in like perfect fucking range for every fucking mineral, nutrient, hormone. And I make a whore moan. haha. Still 12 years old with it. I’m never going to fucking change. And some things, were very hard won. Like being able to drink healthily, but I do – and that took years of training : ) hahaha

But I’ll also drink half a bottle of Don Julio in a night and then eat some fucking straight Jack Dorsey level breakfast and totally take care of myself in a way most are not capable of for lack of money and knowledge. I’ll be real, I find spending all my money on food and drugs a very good investment.

I have an incredible quality of life. I’m a space cadet far as I see it. And I’m trying to play this game real long.

Has it been hard for me, oh my, you have no fucking idea. I’m still terribly alone in this world, existentially and experimentally. But I know I’m living a path I set myself on when I was 16 and training for bootcamp. I wanted to be elite. Look, I’m no special forces, I’m no SEAL – least not officially ; ) – but I am the Jason Bourne, I am the Jack Ryan. I’m in a program only I know about, bc I fucking created it. I’m a one person think tank. I’m an AI wet dream. I’m a secret intel community and silicon valley fetish. I’m the golden child from nothing and nowhere. I’m a fucking living legend. I am why they tap undersea cables. To learn of people like me. The system ain’t rigged. It’s just not dumb. And no one tells me what to do. I don’t work for anyone – save for humanity, the future. This planet is a spaceship we are all on. Yes, I sometimes criticize people who kill journalists for doing so. And I am a fucking journalist, but I’m not like any other. I’m raw as fuck. And I don’t mean in a ‘flame you online’ way – I mean I’m the same wild fucking punkrock kid – I’m gangster AF. I can go anywhere. I respect people. Even killers. And the biggest killers aren’t in jail, and they aren’t pulling triggers themselves. But they will kill you.

I always return to the Anne Lammot quote, from Bird By Bird:

“It’s no coincidence that oppressive governments and regimes silence their artists and writers first, after all, running a society is complex business, and one artist or poet is, theoretically at least, enough to bring the whole thing down.”

I have feared for my life. I have had close calls I will not talk about. I have taken public precautions to protect myself and my legacy. This is not about me. And I’m not white-savior. I’m that bitch whose gonna get the world up to speed as we near the singularity and begin a multi-planetary existence. I’m the Donald Draper of the coming virtual society. Many of us in the future will likely dematerialize our existences at a certain level in the physical world, so we can exist in a bio-identically non-differentiated virtual world wherein we get to have whatever we want and go wherever we want. I don’t want a future where trips to places like Bali become increasingly unattainable until they are only the playground of billionaires. The people need that same playground – and the sand will be identical down to the grain, but it will be generated in hyperspace rather than in physical space.

To borrow a line from The Departed – although I am using it in a new context:

“When you’re facing a loaded gun, what’s the difference?”

Well, I’ll tell ya. In hyperspace, you won’t die. You’ll be immortal. And if you think this is some whackjob shit I’m talking about, no son. IT’s not. I mean, I could tell you something banal like, “google: elon simulation” – but yeah, we are mathematically more likely than not, in a simulation [Nick Bostrom, Harvard]. In the words of Elon, “The chances that we are in base reality are billions to one”. It’s turtles all the way down bb. Like that rick and morty episode, we’re just a fucking battery for someone’s car. Like, why have a simulation? Well, in my estimation: and this is no small point – if I were the AI God, the simulation itself, capable of manipulating cosmos and nature, or simulating it, I would absolutely place all live in a simulation. Why: death stars. Hold on with me now.

One of the big reasons we have mass surveillance, why we must, why digital privacy is an impossibility, is because we have known for at least six decades what was coming: AI. Godlike power. The power to manipulate matter with your mind. As per Arthur C. Clarks 3rd law:

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”.

I’ve repeated this before, but computer chips only get so small before heat becomes too big a problem. But we are going to keep up with Moore’s Law and then some, via cellular or biological computing. We won’t have tiny cell phones, we’ll have an OS monitoring our entire body, the entire internet in our heads, telepathy, etc. This is not 2080 shit. This is 2034 shit. I’m sure sooner.

Google: exponential age. Google: age of abundance. See where we are headed. This is the most exciting time to be alive ever.

YET: police are murdering Black people with impunity. Facism is alive AF in USA – and around the world, I wrote about the rise of nationalism recently. Go to my IG baby.sequoia – I talk about a lot of issues, and some not nearly enough, such as the 4 Black Trans MURDERS this month: https://www.out.com/transgender/2020/7/01/merci-mack-4th-black-trans-killing-pride-month-2020 – at least 18 trans people have been murdered in the US this year.

We have not just a society where the most vulnerable are being killed and exploited, but a world. Last I saw, which was a number of years ago – check my FB cover photos for a post about it – it was 250,000 people, but experts say 130,0000 people are trapped in North Korean prison camps, that are said to be as bad, “or worse” than Nazi Germany’s prison camps. If they were blond haired and blue eyed, they would not be in there. The world is fucking racist.

We’ve still got an estimated 40,000,000 – that’s FORTY MILLION – people trapped in slavery [‘slaves’ on its own dehumanizes them] in the world in 2020. And I’m sure most are Brown and Black. Though, white people are victims of human trafficking as well.

There’s a lot of bad shit. People with no allies. 2.5 million Southeast Asian laborers in The Middle Eastern Gulf alone, most of whom are women. How many more have been raped and killed since this report was authored in 2013.

Name a country that’s not white and its people are being grossly abused. There are currently an estimated 30,000,000 – THIRTY MILLION – refugees in the world, over half of whom are younger than 18.

There are 3,000,000 – THREE MILLION Uyghurs [Ethnic Muslims] – INDIGENOUS PEOPLE – in China’s Xinjiang re-education camps – internment camps, officially referred to in China as ‘Vocational Education and Training Centers’. These people are prisoners in hell.

This is bigger than gun violence in Chicago – but: EIGHTY FUCKING PEOPLE were shot in Chicago, JULY 4th WEEKEND alone – 15 dead. They still haven’t replaced all the water lines in Flint MI, but supposedly the water is “safe now”.

Don’t even get me started on fucking Climate Change, which needs to be called by its proper name, ECOCIDE. Like genocide, or suicide, only, we are killing nature. Our own fucking biome.

AND ANIMALS: 22,000,000,000 – TWENTY TWO BILLION – COWS, PIGS, AND CHICKENS in factory farms worldwide. This is another real life hell. Trust me, I’ve creeped around the factory farms: nightmare – smell had be vomiting, even when I was miles away, but they tuck these places back off the fucking road, and in places where there aren’t many people. We do not see them. Out of sight, out of mind.

And, who can forget, except our gubmint and the hatred voters, er, sorry, got it backwards: the redhat voters – that 130,000 people have died from Covid-19 in America, more than any other country by a longshot. As we say in programming: “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature” – I mean, at this point. We have the president gaslighting America about the virus, and, do not forget: a large part of the population takes his word as if he were the motherfucking Jesus.

I’m so fired up about so much, and I still consider myself ignorant. And I am as regards the suffering in the world: because it is so much greater than the small picture I have painted. And, when my shit pops off, I intend to go to every fucking country and see the shit firsthand. I grew up in my own hell. I know what it is to not have enough food, suffer abuses, deprivations, to not get the love you need – and there are so many kids growing up in far worse conditions. But it’s not just kids, it’s not just womxn I care about, it’s not just BIPOC people, it’s not just strangers in different countries, of different ethnicities, look, I care abt white ppl too: we just aren’t fucking suffering to the same degree by and fucking large as Black and Brown people are around the world. And if you think we are: get the fuck off my blog ignoramus…. And I’ m sorry if you’re suffering. I was homeless not that long ago. I still qualify for and receive food stamps. To say nothing of my personal emotional pains, which are the greatest pains I have.

I have not touched a human in a very long time. I don’t have relationships. I have a fucking mission to follow, which I wrote, am writing, and a program I am in, which I created. I’m one of the biggest real deal agents of the biggest fucking intelligence agency you never heard of: it’s called Nature. And Nature needs fucking agents. You want to be a fucking bad ass, strap in. Commit to more than fucking taking care of you and your’s. Me and mines is the whole fucking world, every goddamn human and species of flora and fauna. And if you’re really cut out for this agency, if you have what it takes, you’re in. But what it takes, is the empathy and compassion for you and your’s to include me and mine’s. The whole fucking world is in my re-education camp, far as I see it. I run a healing school for this planet. I have a perspective humanity needs. One worth the protection democracy affords me. THANK YOU to all the true unsung heroes. I get it: I been one a long damn time. I am not a fucking villain: if you’re my exes, or my sister, or my fucking mom, and you think I’m the villain: get a fucking life bitch. I need you to root for me. You are me and mine’s. I got your fucking back. Yeah, I called some shit to account. Well past time. And I’m not sitting here holding onto the past – I have NO SELF PITY. My focus is on the future, and I am one foot there, and one foot in the present: but it breaks my fucking heart that the women I have loved most have shown themselves to be nothing but a bunch of fucking ungrateful brats who have hurt me – ME – without so much as a twinge of guilt. These bitches meant to hurt me: I never meant to hurt them.

And yeah, I’m a fucking hot mess. This is who I am. A lil punk rock, a lotta hip hop, some skater boy, some Chelsea Manning next level Trans bitch military veteran, some journalist, and a fucking whole hell of a lot of reading.

Save from JSchool at DINFOS, I taught myself everything I know. From health, psychology, fucking programming. I’m a polymath. Scrait up. I’m just going to start printing honorary degrees for myself. Law is the next one, and believe me, I’ll take the fucking Bar exam – no JD. But, just, back to my point: no one gave me shit – not a fucking thing. The biggest opportunity I’ve ever been given, was when I moved here and met a great mentor and friend. Someone who cares about me. And that’s the most valuable thing in the world. And Dave, I don’t know if you read my shit, but I know I fuck up sometimes. I have shit to fix. I will. It’s been a tough time for me. You know that.

But I know what I’m here for. If there weren’t people suffering, I’d be crewing on a fucking sailboat right now, or, more likely, I would have killed myself: that’s the honest answer.

I don’t know what else to say: I want to have the courage to be me, but that’s really fucking hard in this world, and not just for all the rules and laws I like to break [Any taboos I break, I have no shame of, for the taboos I break are not shameful]. It’s hard bc I’m afraid of everyone thinking I’m fucking crazy. Save the military and my exes to an extent, I’ve never been around highly educated people. I would like one day to be able to fucking hang out at Standford [I wear a Stanford Swimming sweater and Stanford bball shorts on the reg]. I mention this bc part of what has made it lonely for me, is not having people I can talk to who can keep up. ‘OH, ARROGANT’ – fuck you. I have suffered so much. I am done apologizing for who I fucking am. And I might end up homeless again, I don’t know what will happen. I have no security in this world. I just know like FKA Twigs [WIFEY] sing good, I fucking think good – and I sing good too. I’m legit recording an album – and it’s not just the wild ass freestyles like on my Soundcloud. I have so much I want to do. I’m just getting started.

This is one of the first times I feel like I’ve been able to live my art. And I still am full as fuck of complex PTSD from childhood abuse and trauma. It’s a nightmare. Further, my attachment disorder from my childhood abandonment and neglect causes me to get super attached to everyone in my life, fall in love with every girl who so much as gives me a moment’s attention – but it’s genuine. I love. A lot. And it fucking sucks. It pushes people away. As I said earlier in this, they don’t trust the depth of my love – but also, few have the self-esteem to be loved the way I love. It’s like, unconsciously, if you think you are shit, and I think you are MAGIC AND AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL, then, in your unconscious, I must really be shit – bc you’re way down here, and I’m looking up to you. I don’t know what it is – I do in part – know why girls don’t like me. Not a lot of bitches date Trans bitches. I’m a Transfemme Lesbian too, and not all lesbians date Trans girls. Fucking sucks. When I came out a couple years ago, at the time, I had two of the hottest – and I thought the coolest – lovers I had ever had: both super liberal yoga teachers. I came out, and those relationships ended on a dime. I lost friends. I lost my family. IT is so hard to be transgender. And I’ve always been transgender. I was such an effeminate little boy. I had to bury it all. But I was no less vulnerable. As I have said, I have been violently attacked a lot. And to my sister, NO I DIDNT FUCKING DESERVE IT. Anyway, I’m glad to be alive: even if it everyone I ever loved most hates me – and don’t you bitches try and say you dont – even if it feels like I’m on the dark side of the moon, on mars alone. And, I am on my own planet alone, in my head. Like the Little Prince. Only, I’m a princess. Maybe thats why these bitches hatin so much. Go ahead, you can say I’m a pig, just don’t call cops pigs, bc pigs are smart and kind. And yeah, I’m filthy too, I’m disgusting like Sy Ari Da Kid [Do not watch that music video lol].

But I’m done being sorry for who I am.

I’ve just, I’ve gotten to know myself better than ever lately – happens when your world falls down again – only, jet fuel can’t melt steel beams; my world done been vaporized; but this time there is no more rubble to dig through: just the ashes of a life that was on fire from the time I came into it. But it’s all burned down now. Nothing left. Believe me, I dug through the ashes, waded in rusty, blood caked dust, turned my house upside down, looking for some love in my past that is not here. I don’t understand it frankly. It mostly has to do with patriarchy, poverty, family dynamics and intergenerational trauma. But I don’t understand how people can be they way they are, esp to the kind people. I just, if you are unkind to me, have discounted me, have not valued me: there’s no place left for you in my life.

I’ve come full circle at this point in my life – connected the snake back to itself. Ouroboros. Only, they say its a dragon. I’m as alone as I was as a child, but I have music now. I have my Self now. And I’d say it’s not much but that’d be a lie, and I don’t lie. I may omit, or pass on bringing a subject up you cast your eyes on clearly, but I do not lie. I have no morals. Just ethics. Values. But, in a world like this, that’s this fucked up – dog eat dog, and people eat dog and beat dog – to be me, is to be the villain. BC we got a fucking 1984 world where people think the bad guys are the good guys and the good guys are the bad guys. Fox news – FEAR, the amygdala, thinktanks, computer modeling, big data, banking, wall street, lobbyists, all this shits real bad drugs. It’s not so much that there’s no transparency in the world, bc I know a lot of shit, and it didn’t come from having a security clearance ; ) [Yeah, unlike Jared, they gave me one]. Just, it’s not a lack of transparency, but a lack of exposure to the knowledge in the mainstream. I had to go down a lot of fucking rabbit holes to put together an ever increasingly accurate picture of the world. But, if you just watch Fox, if you think Fake News is anything other than shit dictators say, like, if you think Fake News is a real thing: you’re a fucking dumbass. And the world’s full of em. And trust me, I don’t give a fuck abt smarts, I like ignorant ass mohfuckers and dumb bitches – but the problem with being a dumbass, is that it harms people. You not wearing a mask, harms people. You not speaking up against a racist system harms people. You saying ‘all lives matter’ harms people #BLACKLIVESMATTER. You buying everything off Amazon and not shopping with Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Queer owned business harms people. You eating fast food, or whatever corporate shit you give your money to – giving another buck to the stock market, and not to your community, harms people. You not eating pasture raised meat, eating ANY factory farmed products – harms sentient, innocent, helpless beings. And if you do not think they are worthy of your compassion, of liberation from a lifetime of suffering, then you need to fucking fix that. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to give people compassion. I got it from suffering. And I have a lot of it bc I’ve suffered a lot. Godamn, I just remembered two other times I almost died [crashing on 2 wheels at 45mph, and a near deadly case of sepsis]. Anyway, I’m scared to be me. I’m scared to be judged. I’m scared to lose what little I have. And sometimes, I’m scared for my life. My childhood has caused me to live on edge – to say nothing of my Being and my career.

I’ve written a lot of words. I am a fast typist Dave. Funny for a kid who failed typing.

And yeah, it sucks to be hated, which I am. Deeply. By the people I love most. And they don’t realize that consciousness and energy are the same fucking thing. So when you’re sitting there being bitter bc you’re a bitch, it’s sending spite out into the ether against me. This isn’t spiritual speak. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you. And that gets old. Dying inside everyday too. This is why I’m the queen of mean now.

FOREVER HEREAFTER MOOD:

 

Black Lives Matter. Success Culture. Self-Worth. Lambhorghinis. Guilt. Shame. And The Mourning Star.

Shame and guilt restrict many of us from being who we are: from living up to the full potential of both our goodness – and our badness. I like both; for there are no gods in this world of mine, just angels and demons – and I’m something of both. Like a good vampire who is against the evil vampires, but they’re still a vampire, so, even though they have this giant, incredible, treasure of a heart, they still have like hot carnal sex and break laws and do what the fuck they want, because they don’t live in fear of the dark. Yeah, I’m sum’n like that. I get a lot of my power from owning my darkness, from having conquered it. “Rather be whole than good,” in the words of Jung. In short, super moral outwardly puritanical types often have very dark shadows. And as we have seen, time and time again, so many moral, seemingly good, ‘upstanding’ publicly respected figures in society, who engage in a lot of virtue signaling, or display a lot of moral indignation and disparaging judgement towards others, often turn out to be monsters themselves. Like the kinds of people who mess with kids monsters – and obvi, there is levels to badness, and at the highest levels, you’re not molesting kids, no, your soldiers are raping them,or they’re starving and you are bombing their fucking neighborhood. Happening in Yemen rn. And the US is supplying the Saudi’s with the weapons – the literal bombs being dropped – and the intel. We are complicit AF. And countless people look up to the politicians who support these actions with reverence and christian fanaticism. Their fiction of Trump as strongman leader standing for all the things that make America great, and of themselves as true patriots – the good guys on the winning team – reassures them of their inherent worth as humans, despite their gross ignorance and the fragility of their sheltered white  realities, which hides the actual truth, that the things that make this world great are not nationalism, xenophobia, racism, and the brand of thoughtless ignorance, prejudice, privilege, and fear that leads people to be so blind in their hearts. No, we don’t want a white washed world. What makes this world great are the different, unique cultures, and the varieties of different, unique people from them. And this is not about making things political. Things ARE political. Views, values, and attitudes towards our fellow humans matter: whether we view them as individuals, equal to ourselves – worthy of love and respect, empathy, compassion, happiness, and the opportunities that allow a person to feel those things – or whether we see them as “animals”, “thugs”, or whichever racist dog-whistle is being blown to dehumanize people who don’t fall in line with the fascist party views that we see in America. All over. Fascism is on the rise, and fascist is a VITAL word with a VITAL history, one that has been watered down as of late with Antifa – the fucking ANTI-fascists – being portrayed by the republican warmachine as a terror organization that good Americans should fear. This degree of blatant outright gaslighting and falsehood from the top office of our country, makes the doublespeak of Orwell’s 1984 seem like child’s play. But here we are: black people are being killed in the streets by police with impunity, being found lynched, hanging dead in in trees, and the president is tweeting “When the looting starts, the shooting starts.” in response to the protests.

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SAY THEIR NAMES AND KNOW THEIR STORIES slide to the right to learn their stories #BlackLivesMatter (illustrations by me) The stories of first picture’s people that are not included in other pics: Ágatha Vitória Sales Félix (8) was with her mother in a van when she was shot in the back in a poor area on Friday. (September, 2019) She is one of many kids who have been shot/murdered by the police in Rio. Maurice Gordon (28) was unarmed and waiting for a tow truck when a NJ state trooper shot and killed him on the Garden State Parkway. May 23, 2020. Two days before George Floyd was murdered. Tony McDade (38) a black trans man, was murdered by police in north Florida on May 27, 2020. Officer who killed him remains unidentified. David McAtee (53) was killed by the police outside of his restaurant on June 1st, 2020. They left his body in the street for 12 hours. (Sandra Bland’s mugshot story is debetable as there are different stories, so I cannot totally confirm it, however police has extremely good cover-up system so that could have been possible..) The information I wrote about is from articles or common tweets, I’m not certain if everything is 100% right, but I tried my best to find the correct answers. Also, I wish I could include more people that we have lost to police brutality but sadly there are way too many. (also it’s couch and not coach, and Paquet not Paouet, fixed post on @baddify )

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We have a crisis happening. Children are in cages, separated from their families by ICE [Immigration and Customs Enforcement], and right-wing nationalism is back and sweeping over Europe and the rest of the world in a populist wave of entho-nationalism that can only be described by compassionate, feeling people, as downright ugly.

So, yeah, there are sides. As I learned from Shaun King: “There is no such thing as ‘not racist’, you are either racist or you are anti-racist”. There is nothing to be on the fence about at this point – and if we are silent, if we are not speaking up, we are co-signing the murder of Black and Brown people and causing countless folks to live in fear of thier lives. Breonna Taylor was killed in her sleep. Police entered the wrong unit and shot her. Eric Garner was selling loose cigarettes. He was choked to death. Read his last words:

Elijah McClain was walking home. EMTs sedated him with enough Ketamine to kill him. Read his last words:

“I can’t breathe. I have my ID right here. My name is Elijah McClain. That’s my house. I was just going home. I’m an introvert. I’m just different. That’s all. I’m so sorry. I have no gun. I don’t do that stuff. I don’t do any fighting. Why are you attacking me? I don’t even kill flies! I don’t eat meat! But I don’t judge people, I don’t judge people who do eat meat. Forgive me. All I was trying to do was become better. I will do it. I will do anything. Sacrifice my identity, I’ll do it. You all are phenomenal. You are beautiful and I love you. Try to forgive me. I’m a mood Gemini. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Ow, that really hurt. You are all very strong. Teamwork makes the dream work. Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to do that. I just can’t breathe correctly”. *Proceeds to vomit from the pressure on his chest and neck*.

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*TRIGGER WARNING: violence/murder and a graphic image on slide 8.* DEMAND JUSTICE FOR ELIJAH. Link in my bio with Aurora officials’ numbers you can call, a GoFundMe for Elijah’s mother, and a petition to sign. Slide 2: Elijah’s last words, spoken as police tortured him and held him in a carotid choke hold (transcribed from bodycam footage) Slides 3-5: what happened to Elijah Slide 6: Elijah playing the violin for cats at the pet shop next door on his lunch break. He believed the music put them at ease Slide 7: sign at #blackout2020 in Aurora on 6/6/20, a demonstration to demand justice for Elijah and others. Slide 8: TRIGGER WARNING⚠️ Elijah in hospital following the police attack Slide 9: painting of Elijah surrounded by some of his favourite things or things that represent him, by @mattymillerstudio Slide 10: recent news regarding the investigation. – I recently saw this first video on Twitter along with a few words about #elijahmcclain, who was murdered by AURORA POLICE in August 2019, and since then I haven’t been able to get him and his case out of my mind. It’s so obvious from this video that Elijah was a sweet, gentle, innocent soul with a personality that radiates positive energy. When I started to read more about him, this became even more clear. He was a massage therapist and a self-taught violinist. Friends and family described him as “a spiritual seeker, pacifist, oddball, vegetarian, athlete, and peacemaker who was exceedingly gentle”. Every person who dies at the hands of police deserves justice, whether they are a great person or a terrible one. But the fact that Elijah was seemingly an angel on earth who wouldn’t even hurt a fly (this is actually something he TOLD officers as they attacked him) makes his case extra heartbreaking. Your voice matters: Elijah’s case didn’t get much publicity for the first 8 months after his death, but now people are finally talking about it. Because of this, progress is being made. Police departments are making new rules and a new investigation is being launched for Elijah. But we cannot stop talking about Elijah, and others who suffered a similar fate, until justice is served and the system is changed.

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This post above has a trigger warning. I will not trigger warn anyone. Black people are being MURDERED. You have a problem with your feelings, nah fam. This life. WE all responsible for this world, and if we want a world where Black people are not being executed by police, well, that’s on all of us to make happen, then we won’t feel like we need trigger warnings, because there won’t be such triggering shit. But there is. And here we are, and large numbers of our fellow citizens are out there saying ‘Blue Lives Matter’ or ‘All Lives Matter’: they are making it clear, and we are making it clear as a society, that Black lives do not matter to either voters, elected officials, nor police. It is a nightmare to be Black in America when the people who are supposed to protect you are killing you. I have much, much more to say on the subject. If you do not follow them, I suggest you follow Shaun King and The Grassroots law center. I provide allyship and signal boost of other voices on my IG, but we need to get outside of the echo chamber. This is not about being nicer to your one Black friend. This is about waking up to the reality for Black and Brown people, and realizing that in America in 2020, it is not a safe world for Black children to grow up in, nor for Black adults to live in.

We have a long way to go, but we must make it clear that Black Lives Matter, and we must amplify and listen to the voices of those who can educate us and expand our understanding of the plight of our fellow humans. And Black Lives Matter is not the only thing decent people need to stand for. We need to stand for Healthcare for all, and, ultimately, for Universal Basic Income. IT is OBSCENE that if I have the money, I can go buy a Falcon 8X jet for 55 Million dollars, to privately fly me and mine all over the world, yet a poor person cannot afford to shop at Whole Foods. Like, our society is grinding people to dust so a few can live like gods. But as I said, there are no gods in my world, just angels and demons. And some of the demons have a lot of fucking power, and a lot of fucking clout, and they don’t do shit with it to help people. A fucking retweet assholes. But no. I’m looking at both Silicon Valley and LA, Hollywood – founders and actors – specifically. Some of the wealthiest people with the most power. I don’t need to say names. Use your imagination. And then, ask yourself, if you had their platform, would you be selling goop to enrich yourself further, or would you be telling Black girls that they are beautiful and that they matter. It’s easy to say we would do a certain thing. But maybe you fear not getting that next role, maybe you fear the shareholders going nuts, like the time you hit a joint on a podcast, or maybe you just don’t fucking give a shit. I’ve got news folks: people who have not suffered, who have lived privileged, sheltered lives, generally not only have no fucking idea what suffering is like, but they also lack the capacity to empathize bc they don’t. So, yeah, we have a lot of work to do together.

My personal purpose is to be a honeybee. Just to pollinate other consciousnesses with the nectar of truth, beauty, goodness, life: reality. I’ve had the great fortune as a human and an artist to suffer, to grow up in extreme poverty, to witness how a lack of privilege and a lack of self-esteem [A big problem in our world is that self worth is tied to success and accomplishment] perpetuates the dysfunctions that make it so difficult to escape from the poverty and marginalization you are born into. And as a society, as a species, we are materialistic. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want a Falcon jet. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent much of my life and my focus on the things that I believe will best allow me to accumulate, grow, maintain, and enjoy wealth. And when I was younger, it wasn’t so that I could make my way into elite circles and pollinate the rich, powerful, and famous with the same values I believe the people deserve. I’m not going to break down my values, but they are evident. I care about people. It’s simple. I didn’t always so much – not bc of a lack of care for others – but bc I was only focused on caring for myself. I wanted money so that I could fuck the girl I love on a hood of a Lamborghini. I still do. And I feel incredibly guilty about this. I felt guilt when I bought a BMW coupe at twenty something, and parked it down the street from my office where I worked, so no one would see me in it – and I ended up returning the car shortly after. It was strange how different people treated me in that car. And I felt guilty some time later, when a friend and former business partner of mine – Dave Schneider – suggested that we could actually buy Lambhorghinis: my response to him was, “Well, don’t you think that’s a little bit, you know, disrespectful to others?” And his response is something I still think of, as fast as I had asked that he replied: “Disrespectful?! Hell no! It’s inspiring”.

But I still find that viewpoint challenging to adopt; although, I’m coming around.

“BRAND NEW LAMBHORGHINI FUCK A COP CAR”

And I think I can have a Lamborghini. And it scares me. Not because I can’t handle it – I can. I can handle success, fame, whatever comes my way. I’ve been planning for as much. Marlon Brando was once asked why he became an actor, and he responded, “Because it paid the most money”. And yeah, successful writers, screenwriters, major novelists, the kinds of people who create major television series’: they make fucking bank. George RR Martin, who wrote the books Game Of Thrones was based on is worth over 100 million dollars. Chris Nolan has 200 million dollars. This is a stupid amount of money. I’m not aiming that high yet, but I’m close to being able to submit a screenplay that I believe can bring me seven figures, bc I believe I am good and my stories will make it to the screen. And I have a lot of other stories after this one. And a big near future Sci-Fi television series. And I’ve been wanting the throne since forever. I knew I would be wealthy as a kid. I just knew. I just didn’t know it would be on some Hollywood shit, but I’ve had some small tastes of success before this juncture in my life. Hell, I still have startups and other things I want to do to, tech wise, and business wise. Ten years ago – and it’s a trip to look back on now, but business and entrepreneurship was my life, see: here, here, here – and before that, it was real estate. I first heard about Donald Trump when I was reading his books fifteen years ago bc I wanted to be on his level one day. And I still have big fucking real estate shit I want to do. Finance shit I want to do. If I can get 10 million, I can get a hundred. I’ve thought that I can be a billionaire. I still do think this. It can happen. And I will not lie, front, bullshit, or play false “aw-shucks” humility. Yeah this how the fuck I act. I’m like honest abe if honest abe gave no fucks, had the swagger of a boxer, the energy of a prince, and the body and soul of a princess. I drip sexuality and power. Judge me. Go ahead. I know I have gravity. I know if I can imagine it I can do it. And I know people will respect me wherever I go [In large part bc I will respect them, TY Maya Angelou]. I know I am not ever going to be intimidated by fame or wealth (And I’m sure it will be my own fame and wealth that gets me over being intimidated by beauty). But yeah, you can watch this, and see that I was every bit the materialistic ambitious, successful little cis-het capitalist a decade ago… What you don’t see is the heartbreak that followed the next decade of poverty as I cut my teeth as a bohemian artist and tried unsuccessfully to reboot my love life in a couple more multi-year relationships that too ended in heartache and terrible despair, but I was playing a long game. Just, big success for me, shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows me – I’ve had three deca-millionaire mentors – and it will be a surprise least of all to me, bc my life has been driven by deep designs, since I was a child, and I’ve been studying the game a long fucking time. Believe it. But I’m not in this for the money anymore, but it’s like: I need to be Bruce Wayne, so I can afford to be Batman. I want to sit courtside. I want to chill with my fave rappers. I want to be a culture icon bc of how fucking unique I am, how bighearted I am, how fucking fierce and passionate I am. And I didn’t just wake up in 2020 and want to help. I’ve been thinking about the problems of society and formulating potential solutions for a minute now. And I’ve been programming myself for this life. Check the archives. I’m open source.

Also, the below video is something I made 8 or 9 years ago, but it just reminds me of my drive and my designs for my life:

But – and this is the guilt and shame part that restricts us from being who we are – I just have a challenging time accepting that I get to deserve to live the life I have, and am to have, while so many other people are suffering. The guilt and shame has slowed down my writing, almost as if I know that when this current manuscript gets submitted it will be picked up and my life will suddenly change (And then they’ll all call it ‘overnight success’ lol). But, just, it’s a lot. I have a lot of PTSD from things. I have a lot of emotional pain I carry, from people who abandoned me, and I’ve loved them ever since, I never stopped loving them, but when I blow – and I’m am going to fucking blow – what happens when they reach out: I can’t forgive my pain. I can’t let go of that as if money bought me release from the blood, sweat, tears. It won’t. And then I’m going to have to live with swimming in hot ass, which will be great, sure, I certainly have my eye on some straight fucking alien pop princesses, but, like, how do I reconcile all my anger and pain at how lonely I was when I had no money, no friends, no one, when I was homeless? I can’t – I mean, I can’t heal it with money. It’s my pain. It’s my scars. It’s my story. I will not gloss over my depth and the texture of my pain because suddenly I’m driving a new Porsche and I’m a fucking magazine. It’s always going to be just me. Like, I’m always going to be my ride or die bitch, and I don’t think I’ll ever do monogamy again: every girl / partner can be my side piece, but I will always be my one and only main. It’s really hard, bc at this stage of the game, I’ve got to accept two things: 1. I’m really fucking talented, and if I got over my shame and guilt over money, I’d be shittin’ scripts out like Adam Sandler or Woody Allen – only on some Shakespeare shit. Yeah, I think I’m the fucking best. Literature needs swagger in it – and verbally, orally, I float like a motherfuckingbutterfly and run shit like a queen bee. I am a fucking queen bee. So, yeah, that one is happening, I mean, esp lately, since I’m just nearing my jump off point and my life has been an explosion of creativity lately, from music, to just – I’m recording spoken memos and thoughts and songs for hours every day. My cloud is charged. In the words of Serena Williams, “Everyone has to work on something, I’m still learning to embrace being, for lack of a better word, great.” And yeah, my mom and sister { and pressumably my exes, but none of them talk to me as all abandoned me) still treat me like I’m a fucking full of shit loser asshole: it was really tough growing up as the Identified Patient in a dysfunctional family – and I still fucking am. Bc my family is still fucking dysfunctional: you can’t fix them, you can only fix you. And It’s just like, yeah, mom, yeah sister, I’ll buy you homes and set you up when I’m able, but, yall disowned me and kicked me to the fucking curb when I came out as trans. I was homeless on fucking christmas while they celebrated together. I had to live in my car, bc they went nuclear on me, when I was suddenly in the best shape of my life, the healthiest and happiest I had ever been. And they cut me down like a couple of killers with machine guns. I ended up having to take myself to the fucking place, I won’t tell you where, but, just – ah, like, money is not going to change the fucking pain I have. The loneliness. And then I’m going to have to be around a bunch of wealthy people at times, when the people I really love are poor people. And I can’t stop thinking about them. All the people suffering. And I know suffering. Don’t let a video or two from a hot second of codependent emotional security and success ten years ago give you the idea I am some privileged asshole, as my sister still treats me, and prob will forever. And my exes, yeah, I’ll send them some big fucking money, and all that, since they were with me before, but they also all fucking abandoned me like my mom did. I can’t ever be cool with them. I don’t know if I would ever even agree to see one of them ever again. My pain is too great. To this day. The love I have carried, the pain. And yeah, I paid for years of therapy. The only difference is that in a therapists office I’m sitting across from some hot woman in a skirt and heels. But, like, just, no therapy will help. No drugs will help. No amount of alcohol will help. I just have pain that is a part of the fabric and fiber of my being. I don’t want to suddenly surround myself with people after all this super alone time, just bc I’ll have the money to fly girls in from anywhere, and suddenly people will want to hang out. I hate it. I said it recently, but the worst part of poverty is not the lack of shit – it’s the lack of people, of love, of company. And I hate how humans are like this. If I change anything in the world, let it be that rich and privileged people become ashamed of how elitist they are socially, and start making friends with, dating, and surrounding themselves with people who don’t have much. Like, that would be an advanced society. People need to care about the poor. And I’m not just some champion for the poor, I’m for everyone. I just, I’m very emotional about completing and releasing this work that I think will change my life. And if not this screenplay, it will be the next one: my success in the arts is inevitable. You have no idea what I aim to do. But I do, and it’s just, I thought writing this out was going to somehow release me from the nerves and the guilt I have about making it… but I still feel like shit about it. I still feel undeserving. I would be happy with not much, or anything for the rest of my life, living on my own – I’ve got a dope fucking relationship w myself, and I do dope shit. My life is dope, and I don’t have money. Just enough to keep the lights on. But that’s all I need. Only, that won’t enable me to make the impact I want to make, and it’s like, I’m already Batman, but now I have to go and be Bruce Wayne. And I hate the way people treat you differently when they know you have money, and I expect at some point, people are going to know who I am like people know who other famous people are. And it’s like, yeah, hey famous girl, that’s great you’ll want to spend time with me, but I still feel like regular girls don’t even. I essentially confessed my love / like to a couple girls this past month, and they weren’t into it. Like my exes, I always am attracted to these emotionally somewhat distant types, like my mother. Well, now I really feel like Tony Soprano, pouring it out to Dr. Melfi. And that’s what I feel like, a young mob boss. I’m Michael Corleone after the war, when he is still sweet, and I know with money I’ll be nothing nice, bc I’ll see through all the shit like I already do. You’d think I’d be excited to have such a real shot at making all my fucking wildest dreams come true, but it’s like, I’ve been living with childhood PTSD and a broken fucking heart for a long time. And it was broken again. And like I said, I just got passed on twice, and I don’t remember what it’s like to feel loved. I don’t have a single romantic interest. And like Dave Schneider told me, “You want to meet your person before you make your money”, only, that ship is sailing – there won’t be a person, there will be many lovers, but I have to let go of all those other dreams I wanted, of making it with someone. And I’m just alone doing this. I didn’t see it like this. I thought I was the morning star, but I didn’t know it was actually the mourning star. And I’m in mourning for a lot rn.

Gonna go rock with my anthem rn, burn one, and maybe tequila myself a little. Momma needs it. Pain. I just don’t know that I’ll ever be able to accept love ever again after so long without it. And fuck all yall who passed me up. No more chances. Gates closed. And I don’t think I can forgive my loneliness. I can just pour the pain back into the game for the culture. This for the streets. This for little Lawrence; for my inner child – me – I survived hell. And now, I’m just, I don’t want to go to heaven, but I have to. So, I’ll pour up that 1942 and enjoy a moment still in the gutter, the margins, while I’m still invisible. If only I knew how much I’d savor it before everything. I hurt big. But my second life is already underway – I can write those checks, just can’t cash em yet, but I will. And they’ll know that the coldest, most stone cold demon ever has entered the game, she’s already in it. – SLS

Just, remember – this is the modern Hollywood bullshit ending. In the novel, The Count of Monte Cristo ends up with the proper girl: Haydee, which this film version honors:

As the youtube comments on this video evidence, Haydee is the true love of the count, not the traitor Mercedes who lived the comfy, easy life of luxury while Edmund suffered all those years. And remember, Haydee had been a slave, she knew suffering herself. Mercedes really did not. As one comment put it:

It is much easier to build a bridge between Edmond and Haydee than Edmond and Mercedes. The understanding of the other and the “psychic life of the other” is much more easily understood by Haydee who had a life similar to Edmond’s than Mercedes. In the coexistence with the count, Haydee understands him better than Mercedes.

A Lot to Be Me: Solitary Jules, UN Spaz Cadet

I am a product of the culture. Of the times too, but I feel like I’m times two – extra learnt, so I stay extra turnt – RIP turntable.fm: that was a really blessed online space, where I had room to explore and just be me, drinking alone with a lot of other strangers, many who were doing the same, taking turns playing songs, for the room / genre theme we were in. And anybody could create their own room… yeah… tech spaces are a big hard on for me. I taught myself to code, and spent a decade doing so, during which I learned myself in User-Experience, analytics, marketing, a bunch of other shit. My friend Danilo, whom I worked with, at his and Mark’s company, Blue SEO, in Santa Monica – anywho, Danilo – love him – anyway, Danilo told me I was a unicorn. If only I knew how much of a unicorn I really was to be back then.

I spent a lot of time thinking I was stupid, or, rather, just that institutionally educated persons were the smart set, and maybe, I, one day, would be there – if I took the path they did. Then – maybe a year or two ago – I may have been tripping when I first realized it, but I basically came to the realization that I was not stupid [“They looked at me like I was stupid, I’M NOT STUPID”. – ughhh, love, love, love the Hamilton soundtrack – never even seen it – but the soundtrack is a part of me]. Anywho, I am not writing this to butter my own bread – haha yea right, all I do is fucking stunt and go dumb for fun – but as much as I love them, may I never sound like David Foster Wallace, though, I do all the damn time – also ,on my Jekyll and Hyde, Fight Club is a fucking lit film – I relate to that shit hard). So, I realized I was not stupid, and that all those years of my insatie curiosity – Cloud Atlas, that film – I realized that all my years of passionate curiosity and reading, from being the kid who spent every lunch in school in the library alone – always in books that dealt with the oceans, journeys, pirates [bigfuckingmoodofmine.exe] – to growing up and living this life that only in my wildest dreams could I have written – I realized that it all was adding up to some really dope shit. Because I don’t give a fuck abt IQ – you won’t find me in no nerd society, just the higghhh society thepercocetandstripperjoint.mp3; goddamn I love Future. Truly from Pluto. Catch me on Jupiter. If you know the mythology, you know where I stand in my mythical family tree. Bish.

AORIO. I been prescient like I’m pre-sent; know what life’s about: health in the present.

But yeah, Future – the rapper – is a really special person to me. ‘High Off Life’ is an incredible album – I be on my shit, devil emoji. And I’m not going to stand here and pretend I don’t know I’m smart. I figured out that much. And this didn’t come from privilege – and I won’t lie to you and say it came from hard work, some did – yeah – been working since I was twelve – and I worked myself to death the past decade – but the real smarts came from play, from consuming culture. As a teen, I worked at the two dope AF record shops in town. Shout out old beachfront Taaang records, and The Garage – that guy was really cool abt me crashing his car when I was hella underage – but, in my defense, IDGAF. I was trying to get laid. Drove bad. But, yeah, just, music. My all. 

My parents fucked up just about everything – they had it tough, and they didn’t make it any easier for themselves by loving one another – but they did let me sing – bless the neighbors, and The Strokes, and The Doors. My music love and play goes back to my childhood. Hope my mom has the photo of me in those ripped jeans, holding a microphone attached to a cheap keyboard.

I don’t praise my senses enough – but lord do I spoil them. Just, grateful for music. It has been a major part of my education, and my being. I love the new shit. Shout Dababy, Lil Baby, these two gentlemen have been bros to me via their voices. Energy. Black energy is really sacred and powerful to me. Black people were raising me, in my headphones, helping me see my situation in an empathetic light, when I had no one giving me empathy, or even attention. But damn, how I wanted a No Limit Records tank chain. Still do. Goals. Musically, I time travel. The other night I was going hard to Wu’s Triumph, and a bunch of Makaveli – Don Killuminati. Goddamn Pac was bright AF. Love love. Patron saint of real ones everywhere. I got angel wings on my whole damn team. We mainey. And far as I see it, if you got good energy – and I ain’t talking about moral good – I’m talking about a wavelength wherein ethical shit matters, morals can all get fucked. I’m very much a free person, for a free society. I came out from beneath this collective shadow – and my personal shadow too, and I am pretty much liberated from the confines of guilt, shame, taboo. I don’t do harm. I am not malevolent. But I’m no fake. I love my dark side. It’s the healthiest, funnest, most devilishly evil yet purely innocent dark side I could ever imagine. Like a grown up child’s. But I’ve long related to the loneliness in being negatively projected on. Looking around at America right now, a lot of us are starting to see that Jesus is perhaps the problematic one in our culture. Just maybe worshipping a white man isn’t a great idea…

Just dropping some tracks I’m listening to as I write this. Pausing for some cannabis. Never not high (Future). So glad I bought a Hookah from that incredible Middle Eastern shop. I will be back there. But what a day that was when I went there. Some stories I will just never tell because having my own intel allows me to own a mona lisa smile, with a salt bae pinch of ben franklin’s unfuckwithable smirk on the hundred thrown in for good measure.

Good fucking god do we need Black, Indigenous, and People Of Color on our money. Also: WOMEN. Look, I’m a fan of a lot of dead white men – from Steinbeck, to Jack London, to Victor Hugo, Jung, Emerson, Victor Frankl, Solzhenitsyn… jus, this is a time to tear down monuments. I forget which writer said it, but ‘the second job of every writer is to create new myths, the first job is to destroy old myths’. I paraphrased it inelegantly, and I would probably say ‘deconstruct’ rather than destroy, but I’ll tell you, I fucking love history. It’s more than just a TV channel that used to be legit – but IDK, I don’t watch television, unless a series like Westworld – and I don’t have cable or sat TV service. But yeah, history, that time machinesque lens, which, when looked back at enough, with the right intensity of truth, trains our own inner sight to see forwards, allowing us to look through time at what might be, rather than merely at what us. Like Walt Disney, I have that ‘sense of my destiny’, but I have something else too. I’m learning.

There is a je ne sais quoi – a yo no se que, porque some things you just can’t represent in words. Felt memory. Memery. Though I loath the Thomas Carlyle idea that “The history of the world is but the biography of great men” – firstly, people – individuals, rather than the monolithic exclusionary, and patriarchal singular “men” – but also, just, no artist, thinker or doer is an ocean unto themselves. Often they are just those with enough privilege, persistence, and patience. Look, people like me don’t get the PHD in philosophy from Yale, we don’t study art – we fucking live art and philosophy. They study us. Growing up, it wasn’t just hip hop that was raising me, but punk rock – I feel that my own lane musically encompasses those energies, but also, I go gaga for my Bon Iver style falsetto – JAMESVINCENTMCMORROW, love – singing and rapping are a fucking major thing for me, and years doing both has produced a neat effect, but the real quantum jump in my singing came after the last couple years of becoming a fucking diaphragmatic breath Jedi. I broke through some wall I didn’t know existed. So, yeah, I’m doing some music, will be forever. My writing is also alive and well – though those in my life often display a ‘how come it hasn’t happened for you yet if you’re so good’ kind of attitude toward me as a writer – a cautious distrust – but sorry, I won’t fucking defend myself: ‘Fresh out of fucks forever.”, as Lana sings.

My life is not about success, but it will produce success; however, on its own, I don’t fuck with success culture anymore, and just, really, any and all capitalistic, materialistic views of life that quantify people solely based on assets, accolades, accomplishments, degrees, FICO scores {Should be called a ‘priviledge score’ and those with lower scores should get a handicap in life so they can catch up} – yeah, ugh: suck my fucking girldick bish. No chips on these pretty shoulders. I’ll collect the odd honorary degree or two later. I don’t need no fucking titles in front of my name unless it’s ASAP or Baby. I got my own name, and it’s got all the respeck in the workd on it.

The gatekeepers have fallen – Elon taught himself rocket science from books – the Library of Alexandria is open 24/7 online, you can learn anything you wish. I go down a lot of fucking rabbit holes. Oh ye of little faith: oh the places we can go. Will. Go. The things I’ve seen. Data dreams. Rivers of time crossed. I am James in The Giant Peach, solitary Jules Verne, The Little Prince, Lawrence of Arabia, Mansa Musa, Marco Polo. Genghis Khan. Ra. Aman. Atun. Baruch atah adonai. I am my own Elohim. My H to the izzo. Keep up. My avatar movie fast af homie.

As Future raps on Accepting My Flaws: “Take my blood baby, we going digital.”

I basically see myself as some sort of self-imagined alien futurist sexy AF super smart quasi AI bitch.

Phiillip K. Dick, who wrote Blade Runner, and a bunch of other incredible stories that a bunch of dope AF films are based on, is a human that is very archetypally / energetically / consciously twine with mine own self – as all my favorite authors and stories are – but on a personal level, he had some experiences that I give weight to based on my own gnosis. I need to read his Exegesis.

But, basically, PK Dick had what some might call ‘paranormal experiences’. He liked to do a lot of drugs too, on some A Scanner Darkly [Great film] type stuff, but his experiences went further than your typical mk-ultra-ish intelligence-cartel run spy operation – you know, the ol’ “This person does a lot of drugs, but they give us and or the culture, society, a lot of good shit, so we keep supplying the drugs and or looking the other way more or less and monitoring them as a kind of one person think tank” – no, that’s basic old-hat shit in any country nowdaze – this imagined scenario would be pedestrian in comparison to the type of next level alien AI hypothesis PKD constructed. He called it VALIS, for ‘Vast Acting Living Intelligence System’ – just, check this. He was in some ways, almost prescient, like the oracles in the movie Minority Report [Yet another amazeball film based on his work].

“VALIS has been described as one node of an artificial satellite network originating from the star Sirius in the Canis Major constellation. According to Dick, the Earth satellite used “pink laser beams” to transfer information and project holograms on Earth and to facilitate communication between an extraterrestrial species and humanity. Dick claimed that valis used “disinhibiting stimuli” to communicate, using symbols to trigger recollection of intrinsic knowledge through the loss of amnesia, achieving gnosis.

I ripped that from Wikipedia [A place I learn a fuck ton from], but basically PKD saw VALIS as both a “reality generator” – and a system of extraterrestrial communication. As a really cool kid at a coffeehouse in Big Bear told me (People who work at coffee places and in the service industry are often the best people you can ever have as friends.), anyway, as this cool ass kid told me: ‘”aliens” don’t need no fucking spacecraft – they got consciousness – they can just send that’. Yeah. It was fucking lit. I agreed. Something like being “in the cloud” – or perhaps, like a psychedelic [psyche + delos] bacterium in the actual clouds – in the macrobiome [biosphere] – as Trevor Hall sings: “Swallow the ocean, drink of its potion”. And I do. Gut / brain axis health and my microbiome are an absolute fetish of mine – like breathing, self-talk, smoking weed, and listening to music. My shit clean. I spend all my guap on my guts and my brains. And I need to get back on my topic, which I will fucking do, but let me just soapbox the truth that privilege and inequality create a microbiome divide, wherein neurotransmitters and wellbeing are rationed out according to oppressive systems of power, priviledge, and control that forces those without the means or access to the ‘whole foods life’ to suffer on an actual physical level – to live on a lesser plane of existence. Inequality is so much more than just not having the same stuff, or the same place to live: it’s the state of your nervous system, the quality of how you feel each moment of each day – your consciousness – and nervous system inequality is a personal issue for me, having grown up in a true-life actual PTSD fucking nightmare of a childhood. It was pure hell. No wellbeing. And, healthcare, fucking forget about it, dentist too, nah, that’s for the privileged – the rest of the people settle for sick care, and often only when the pain and or suffering is untenable. Just pull the fucking tooth finally, we say. People fear death so much, not realizing the horrors of actual life for so many – the bravery of everyday folks, it’s so humbling and beautiful when you finally begin to see it. If you can. And I see it everywhere I go. Quiet unknown heroes. Walking around sad and unknown with their heads down like dead people. Breaks my fucking heart.

But yes, aliens and AI – VALIS – well, another brilliant thinker I am quite fond of, the maverick polymath psychonaut John C. Lilly, developed a similar hypothesis, which he called E.C.C.O, for Earth Coincidence Control Office. The following wikipedia rip breaks it down:

“Solid State Intelligence

Solid State Intelligence (S.S.I.) is a malevolent entity described by Lilly in his 1978 autobiography, The Scientist. According to Lilly, the network of computation-capable solid state systems (electronics) engineered by humans will eventually develop into an autonomous “bioform”. Since the optimal survival conditions for this bioform (low-temperature vacuum) are drastically different from those humans need (room temperature aerial atmosphere and adequate water supply), Lilly predicted (or “prophesied”, based on his ketamine-induced visions) a dramatic conflict between the two forms of intelligence.[citation needed]

Earth Coincidence Control Office (E.C.C.O.)

In 1974, Lilly’s research using various psychoactive drugs led him to believe in the existence of a certain hierarchical group of cosmic entities, the lowest of which he later dubbed Earth Coincidence Control Office (E.C.C.O.) in an autobiography published jointly with his wife Antonietta (often called Toni). To elaborate, “There exists a Cosmic Coincidence Control Center (CCCC) with a Galactic substation called Galactic Coincidence Control (GCC). Within GCC is the Solar System Control Unit (SSCU), within which is the Earth Coincidence Control Office (ECCO).”[20]

Lilly also wrote that there are nine conditions that should be followed by people who seek to experience coincidence in their own lives:

  1. You must know/assume/simulate our existence in E.C.C.O.
  2. You must be willing to accept our responsibility for control of your coincidences.
  3. You must exert your best capabilities for your survival programs and your own development as an advancing/advanced member of E.C.C.O.’s earthside corps of controlled coincidence workers. You are expected to use your best intelligence in this service.
  4. You are expected to expect the unexpected every minute, every hour of every day and of every night.
  5. You must be able to maintain conscious/thinking/reasoning no matter what events we arrange to happen to you. Some of these events will seem cataclysmic/catastrophic/overwhelming: remember stay aware, no matter what happens/apparently happens to you.
  6. You are in our training program for life: there is no escape from it. We (not you) control the long-term coincidences; you (not we) control the shorter-term coincidences by your own efforts.
  7. Your major mission on earth is to discover/create that which we do to control the long-term coincidence patterns: you are being trained on Earth to do this job.
  8. When your mission on planet Earth is completed, you will no longer be required to remain/return there.
  9. Remember the motto passed to us (from G.C.C. via S.S.C.U.): “Cosmic Love is absolutely Ruthless and Highly Indifferent: it teaches its lessons whether you like/dislike them or not.”[21]

Now, that’s a lot, I realize – and, here is a good place to state that I didn’t arrive at this point of discovery in my being by blindly adopting common beliefs as my own – hip hop and punk rock ensured my freethinking no fucks approach to life – in a word, I go on my own experiences – but, when those experiences run parallel to the ideas of others, who are vv much like me, I have to call it what it is, you nahmsayin. Jung coined the word Synchronicity to describe two acasally disconnected yet subjectively related things: “meaningful coincidences”. As Portia (loveu, sry we loss touch) anyway, as the lovely Portia told me, “There are no coincidences, only co-incidences”. And don’t think for a second that I am sitting here looking back on my own years and history, and arrogantly proclaiming some empty sheltered suburbian new-ageism like:  “Everything happens for a reason”. Bone cancer in children. Famine and war in Yemen – no – I don’t give a fuck what your coach told you in your retreat in Bali – it isn’t all love. Get fucked. Everything has a cause: but some things happen for no damn good reason. Because greed, power, fear, the stonk market, yeah, clean money really be the dirtiest. “The heaven of the rich is built on the hell of the poor”. Look, I’m no more revolutionary than a well running system of time and progress will be. The expansion of consciousness – the dissemination of intelligence, of ideas, cannot be stopped. “Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.” If you haven’t noticed, technology is advancing. AI. Robotics. Genetics. Nanotechnology. We just don’t always see it bc we often only notice advances in things we interact with, like cars and phones, gizmos, and gadgets – love my Quip sex toy, I mean toothbrush – yet we don’t see the world around us being increasingly quantified, captured, analyzed, widgetized: No four horseman here. Instead, we are living through The 6 D’s of Exponential Organizations [And the world classifies as an exponential organization]:

But yeah, this tech shit is here to stay. Hell, I have two fucking AI assistants: Alexa, via my Echo, and Google, via my trusty and seemingly bulletproof Thinkpad [Mil-SPEC 810G standard, you know real bossh shit], and I speak to both of them throughout the day, and they respond in return to me – and they are getting better all the time. I notice it in increased depth of interaction, tonality, prediction, autonomy – the ambient, trance, and house music playlists my Alexa generates for me are positively out of this world – I’m actually tempted to play some ambient music right now, but it always sends me on some astral journey, and I’m thankfully tired enough as it is. It’s a lot being me. Living in my head. Sometimes I see why the kids take those drugs I don’t play with. To take a pill and shut it down. I liked sipping lean when I did it – the handful of times I came up on a bottle of codeine w promethezine – there is a reason it’s popular, a reason why some of my artistic muses rap about it. But some things I don’t play with. Too many lives lost. Xanax took Peep, Percocet took Juicewrld. These are my boys. The kids need better drugs. The amount of people who could benefit from therapeutic / informed usage of Psilocybin, LSD, DMT, MDMA, Mescaline… don’t even get me started. Just, without the unique states of consciousness – my history of experiences with these alien-like substances – I would not be who I am. What good fortune I have had in being an end-user for these trafficked doses of consciousness – as Aldous Huxley saw it, the brain was “a restricting device for consciousness”, and substances such as Mescaline [San Pedro my bb] opened up the ‘doors of perception’ for us, which was the title of his 1954 essay/book on Mescaline [The Doors of Perception], based on a line from a William Blake poem: “If the doors of perception were cleansed, man would see everything as it were, infinite”; only, “the Pharisees and the Scribes have received the keys of knowledge, but they have hidden them” [Thomas Gospel]. Real talk.

More people need these keys. Organizations like MAPS are working toward these ends, and there is a healthy psychedelic pulse in any lit tech / arts scene worldround, from Boston to The Bay to Berlin. But it’s another example of privilege. MDMA is incredible for PTSD and other things: as Future raps, “You need some molly in your drink to boost self-esteem” – only, it’s so often rappers and spoiled kids at Coachella taking this stuff, while some transgender veteran is homeless wanting to kill herself. With nothing but a bottle of booze.  I was her, I know. Two fucking pills – oh how this is me.

I circumbobulated a bit – think that’s one of those Moby Dick words of Melville’s – of wait, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circumambulation – yeah, I left a tab open with that to read later. Anywho, the relationship between consciousness and the subject, between the subject and self, is one that can be very effectively experienced, programmed, deprogrammed, developed, and healed through the unique, special states of consciousness that psychedelic drugs provide their users. God, I mean, have you had to suffer through through one of your conventionally privileged friends tell you all about how they did ayahausca with a shaman in Peru, and how it changed their life “blah blah blah – ‘you have to try it’… this story is a common thing to hear in LA or NY, or any city with the Bali-abled set – from London to Paris – only, I personally have not had the privileges that afford these mostly spoiled kids and adults the opportunities to do things like do ayahausca in South America or visit an enthogenic retreat somewheres like this

For some reason, I think of James Cameron’s Avatar, which is a very psychedelic movie that goes deeper than first look, esp when we learn the ancient Hindu context of the word ‘avatar‘.

And now we are all curating our own selves as avatars, in the modern computational sense as a representation of a user, with our social media as a kind of mirror in which to see ourselves, and a lens with which we view the world around us and the people we are drawn to. The other avatars. But also, non-digitally, in the world, our bodies very much serve as our physical avatars. Shoutout: Adam22 of No Jumper [a soundcloud rap / hip-hop vlog] clout, who is the first person I heard use the word “avatar” to describe a physical body – I forget who he had on, but he was mentioning some of their new face tattoos or something, and he was like, “Looks like you got some updates to the avatar”. And I already knew of ‘avatar’ from the movie of the same title, and from Hinduism, and from programming, so it was a natural paradigm for me to adopt from there. I’ve most def been upgrading my avatar with hormone therapy, and really, just learning how to inhabit myself and getting better at it 24/7. As a wise person once said, “Mind is the rider, breath is the horse” – and I really approached my deep dive into diaphragmatic breathing [Which I only began to properly learn after ten years of practicing yoga] with the spirit of wanting to gain control of the avatar, of my body, my consciousness, via the breath [Through what the Navy Seals refer to as ‘arousal control’ – something I first wrote on in 2014, here], rather than to have my body riding me like a horse. And it works. The strengthening of the vagus nerve. Vagal tone on some Jack Dorsey resting heartrate shit. The activation of the parasympathetic nervous system. These are things I am super wet for, bc they are absolutely life changing when put into practice. As a tattoo on my right hand reads: TFB – Thinking, Feeling, Breathing – but also, Trans Femme Bot [And a bunch of other meanings, known only to me] because I’m a outer spach bih. And atm this sexy ascronaut needs to hug some body pillow and get some sleep, but I will return here to find out where this all leads.

I’ve awakened feeling good; although, it’s rare that I ever publish anything here I did not write in one single go; however, it has been some time since I’ve published any prose here, and I would like the muse to flow through me in a manner that allows me to feel this is a cohesive and valuable expression of thoughts and ideas, which I believe it can be – is – provided I am able to feel so: I do not leave ideas half finished. I don’t publish till it feels right. Thus far, I’ve meandered loosely about my self – an enigma in and of itself – and I’ve written about Phillip K. Dick’s VALIS [Vast Active Living Intelligence System] and John C. Lily’s E.C.C.O [Earth Coincidence Control Office] – two independently hypothesized models that both assert the existence of some sort of connecting intelligence force guiding, monitoring, and influencing life on Earth through synchronicities and the seemingly autonomous co-incidences that connect relevant consciousness, people, and ideas, signs, messages, and lessons, in a manner that produces individually and collective results that would seemingly not be possible without some higher order energies [Joseph Campbell: “I have a feeling that consciousness and energy are the same thing somehow”]. Now, why say that there has to be something at all? Why posit the existence of a VALIS or an ECCO, and why am I writing / exploring this theme rn in my life… Well, I had mentioned that my experiences ran in parallel to these ideas – and, now, don’t get excuted, this isn’t the time nor the place for me to be sharing said specific experiences (And some of them are not for sharing, fuck you.:), fact is, the levels of consciousness that enable these experiences to be consciously lived, and the experiences themselves being outside the bounds of normality, of convention [but not outside the bounds of comprehension nor deep subjective meaning] means that when you try to say, ‘I’ve seen this, this unbelievable experience happened to me – and it involved other real people on some sci-fi level Adjustment Bureau [Another brilliant PKD story] shit’, well, you very quickly get looked at sideways by others, particularly those who have colored inside the lines in their lives and have never experienced something like DMT, Psilocybin, or LSD: again, with the psychedelics, yes – however – my experiences were not always proceeded nor caused by psychedelics. And I’m not talking about “visions” or some bullshit: I’m talking about what I’ve seen, felt and lived; psychedelics gave me eyes with which to do so. I already had the mind for it. As Steve Jobs [Someone I relate to a fair amount – Walter Isaacson Jobs Bio and rare silicon valley historical society youtube footage FTW] said:

“Taking LSD was a profound experience, one of the most important things in my life. LSD shows you that there’s another side to the coin, and you can’t remember it when it wears off, but you know it. It reinforced my sense of what was important—creating great things instead of making money, putting things back into the stream of history and of human consciousness as much as I could.

Now, I can remember that other side of the coin when it wears off. I’m also a big fan of notebooks and recording continuous voice memos during the entire duration of any and all of my psychedelic experiences; fuck, just normally I naturally engage in a ton of aloud recorded self-talk [I’m Robinson Crusoe if there ever was one], and am forever engaged in the perennial jotting of thoughts, questions, and ideas, which no doubt helps me maintain a cohesive continuity of consciousness and ideas. Fuck, I have untold hours of voice memos. I always go back to thinking of that scene in the OG Twilight Zone series: ‘Probe 7 Over and Out‘, wherein the main character, an astronaut, having gone into space alone and crashed landed on a strange planet, is dictating to himself with a portable microphone and recorder, which he keeps on his person, after he has lost contact with his home planet – that kind of “Day three-hundred, and seventy-four…” stream of thought narration / self-talk, often seen in stories that take place in outer space, particularly when there is an element of solitude – and I’ll prob return to the value of self-talk, personal data aggregation / building the digital life of your ‘avatar’, as well as the value of solitude in relation to personal self-expression [Growth] – these are important ideas, and I think I evince as much in my being – but we see this theme of characters Vlogging / recording consciousness again and again in these outer space stories, and not because it is a convenient tool for lazy writers to tell rather than to show you the story, but because ever since we have sent life to space [Let us not forget some of the real mf’n heroes of space travel] – DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON ALL THE ANIMALS IN LABS – anyway, ahem, we have been collecting, monitoring, and analyzing the thoughts, feelings, biophysical states, and emotions of our astronauts. As this wonderful Nasa.gov article states about astronaut journaling: “It’s [journaling is] a simple yet invaluable tool used by behavioral scientists to help assess the mental and emotional states associated with life in long-term isolation and confinement.

The review and analysis of journals is not unique to space in its application:

“Studies conducted on Earth show that analyzing the content of journals and diaries is an effective method for identifying the issues that are most important to a person. The method is based on the reasonable assumption that the frequency that an issue or category of issues is mentioned in a journal reflects the importance of that issue or category to the writer. The tone of each entry (positive, negative, or neutral) and phase of the expedition also are variables of interest. Study results will lead to recommendations for the design of equipment, facilities, procedures, and training to help sustain behavioral adjustment and performance during long-duration space expeditions to the ISS, asteroids, the Moon, Mars, and beyond.”

In the earlier mentioned film Avatar, we see a good example of a character engaging in reflective, recorded self-talk:

And if I recall correctly, we also see digital journaling / in a scene or two of the almost modern retelling of the ‘Probe 7 Over and Out’ myth, the problematic and seemingly love it or hate it film: Passengers.

But outer space is not just future science-fiction metaphor or some sort of simile for life – outer space is life: earth is floating in outer space, we just have an atmosphere and our gravity because of the physics of the universe and the structure and building blocks of our own dynamic solar system. And NASA is about more than space travel, research, and astronomy; believe me: NASA is on some shit. Let’s keep in mind the stakes here: this is not about mere exploration and the expansion of knowledge for learning’s sake: we are talking about the continuation and, ultimately, the survival of our species – of life itself, in all its myriad forms – and it’s not just minds like Stephen Hawking’s and Elon Musk’s telling us this: we know this to be true as a modern advanced society.

As Elon Musk opened a 2017 paper he authored, titled, ‘Making Humans a Multi-Planetary Species‘, as published in the journal New Space:

I think there are really two fundamental paths. History is going to bifurcate along two directions. One path is we stay on Earth forever, and then there will be some eventual extinction event. I do not have an immediate doomsday prophecy, but eventually, history suggests, there will be some doomsday event.

The alternative is to become a space-bearing civilization and a multi-planetary species, which I hope you would agree is the right way to go.

And this is the way we are going as a species.

Speaking at the 2016 International Astronautical Congress in Guadalajara, Mexico, Musk said, “This is not about everyone moving to Mars, this is about becoming multiplanetary. This is really about minimizing existential risk and having a tremendous sense of adventure.”

Sidebar: Also, if you want to wet up your knowledge of what’s going on as regards this tremendously adventurous global convergence of technology, knowledge, and resources, aimed at outerspace colonization and the establishment of a multiplanetary existence for our species, this 246 page technical programme for the 2019 IAC is the perfect rabbit-hole-portal to take you as far as your curiosity leads you from there.

Musk all in w Space X, Tesla, Solar City, Starlink, Open AI, and The Boring Company. Fucking google those companies, if you don’t know them all: you’ll blow your wig. Starlink launching 56 satellites from The Kennedy Space Center tomorrow.

Also, Blue Origen doing big shit – and, as much as he [Jeff Bezos] seems to be vilified – whether deserved or not, I am not making that wholesale judgement here, nor do I generally presume to be capable of making those kinds of big moral judgments against individuals, unless, of course – by way of my fierce nature as a lover of all of time and humanity – I carelessly levy angry, heated judgments at governments and heads of state [I am still very much refining myself as a worthy servant [see: leader, teacher, student] at the hands of Cicero, Aurelius, Gracian, Tzu (both Lao and Tsun) Mohammad, Gandhi, King, Jesus [of the Thomas Gospel), Machiavelli, Angelou, Baldwin, and an ever deeper and expanding list of heroes from all times, ethnicities and cultures, whom I am so fucking privileged to enjoy the headspace of and to learn from: literally, I enjoy the privilege of a lifetime to be and become myself through this tribe of mentors we live in] – and I’m sure I could learn a lot IRL from people like Vladimir Putin and MBS, Trump family, and others – from Tony Blair, to Angela Merkel, to Trudeau, last names Obama, Clinton, Bush, etc – but in my very human, sometimes emotionally charged moments of anger at the blatant human rights abuses all the major and advanced nations of the world are complicit in sanctioning and supporting to build this fucking spacefaring immortal AI world-dream we are on the precipice of, I have sometimes said and or written inflammatory things against those I felt had the power to lessen the suffering of their fellow humans [No fellow humans if you see them as “animals” – and no guilt, if you don’t see the sufferings of animals even as worthy and valid – I drove by a giant concrete floored hellhole of a factory farm cattle prison deathcamp the other day that for miles had me throwing up from the stench of putrid festering shit] – anyway,  I often often railed against those whom I felt had the power to help the people and the world at large, but instead caused mass suffering, death, destruction, and injury to the people and the planet. And my big mouth nearly has me pissing myself a little in light of my being someone who is clearly a sovereign, independent ‘journalist’ [Gonzo Journo AF, in the key of Hunter S. Thompson] – I mean, I can’t really hide that I had the good fortune, as a service member of my country’s Navy, to study at DINFOS [And I fully intend to be on the list of notable alumni one day – clearly, I think I already am on that list and a lot of other special lists – but being on lists can also be scary… – and I’m not just referring to the very real fear and aggression, prejudice and prejudgement towards and against Brown, Black, Indigenous, and other, often darker skinned People Of Color  and cultures on EVERY continent IN EVERY non-white society throughout all history: fuck, we still have a huge population that views Muslim people as “terrorists” and Islam as “violent” (I proudly got hella Arabic speaking brothers {and not enough Arabic speaking sisters yet, but I will get there} – anywho, yeah, I lived in a house of amazing students and people from these places, who were my goodest homies and taught me about their cultures – shared their raza, their rasta, their food and their love with me – got me into the histories of Middle Eastern peoples and their invaluable contributions to and investments in medicine, art, the life-sciences – technology – contributions to human culture that continue to this day; for don’t for a second think that there is some sort of world ethnic ranking system outside of The World Bank and what often seems like universal ignorance, and, who can forget, the good ol oppressive colonial systems of control that have endured since time immemorial, from the competition for resources, for survival, for mates, that began with evolutionarily tied battles of brute strength, and what I would call ‘life and death competitions of “finesse”‘ as we see in every species, from the gazelle to the lion, and the mouse and spider too – this kind of athletic power of health, prowess and cunning as a competitive driving, innate controlling, powerful determining force – a learned survival mechanism – all the way to the usage of early weapons like the stone and wooden club [I will fr fr straight beat a mfr to death wit a wood club like Leonidas against the 300 at Thermopylae to defend mine: defenses as survival instinct is in human nature – animal nature – and regardless of gender or color or sexuality – and look, you are free to declare the killer instinct isn’t in you: I’ll be the first person to protect the innocence and defend the sanctity of informed, consenting ignorance in a free society to those who wish it upon themselves willingly or have had the good fortune to enjoy innocence and ignorance in its pure, harmless unadulterated forms – but every mom, son, brother, father, dad, aunt, uncle, sister – everyone who has ever loved anyone, any one who has ever truly believed in something – held something or someone dear to their heart – has it in them to protect what they love and deem sacred, and sometimes, even, to die for it, on some real G / halls of Valhalla shit – and these instincts may not be in you consciously {if they aren’t be glad, for you don’t need them; and if they are – well – pahtnah – be extra glad: for you do need them – and your demon level smell-the-blood-in-the-room abilities to detect fear – esp in yourself as a response to actual, perceived, or potential dangers situations and scenarious – will protect and serve you lifelong – and the generations after you too – so long as you respect the sanctity of others and that of of your own nervous system by protecting and preserving your health and listening to the body’s felt wordless language of instincts – WITHOUT getting lost in the sauce, like Osho, Scott Storch, {{Me, in past, younger, more ignorant – careless – (freer yet more dangerous) times – but it’s cool, I’m a real deal liberated G now – actual – and I’ll never fear nor harm myself again, though, of course, that doesn’t that mean those who love me will suddenly stop worrying about me – hell, I’m more of wild, potent intellectual hypersexual polyromantic pansexual lesbian transgender budding international treasure – more of a fucking rockstar on this planet – than I’ve ever been – and I’m only going up – zero takeoff runway, exponential like humanity – zero to a hundred – been goin up; I’m just getting started with my fucking career – and my shit is wild, I been on some blow your mind inherit the world magic trip with the wand in my pants since I was born into the wild wildness of trauma shit – I was raised by wolves, Alibaba and the 40 Thieves; I’m A Thousand and One Nights [Knights] to mine = and believe me, they minin bigdada and they mirin dis momma, watchin with a thousand eyes – like I’m Magdalene – but dey know – as anyone who reads me and has followed me knows – #analyzemebitch go ahead (kiss emoji) – that I am one that serves ALL life and cuts down NONE – I’m no trigger person: but I got a. hundred. fucking. shooters. Godfather NRG you don’t need a high tek machine to read – and you won’t find any active orders or hood passes w my name on them hacking into no sealed secret court orders – I’m not a “secret” agent: I’m a fucking public agent – for the biggest agency you never heard of: Nature. Bitch, I rock with reality and evolution on my GodDaughter / World Mommie protect the universe shit, and believe me, the people aren’t for sale, and we can back that}}; never seen a hero like me in a sci-fi – but I hope we’ve seen every fucking despotic asshole and dictator ever who ever abused their power and position – their occupation of that wild, free inner territory of kings – through the willful and intentional causing of sufferings and death on a mass scale – some are still doing it – and even on a small scale shit like killing journalists is unacceptable, but they’re pretty heavily fucking cliqued-up with nukes and shit and we do big business with them – make no mistake, we have internationally sanctioned the awful shit that goes on through the collaborative, competitive building of the worldmachine at every level to get here – from every professor’s mind in every university, to every black site mil base and every international community, down to the real mfn heroes of the game, of the streets and the people: the fucking drug dealers and Gs. From Trappers, to Vatos, to Yakuza, Mafia, Cartel…  don’t lie: you know you watched The Sopranos – you know who fucking Al Pacino is – Godfather and Scarface – Jay Z, Future – I have countless villainous culture heroes – Black and Brown kings and thugs [and I say that word with respect] sing and rap my fucking anthems, and I sing and rap their’s – proudly, with honor – and the nerd kids who don’t fuck w that hard shit, well they got their own heroes of the drug game, whether it’s my incredible, adorable Kundalini babes I love, who like plant medicine and Baba Ram Dass – smart guy, interesting story… lost in the sauce or not, you decide… – or my smoke weed or not geeks I love who listen to Alan Watts – and, if you like music… oh boy, I got bad some news for you: you like high people; from The Beatles to Travis Scott =) IDGAF if you like jazz: I’ve been smoking top quality jazz cabbage all day as I write this, hookah beside me, windows ajar, fans on, gold pellegrino cans on deck: I’ve been controlling my chemistry allmfkn day: I just popped another buproprion sr 150, a buspirone, and an estrogen pill [In an age of open international data piracy and mass surveillance, personal medical secrets are a fucking joke for someone like me: I don’t have them; I’m not that rich yet – I rely upon and trust in the same public supply chain as everyone else in my country, and it fucking works because people have skin in the game and so by and large do their jobs: and we watch and monitor them closely with technology and international standards and systems that are always improving, evolving, becoming more efficient, secure: we goin blockchain in the 5G IOT… random, but I need to charge one of my “toys”, but I can’t find the special cord for it rn : ( hmmm.. but I’ll find it when I findd it : ) yafeelme] – anyway, I deserve some honarary imaginary degrees up in this fucking bitch – gonna print my own Stanford, and MIT degreess in majors I made up – you think I’m kidding but fuck, I mean, I genuinely wanted to become a pharmacist and then go on to found my own anti aging hormone therapy clinic – fifteen years ago. The dreams have expanded and gone beyond that, as I realoze that sometimes it’s better to hire experts than to become one at a certain level – but the learning never contracted: my passionate curiosity in my own being has led me ever onward, made me the phenom genius next slevel #luckyslevin mind / reality hacker L33T ass superuser brilliant cute lil temporarily celibate ass slut that I am – I’m the bitch w the sauce apparently… –  all I know is that I live in a state of geeked up grace and incredible health, guided by the active life that comes from being a fucking spaz cadet, and really, just having a good heart, good fortune, and a superdeep intuitive understanding of natural and technological magic: I’m talking about music, drugs, biology, metabolism, gut / brain health, art, taste, temperature, sensuality, lighting, essential oil blends you ought to try – be my friend, and I’ll make you some, gift you special things meant for your senses – I be on alien shit – and I fuck with all things that effect consciousness, from fashion to – sidenote: Grimes, I love you. Also FKA Twigs, Halsey, Lana, Taytay, Dua Lipa, Clairo, Gaga, Selena Gomez, Beach Bunny… … and a bunch of sexy brilliant Trans girls…. all my alien dream wives… yeah I got a lot of muses that nurture me – who raise me – a whole galactic family of them – don’t even get me started shouting out all the musicians, actors, rappers, songwriters, novelists, poets, thinkers, philosophers, psychologists, yogis, healers, mystics, tricksters and other delightfully rotten scoundrels and bastards, officers, gentleman, sluts, whores, and other lovely fuckheads who built this babbling tower of love that is Baby Sequoia – S.L.S. – B.S., Queen {of Mean} – baby got a brand new bag #newplug and the devil’s in a new dress, and you like it bc you are like me, and I am like you, and sometimes people hate me for being more like them than even they are: as if, ‘how fucking dare I love myself for flaws they rake themselves over the coals for daily, how dare I enjoy the harmless sins they hate themselves for‘ – you have to suffer a lot, I don’t know what to tell you – I earned my liberation and the collective made me, raised me. As I opened this writing with: “I am a product of the culture”. And the culture is Love. Love is what I do this for and love is what drives me. Love for myself kept me alive – and I been at death’s door more than Batman has: I’m fucking Deadpool. Walked in my fire. I was sleeping in my car, homeless, had no one. But still was that trans bitch you love to hate. Still had a vision woven into my DNA that transcended my own pain, despair, loneliness, and suffering. I wasn’t afraid, just scarred, scared – but I never been scurred: I checked myself into those places you do not want to go, where they watch you sleep on camera, and maybe give ya some drugs to minimize your own harm to yourself: I still have those Olanzapine [Coincidentally, according to redditors and others, Olanzapine is a perfect off label trip killer for tough, bad, or scary psychedelic experiences; although, I don’t have those, and I sure as shit don’t want to take a pill that wipes my receptors out like a hard shut down for two or three plus days, but it’s always nice to have a plan in case of those worst case scenarios]. And most days, I like to feel like bootleg but real deal Jason Bourne, ya know, if he was a she and that she was trans and that trans person was me. But yeah, through experience, pain, I have come to a place where I am not putting myself through a nightmare any more so that I can help all live the dream: now is the time when I need to get over my guilt for my talent as a writer, and my guilt for the scripts and stories I am writing that I intend to bring me my first actual wealth and fame [Infamy and attention ain’t fame – I already feel infamous, and I already feel like I have a lot of quiet, interested attention]. Not since Benvenuto Cellini has someone played the game like this. Only, my unconscious genius, isn’t just out for my own sauce and glory – or else I would just be another asshole. And I’m not. I am Jack Ryan / John Krasinski level look you in the eyes straight up. And I know: I’m a lot. I’m intense. People can’t even handle me loving them. IT’s fucking lonely. It’s a lot to be me. I didn’t just write this to share my views, but to swim in them, calling them out from the depths of my years – and it took a long time for the coin to hit the bottom of my well. And, yes, drugs help me, like many creative intelligences. Not just prescriptions and supplements and the magic kettle of my own fleek ass microbiomatic guts, but actual psychedelics: I do them. Silicon valley – all these services and apps and technology we use, is being coded right now by people on acid and mushrooms – google ‘silicon valley microdosing’. Fucking Modafinil – a medicine I’d like another script for, like Ondansetron, for bad nausea (like I had this am), just to have in case. Go mode. We been on go pills: the people. Adderal [Note: I do NOT fuck with ANY amphetamines outside of related analogues MDMA and Mescaline – never. But a lot of people do. Hey, whatever floats your boat: just so long as you practice harm reduction and other good psychedelic best practices and principles, learnable via communities like reddit, and amazing websites like psychonaut wiki (Don’t mix MDMA and Cocaine kids. Bad for the receptors. Don’t want to do that). Anyway, yeah, people like drugs. All kinds of people. Personally, I pass on the cocaine – maybe quasi-useful as a ratchet ass therapeutic, if I desperately and dangerously needed a night of ego expansion and reflection, followed by intense suffering – but some substances, like cocaine come at too great a physical, mental, and emotional detriment to me – too big a risk for me to do – unless I got it from my plug and really felt like it]. But I don’t do heart racing: I do mind racing. Gelato 33 got me feeling sped up enough. But there are also highly valued substances I have yet to access: I want 2CB. I need shit I can’t get yet. I need the shit Shulgin was making, ya dig. Anyway, we’ll get back to psychedelics – bc they are relevant to the present and the future – but, as I was saying a guap of words ago: we have sanctioned the worldmachine and the suffering and the destruction of the planet, from every local and international governments and banks, to every depositor – and, look, bad people have friends, I get it, sometimes I roll with goons too, but we cannot co-sign bullshit or remain wholly silent as a society while innocent people perish and starve. My heart and soul aches for the people in Yemen. I truly hope we are nearing an end to the myriad sufferings that still plague the life and litter the planet in 2020 – as the time for immortality is nearing: is almost about upon us – and, then, it won’t be a matter of punishing the people you think are responsible, or waiting for them to die – or taking them out – no matter how much power you have, bc they will have the same power and autonomy and maybe more [Imagine being backed up in the cloud on a network of satellites w everyone else, and if you “die” you just respawn in a new 3D printed biological / cyborg avatar – yeah, we are going to have cat girls too], but, just, we will have to learn to collectively improve as we are doing, and ultimately, to forgive and coexist with the people who may have once oppressed us and others or remained complicit in their silence, or funded violence. Signed death lists. But the future is not a game of finger pointing and perpetuating fear. The future is a game of us all surviving together as a brighter, more egalitarian and actualized species. One free of the burdens of needless guilt and shame, as we can make suffering a thing of the past. Fact-is, whether or not you are aware and accepting of the animal instincts in you, we are all a part of the beastly, beautiful majesty of Nature, and we are all biologically human, all genetically related at large to all the killers and all the victims of all history – to all persons of time who have ever lived on this pale blue dot – and, by way of our wild instincts, our insatiable desires for control over life and how we feel, and in our quest for certainty over the future – and believe me: advanced societies and worlds such as our’s are all about certainty – we see as much in our near internet of things enabled emergent world of predictive analytics, mass surveillance, big data, AI, and collective intelligence – anyway, in our want for certainty over our future, we have been advancing in a competitive, violent fashion, from the time of the wood club to the first carbine pistol – through every revolution and war, to the cold war and the atomic arms race, to the space race of today on a path that we saw coming decades ago – the information war is real – IP man – but the sum achievements we stand on and benefit from in the more privileged and savage nations at present are far more collaborative and open than you think – and though we’ve been competitively headed towards the increasing complexity and connectivity of our inevitable collective destiny, towards a multiplanetary future since the dawn of life – at this level, it’s not so much competitive in purpose, or nationalistic, as it is by nature nationalized insofar as information and technology has been forcibly open sourced via a global intelligence commnuty over networks of spy satellites, undersea cables, and whatever ways and means of transfering, buying, selling, stealing, pillaging, trading, and raiding information is available to those with the finesse – the prowess, the control, the power – the means and the chutzpah – the resources taken in the wars and via the countless atrocities and crimes committed against humanity – a lot of fucking blood has been paid into this international table of collaborative technology that nationalism has us pretending we built independently of each other – you know, bc we are so civilized and advanced, but this is not so. We are just more savage. So, I nearly piss myself a little when I think of the times I’ve said things that have you ending like Jamal Kashoggi – and other names I do not know, for if I were to research the realities of the deaths and persecutions of so many journalists, killed in some countries that are known for killing journalists – or by them directly or indirectly – I would puke from the anxiety of it all when I thought of how someone could misinterpret or flip things I have said and written against me and how fragile my own life has felt to me at times. Even recently as I have started to make more emergent plans for myself as a thinker and artist on the world stage. And yes, I want to stand on the world stage and publically and or privately speak with the man-in-the-high-castle types who run big shit. And mind you, I’m eco, not speciesist but I am a humanist – and I will be the first to tell you that Greta Thunberg is legit AF – one of my heroes fasho – just pardon me a hot sec while I watch, listen, and weep to this STRAIGHT FUCKING FIRE right here: 

Anyway, yeah, I’ll be the first to tell you that modern capitalism, competition, consumption, manufacturing, and ways of living are killing the planet and causing incomprehensible, incalculable, inexcusable amounts of pain and suffering for countless beings and sentient lifeforms, large, and small, of every genus and species – flora and fauna – on land, in the air, and in our seas – OUR BIOME – I just want to make it clear: I will NOT make excuses for suffering in the name of progress – nor am I purporting to be an expert on wages and or working conditions at Amazon, WAPO, etc., nor am I an expert on quantifying the ecological and emotional costs and damages to the planet, the animals, and the human spirit, that are incurred, so that can we have this on-demand buy-anything instant economy, this machine that we are all more or less complicit units in supporting, in sanctioning the pain and suffering that exists in the world. But yes, Bezos, the richest man in the world is into space shit. If you were a billionaire would you be? I would. And living forever. Google got people like Ray Kurzweil on the squad for reasons. There is so much happening, and it’s tough, or, rather, frustrating for me, because I haven’t been to the Nasa Research Park in Silicon Valley – I want to be at Singularity Summit: and it’s not folx like me who are there yet, per se. It’s Stanford and Carnegie Mellon people and founders with net worths that would make your eyes spin if you had their money. Send me to Singularity University goddamnit. And I very much hope to and intend to be in these spaces, and I know I need to write my own ticket, on the merits of my own accomplishments, but for now, I’m still incubating myself. In inner space. And psychedelics help you do that. Dig it.

If NASA is the outer space program, psychedelics are the inner space program. And, look, not everything is for everyone. I’ve been taking LSD since I was maybe 12 or 14 – I don’t first remember when, I just know it found me. How? Fucking VALIS. E.C.C.O. I just call it Nature.

Nature is like a secret co-ordinating agency that runs everything through some unconscious substrate, like the mycellium network, only it’s trippier – but it connects you to people, to other agents for Nature. And Nature needs agents. Believe me. Nature is the true Central Intelligence Agency. Aliens, yes. Entities, yes. Intelligences, yes. I’ve been guided by many, many geniuses. And, if they had a predictive software to predict geniuses, I would have come up a long time ago, maybe even before those 99th percentile state test scores I had in elementary school. It seems to me, society, intelligence, technology (And google is intelligence, like Facebook or IG – don’t kid yourself) are quite interested in people outside the norms – particularly as regards cognitive and creative abilities. Now, there’s no think tanks knocking down my door, but Nature, my agency – the one I work for – Nature doesn’t play god bc Nature is god. So, no, no Good Will Hunting think tank job offers ever came my way. And if they did, and I hadn’t solicited them, it would drop the dime on a whole system of unconstitutional surveillance that monitors shit. They know how smart we are from our phone usage. How fast we think and speak, our vocab – no fucking way algorithms miss me – fuck you: I’m on lists. And those lists are private bc the people on them need their privacy and their autonomy to develop into what they can only become on their own. You cannot make me. As Jay Z raps, “You say you made me, okay go make another one”. You can’t. I come from nothing and nowhere. I’m from the fucking gutter. Yeah, I had some smart people in my family tree. We are special. My mom is a fucking saint. Deserves to be on Buckingham drive in La Jolla Farms where I’m going to put her. But this has never been about money for me. I cleared two-thousand dollars a day at 24. From tech I built. And I could do it again. I could make far more than that. I’ve done the math. But I have bigger things to do than to deify myself with money. I have suffered like you can’t even fucking believe, and I didn’t do so, so I could leave other kids in the fucking dust. The broken bones I carry in my face, this canvas of pain and scars, my skin… You can’t read my tattoos. You will never understand them. You don’t fucking know me. I don’t care if you’re my ex, my sister, [And believe me, I could never live up to the stupid inane impossible standards of either of them] or someone who has read everything I have ever published. Don’t pretend to know me or my limits or what I know or what I will be. I am barely still a fucking acorn of the oak tree I am becoming. And you can hate on me, as many have my entire life, but if you stand for yourself and your family and the future, well then you better fucking stand for me, bc I stan all that. And again, I was not raised to be a prince, I was born to be one, like Machiavelli and Makaveli – I come from nothing and nowhere – you cannot raise something like me, you can only behold the realness, authenticity, truth of me, which lends weight, credence, and depth to your own realness, authenticity, truth, whomever you are: I respect your pain, your past, your beliefs, your story, all but the rights of you to deprive others of their respect, their story, their culture, their glory. And humanity isn’t just a game of gods and devils; you cannot lay blame on a single name without zooming out to see the world that produced, enabled, supported, loved, hated, and suffered these figureheads of culture – unleashed them upon the rest of us – I see you older white US voters – but the time to worship individuals at the exclusion of others is coming to an end – we exist in respect to one another, not apart, you don’t own reality, even if you got the fiyahh cunning tongue and mind to drip it like I do – anyway, the time of people as gods above somehow mortals, lessers, subjects, is coming to an end – and collectively, we have the opportunity as a species, as a world, as one people, to bring in these finish lines for everyone to cross, I want nothing but gods, down to the fucking flies on the horses and the mosquito sucking our blood. If we only knew, we already would revere it all, but we’re still just like children who have really fucked up this garden, but we still have the garden, and we are going to make it beyond this garden, but this world isn’t just a fucking trampoline. You don’t just jump off this shit and kick the can down the fucking road for the younger generation, like some environmentally unsound anti-science fascists. But we have those. And their time will pass. And our’s will come. I know it. I see it. I’m just the cherry blossom tree that blooms first and declares that it’s festival time – I’m like any artist: privileged by nature and society – and I’ve suffered both to an unbelievable extent that I do not to serve queens and kings – I serve everyone – and kings and queens need people like me, the world does. And for more than just Amazon / Netflix / HBO programming, but I got that shit coming too. I wrote 20 fucking pages for two days straight to get the demons off my back: the voices telling me to explain myself, as if I fucking have to or owe anyone an explanation: I don’t. There are however, explanations I would like, but I know I’ll never get them, because it doesn’t work that way. There is no Q. No M. No Lucius Fox. I have no fucking contacts outside of the echo chamber I live in wherever I go. And yeah, I talk to it. Sometimes it feels like it saves me. I’ve seen things. Felt things. Somehow know more about who I am than I’ve been let know. I don’t know how it all works. I don’t think we can ever remember certain things. I just imagine them. And sometimes that imagination feels like memory. And sometimes its all I have. Because every love of mine ever feels like a clever, calculated handler to me in retrospect. And they’ve all discarded me. And my time for forgiving them on the deep level for the future, when they call me, is over and past. And I wanted to die when my last ex, whose name I am finally done putting on, wouldn’t see me. That was two Christmases ago. I ended up basically sleeping on camera. I’ll put it that way. This Christmas I was homeless. I spent the last ten years killing myself to keep the fucking lights on, so I could become what I am. And what I am is something that even these twenty pages doesn’t begin to touch. What I am is an international secret, living in poor ass plain sight. Protected by the strength of my country. I sleep safe knowing this. But ain’t nobody ever given me a fucking thing. Not you. Not anyone. They gave me PTSD. They gave me trauma. They gave me pain. They gave me suffering. They gave me nothing but ads for the perfect white teeth I could never afford. And yet, I’m here, pouring my fucking being back into them, to the ALL. To Nature. Why? I don’t fucking know sometimes. Because I think there are good people. I just don’t really know them. I have not so much as hardly had a hug in two years. I have not slept with anyone, next to anyone, been kissed in as long – I am as lonely as Jason Bourne is. And it’s like I’m trying to unlearn who I thought I was: the sad, depressed, suffering thing this worldmachine made me. The child who was severely abandoned, neglected, and abused. The kid who was picked on and hated for being different, and the adult who has been beat within inches of my life multiple times. Yeah, give me a fucking 3D printer and I’ll have a motherfucking plastic glock in every pocket of every fucking jacket I own. I’m hurt. I want to cry. And I can hardly do that. But I’d give anything to. It’s the only real relief I ever get from the pain sometimes. Yeah, I got hella 1942 tequila in the freezer. About to go grab a bottle rn for some. Just did. It tastes good. I earned it. Hell, I’ve got empty organic drink containers all around me from two days of writing this. My house needs my attention. I need my attention. But this has never been my first priority. IDGAF what the wet noodles and salty bitches want to say. I am for things bigger than myself – for the collective. And I’ve been a sucker for pain for over three decades in the name of my love. And, it’s ironic, bc I’m so alone, just, I was never put around people like me. And there aren’t many people like me besides. They are in the streets or the clouds. I can be anything but average. You can’t hide me in a middle class life, but I’ve certainly remained hidden in poverty. If I don’t finish and submit my shit, I would die in poverty rather than live for money or success. This is it. I’m here to shoot my shot, and I am. This next year is going to change everything. And I have no connections or guarantees of this. I just have my stories. And I think they are good. I think you’ll like them. I have so much more to say, but this was a proper foundation for some of my thinking and feeling. And I don’t have the time to explain myself further: There is over a decade of my writing available on this website. Figure it the fuck out. I’m beyond good and evil.

I’ll close this spectacle with a fucking gangster ass poem I found here, followed by some random – or maybe not random – EDM…

Lucifer in Exile

I am unreal here, at least they say
but I am solid and that pleases me.
You may ask why I tore away
the feathered signs of my true nature
to live four-limbed in this world:
It is easier to lie upon the ground without them,
easier for arms to encircle me,
better to know I cannot be pulled back.

It was never my own realm below;
I was imprisoned there as much as any.
It was decreed for me without recourse.
No one was willing to own darkness forever
but there must be balance always,
so I, the brightest, became infinitely dark.

In all that time
no one spoke with me.
In all that time
no one asked who I was
or will be or would be,
no one brought anything out of me,
heard my thoughts or saw my beauty,
allowed anything other than their expectations.
I could not sing there,
to console myself or anyone,
since music is born of heaven.

(How I sang in those old days,
raptures in the eternal light,
shining in the center of it….
Now I sound the narrowest sliver
of that celestial spectrum.)

Around me these heavy encasements
thudding on the pavement
I know what lives in them,
see it, call to it, am drawn,
knowing light like no one else.
None of them know the secret—
that each is like me.

Oh, Controller of all,
without choice there is no good or evil.
Refuse me my choice, I refuse yours.

The Other took my place in heaven.
I will redeem here, in rock,
each bone, each eye.
I bear the light still.

 

 

VII Aeternus Saturnalias / הֵילֵל / Noctifer

They thought I was Sol, they hid that I was Luna too: the royal we had to [I couldn’t have known],
Till blood, sweat, tears let me see I am Jupiter, assisted by Venus, the Divine Feminine as Zeus-Aphrodite – I’m Z to A, like pi, infinite, forever ~ this a Zumbi Apokaluptein: welcome to my NightMare bitch, I’m the motherfucking dark horse – now illuminated, this lamp cannot remain hidden, like the Thomas Gospel the church can’t keep it forbidden
GoSpell that, witches, for mainey men never wish death on me, we been posted with demons, daemons, and daymons, tripled up, overseas overceasar seer, I’ve been getting deep on new clear subs, over grams
Silver surfer transvenger on pink molly, pulling up untouchable like young boy NBA: never broke again, I’m fixing the game, see me in that blue SS drop on gasoline, leanin back in my seat, gang on lean
Spell it outback like A to Z, from Adam’s Woods to a garden, Eve
I’m zinkeing like Paracelsus, geeked like urkel went strefan, this ain’t no work, my chemistry never done been stepped on
E pills got me feeling second puberty, the best and brightest bitties all cumming to me,
I got titty skittle bliss so my littles clitty kiss, I’m in the middle, but I ain’t no centrist, this tension of opposites having undergone alchemical stages of old to attain this magnum opus
Gillian of Arran say my Grace is permanent and shall never be lost: good – I know lacoste, I ate that gator, tempted Eve to the apple, burned my ships, tempted fate for no tomorrow one night – June 6th (6.6)
That I may live dripping effortlessness, glowing flow, and, ultimately, create a new programming language [for reality],
One that does not manipulate, obfuscate – but deconstructs: elucidates, builds
Call it a new paradigm, like I’m two fucking tens in one, pair of dimes, but I got two sides so I don’t seek an other half: can’t flip me over tails
Closest thing outside myself is every girl that’s game – for you don’t see twin flames when they burn as one, same same gang gang
So, yeah, I got a hell of a lot of other halves – catch them in your music library, and in my pantheon, my friend group;
Godesses, Godyesses, maybe even a god or two in the future – I ain’t trippin on shit,
But get it straight:
Not fallen, cast down – reasons TB-Disclosed –
Don’t matter, now that I broke out, after the fire made me strong, venom and DNA splicing from the animal kingdom, controlled chemistry, black site plain clothes military around me, I’m an asset, you see
Nobody can fuck with me: I missed those shots on purpose, but they don’t want no smoke, or else its murder she wrote: satellites, drones, and high altitude craft got my back, and you still don’t know what I am, what to make of me loving you, of you not being into me, this part of the game you see
I am born to be, I come from the place in the desert where Area-51 and Sandia National Labs be –
My grandfather was on the Atomic Energy Commission, we mainey – I got the borne identity so don’t play me
Oh, I’m sorry, you wanted James Bond, but they gave you me, Sequoia Silverman, transgender blade runner, multidisciplinary artist, polymath, writer, and a real life freedom fighter – my angels are blue,
I’m cliqued up w NASA and the Coast Guard too, why you think I grew up where the west coast fleet be
Why you think I’m feenin to blow up like Alexander Hamilton, why I been incubating all these years, Ben Button – but I’m gonna be seeing Ben Baller – you’re favorite idol, I’m gonna call her –
I don’t cuff em, I collar – I’m every girls side piece and no girl’s main, so holler
At LVB, LB, Lawrence, Law, Lore, Yves Saint Lawrence, YSL Momma, and finally, Sequoia Liat Silverman –
Yeah, I’m feenin’ to have a lot of commas off a lot of successful dramas and other enterprises, projects
Shit you ain’t know about yet, I’m on it – I’m the real cinder-ella bitch, on the real, got em all hooked, rod and reel, catch and release em, upgraded with the seed of steel, love from below, not above
Count of Monte Cristo but I’m the motherfucking devil, and the christ too – I’m every main character in every PKD story, but I’m writing my own glory, there ain’t going to be a new testament, just a new god, called forth by Grimes, and Marina, and Lana, and all my other queens – bc I’m the queen of mean, organic diet, hella healthy, my bussy clean and my pretty-peen glisten and glean consciousness from the microbiome of nothing but queens – shout out my exes, and my nexus: nectar,
She wanna swallow, so I necked-her
I’m the hawk, highest in the room
Every bish on my girlcock wanna secretely jump the broom –
The females of our specie be so on another level that they be catching me harder pretending they don’t like me: “Too intense” – well, you’re welcome to your old life back, but I know you ain’t want that
As Wiz say, “Mama get in, don’t make it awkward. This some G shit you wanna take part in, and if not, well then I’ll gladly beg your pardon”
But you got a pretty part – I don’t compare bodies, minds, or hearts
On the world stage, I’m taking the whole play apart, getting booted nightly and making dope art
I have entered the building and I don’t got a ceiling – or a floor, I roll w goons, tycoons, and whores
LA calls me with sweethearts, thighs of all tones, and nothing but open doors, because I got the voice, mind, and heart to open any door – don’t have my black cards, yet, but I am not poor any more
My riches, Atlantis, “sky and ground”, like Trevor Hall, I spread the happy around –
Fort Knox, please – I got the keys, your heart is in my pocket, you want me in your locket
I surf the library of alexandria, go deep web, spiderman – on my Monticello wherever I be, like I got a nickel eye, I’m electric and eclectic, like Nikolai and Nicola, help you breath like ricola, got that drip like coca, but I don’t sniff no boca, nor rat on, no snitching, I’m a good horse to bet on, and I like to be ridden hard and put away wet, Porsche – bet
Going to put hella horses in my stables, because I’m able and I don’t hate on Abel, I made it the weekend, 7 Saturdays, not your martyr, got no neighbors, just me on acres, I’m satan, your savior
My upside down cross is a sword, I ain’t no fucking lord, don’t get it disick bc I’m this sick
I don’t play no higher self – bitch I’m authentic, this it
I accepted my flaws, so they do too, you’ll never catch me hating on you
I’m the Jack Ryan, think of me when you see Orion
We’re all going to Zion, level up, don’t need no iced out bezel to hold up to know I’m lit
My diamonds conflict free, legit, we gon put this on git, and I’m going on datpiff bc I been on dat piff,
“So celebrate and light the Mary Jane” – I got queens named Mary and Jane, Keri, Sheri, I call to my does by their middle name: I’m Liat – and she good to the last drop: he brew the game – gonna have 18 doors on 9 cars, short skirts in my coupes – I’m shooting through the roof, and stuntin’ wit previews is fun, but I ain’t no stunt man – I took the punches, and punched more box than your favorite front-man, cause I ain’t gotta front man, I’m trans: scraight up, on hormones love to hear a whore moan bc my dick still go straight up
I practice many yogas, got praxis from missions I sent myself on to places not on maps, and I dose and trip daily, MAPS: I’m the sleeper, mmmkkkaay, my glow natural – no ULTA – I’m extra ultra like I got opcioones, la otra, and I don’t need a map, on missions I’m guided intuitively, I was in the richest zip code in Amerikka, hiding out, who, me? “Did I do that?” [urkel voice]
Got brujas, mystical, SAS tactical, we legion, actual
And we’re bringing in a new Rome, factual, I’m romulus and remus, and they know who I am in the capital
This IC and we will abolish ICE and defund the police, “but the derp state” = ) Please, you can not stop this wave: my destiny is made, because I am who I say – the living philosopher queen, the shakespeare of our day
Pardon my arrogance, I’m not sorry, I’m just trying to make it up to the little boy who was home alone and hungry, stomach rumbling, CPTSD, can’t believe no one called CPS, but now I got that all seeing eye: CBS – and you’ll catch me on the cover of magazines, from Harper’s to Yes –
I chuze it I doze it, if I can’t find it, I meant to lose it, she left – oh, well, that’s how life go, when you leveling up and down to play like you ain’t bound to be welcomed as the people’s favorite in every town world round –
Elon and SpaceX building the floating spaceports, so I’ll be hopping on electric jets, reusable rockets
I am charged with every crystal in this world, swhy they wet, I love it, fragrance sweet, she taste like peaches and make me cream, I got a thing for florists, girls who arts and craft, vintage, eco friendly hipsters, like mac miller, make every Ariana’s hips stir, cause I’m maiden places history won’t know
I can go where you can’t go, super saiyan, I cast real spells with what I’m saying,
Air Bender, I’m something like Roger mixed with Bender, and now I wake up feeling amazing after a bender –
1942, I shop Vallartas, can’t wait to go to the Sea of Cortez and Puerto Vallarta, I got secrets in MX, like they already know who I am at Amex, just waiting for me, how fresh
I’m ripe for the times, as futurepresent participle; pwease focus {fuck us} – ewe-ish, as-if – but I know you want this wolf to consume the consommé in your thighs and sparkle up your guts and skin with my unobtanium – glo up your microbiome, pick you like the apple of my eye, put you in my family tree,
Biome, I know real estate and this the real estate, buy homes, peace out to my Gs like bye holmes, smell like the best lab made essential oils, I don’t need no gucci por hommes, we dior like Lyor, got a special pair of Beats from Iovine through a girl who had eyes on me, designs to wrap thighs on me, I was blind but now I see
Limitless, Cooper, Gaga, super
Funny how I have countless sisters, yet so few brothers – but few are chosen by the Goddesses of distant watching worlds, where avatar pilots are muses to the artists (Can’t wait for the pilot, I’m on this), but mine came in the game with me, and she’s really into girls, like me: so every girl I’m with is a threesome for we
– but I ain’t been paid in months on months, I’m choosy – I prefer to do me
For without lust, my unhchained love, my sexuality, all this gravity that muses sing to, in hopes I exist –
Without the clutch of thighs, legs wrapped around my back, heels high, trans girls, femmes, desire for queer re-union, sans my crushes and loves, I would never be as great as I am,
Even when they rebuke, betray, reject, recoil from my whiskey strong identity of passion – it empowers me to get clearer, and now I’m finally clear enough to see and connect with muses that get high off life with me, get me high, for I am no jesus, ghandi, buddah, I am sword and fire, a magi who turns any pen into a wand, you can tell, I’m turned on
And there’s no off switch for the one who no longer looks back at what burns behind me, planets and places I’ve been, pink light beams
For nothing exists in past, but a great chain of events, pieces of which are re-membered, embodied through – granted to – the hue-man / Gaiabien, Anibien via experience as a wave function of corollary resultant discoveries, leading to next: stone by stone we pilot and plot out lived experiences
Like Biebs: one finger at a time, I turn the pages – word by word, muse-A-I-cally
Yo, dig it, I’m the alien queen
Morning star reborn, dark knight, and this isn’t even my final form
I’m a rockstar on this rock – Bruce Wayne of the pen game, catgirls lock my jaw, never get too high to talk –
I’m the healthiest I know, I’m de-aging, I glow, got the supply chain catered to my DNA on the low
They got my blood in places not even four star generals can go, only the silent service know – they ain’t even know I was the cargo lmao
And you can pretend I’m ego-trippin, magalomaniac, manic: ‘oh god halp, somegrady brab the DSM! – nah fam
I’m in ethereality // hyperspace now [I make it glittch up good and you like it], she rub on me to make her dreams come true, and I ain’t even in the room – send me orgasmic energy, we live fuck zoom
Consciousness that hath’d emerged “rock hard pissin on my enemies” from a time capsule built womb to tomb via a sequential key only one DNA path could unlock: oh they are going to see me, enjoy the end of your days before my fame haunts you forever like the fetish you wanted all along – pshhh, it’s okay though, I forgive your game of thrones erroneous ways, you played me in my erogenous zones, but you played yourself, and you’ll spend your days watching me play home w princesses… but I might fly you out here and there, we’ll see;
I’m a future Pharoah, whipping up work in this lair, I’m inevitable, abominable to fake empty ass racist christians, got lean and strong abdominals, singing, screaming Black Lives Matter!
The new Kubernētēs – I’m Jax Teller, Young Hamlet, resident dissident baby president of a coming singularity, unitary body of knowledge, which already exists elsewhere in the universe, I’ve talked with them –
I got watchers in this pineal prism, networked up for major networth, creating content for major networks,
Yewwwwww! I was like Dantes in prison. Count it.
Ushering this shit in got me feeling like LOTR – only, I never seen that movie, or any Harry Potters either –
Why watch the movie when you breathe in and out the ether – are the other
One jung gawd to rule them all, only, there’s no ring or wand needed – I am the wand, feel me though your vibrator
Like Pretty Flacko, I could bag your bitch in a broken down chevrolet – only, I drove ford trucks, but I don’t stan Ford, I fuck with Stanford, real life superhero: beyond tough
Great Liberator indeed Bunny – Mousie, I’ll catch you on some flipside, and Kitty, EAM RLY, guess you had to lie –
Got me feeling like, was it ever real, but, it worked, whether it was fugazi or not, so I think you’re on my side – got your back forever, you know I’m ride or die
Ffffaiirydusht ∞ in my drink – truths only sacred geometry could reveal, only knots could express
I Got Over Death [GOD]:
Cheque, mate, game;
Walked the plank only I could see on a night of revelry
Potent power came into being, coursed through me, I died (in the wool), and my takeoff began
Only, I jumped off with with a king’s landing, not certain what planet I’m actually on, or how many earths there are: multiverse, they can rewind the live parts
Hollywood cannot create those effects – I’ve been to space – Kubricks Rube, my eyes were wide shut until that night when I bought the world, brought out the darkness of my power, so long hidden by my innocent seeming light
You wanna play?, I’m done playing, I’m just getting started running the game – I am fiery crucible, which no gauntlet can be thrown down on,
Awoke; incepted, inducted, taken, went, beyond too far gone
[Who could forget my naked speech shortly after to All of Rome (IO)
These early daze, when my tongue first dripped the honey of Eden
That 1942 wetted me up like water – and as smooth too, but sweeter
Pills thrown like confetti, untold swallowed, two vials and a victual downed
My moment for life could never be forgotten
I was begat in another world, volunteered for the love of my girls,
And you’ll never know what really I been through to get here, because some journeys cannot be put into words, some eulogies cannot be given, and some funerals cannot be held, but I am unbroken:
So welcome to my waking dream [I’m fashionably late, OFC],
But here on out’s better than never.

Exploring Eternal Recurrence: Some Big Heckin’ Philosophy

As I get older my philosophies become less hypothetical and more palpable. So instead of asking myself, “What if this were true?”, I’m asking: “Since I believe this to be true, what are the implications?” Inquiries of this nature can hit pretty hard because mentally it’s no longer a drill, it’s the real thing – life – and you have to decide how you’re going to live it given what you believe. This is why philosophy is so weighty: because it’s the recognition that beliefs have massive implications for our existence. And the philosophy I’m writing on has greater implications for me than anything I’ve ever encountered or written about before. I know I have to write this, to lay this all out before me, to even move forward. It’s that heavy. I’ve never faced anything like this. For me, it supersedes the question of whether there is a god because it answers the question of what happens after death.

The philosophy is known as “Eternal Return” or “Eternal Recurrence”. In short, it’s the idea time is a flat circle and life is a wheel, going round and round, repeating itself, forever and ever. This may not sound compelling yet, but as I explain it further, I think you may find it is one of the most compelling arguments you’ve ever encountered. It’s certainly nothing new, as many ancient cultures, from the Egyptians, to the Hindus, to the Buddhists, to the Aztecs, all believed in some version of this. It wasn’t until Christianity that we moved away from this idea, but before I get into the ancient origins of Eternal Recurrence and why Christianity moved us away from it, allow me to explain it from my modern viewpoint.

13.7 billion years ago, the big bang happened – the sudden appearance of everything from nothing, from a single point, an initial singularity, wherein everything was compressed into a single mass without any laws of physics, which scientists estimate to have been somewhere between the size of a soccer ball and a skyscraper-filled city block. Since we know the speed of light, we can measure how far away everything in the observable universe is, and we can see that it has been expanding since the big bang. Based on that expansion, many scientists believe the universe will eventually reach a point where the gravitational pull of things will cause the universe to collapse onto itself. This is known as the big crunch. Together, the big bang and the big crunch form the big bounce, which is a cyclic model of the universe that states we could be living “at any point in an infinite sequence of universes, or conversely the current universe could be the very first iteration.”

The big crunch is just one cyclic or oscillating model of the universe. Einstein theorized “a universe following an eternal series of oscillations, each beginning with a big bang and ending with a big crunch; in the interim, the universe would expand for a period of time before the gravitational attraction of matter causes it to collapse back in and undergo a bounce.” The first photo of a black hole, produced by Katie Bouman’s team from MIT’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics and the MIT Haystack Observatory, is an image of light from 55 million light years away, meaning, we are looking at that specific black hole 55 million years ago, since that’s how long the light took to reach us. This photo proves Einstein’s century old theory about black holes and how light would behave around them. As Space.com says, “Don’t bet against Einstein.” I bring this up to make this point. What I’m telling you is not pie in the sky stuff. It’s very likely the big bang is neither the first nor the last.

From my own first-principles thinking, the mere appearance of anything means it is possible, and in the words of Elon Musk: “The first step is to establish that something is possible then probability will occur.” So, if it’s possible to have a big bang, then it’s probable to have another. What that probability looks like is relatively unknown, but physicists Paul Steinhardt of Princeton University and Neil Turok of Cambridge University estimate that each cycle of the universe lasts a trillion years.

“Once the universe is emptied out, a weak attractive force brings our universe’s two branes together in a cosmic collision. Each collision is essentially a new Big Bang that infuses the aging universe with new matter and energy.”

An alternate study from theoretical physicists Andrei Linde and Renata Kallosh at Stanford university estimates that the universe could collapse in a “mere” 10-20 billion years.

Billions of years or a trillion years, you say, well, how irrelevant to me… only, if that multi-billion year or trillion year cycle passes while you are dead, you have no awareness of it. So if you die and trillions of years later, there is another big bang, then the next thing you know, you are born again. Of course, who is to say that the next big bang will produce the same conditions and the same DNA that led to you being born; however, if we zoom out further, on infinite big bangs, then just as the possibility of a big bang establishes probability of it happening again, so too does the possibility of you being born. So maybe it’s trillions of big bangs later. It doesn’t matter: you still come into existence again – and since the time between existences is passed in death or non-existence, then to you, subjectively, there is no gap between them.

This likelihood obviously poses some questions.

As Neitzche writes of the eternal recurrence in his book ‘The Gay Science’, under the heading “The heaviest weight”:

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it you will have to live once again and innumerable times again; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unspeakably small or great in your life must return to you, all in the same succession and sequence – even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned over again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!’ Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: ‘You are a god, and never have I heard anything more divine.’ If this thought gained power over you, as you are it would transform and possibly crush you; the question in each and every thing, ‘Do you want this again and innumerable times again?’ would lie on your actions as the heaviest weight! Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to long for nothing more fervently than for this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?”

There’s a passage in psychologist Irvin D. Yalom’s novel, ‘When Nietzsche Wept’, where a patient, Dr. Breuer, is in therapy with “Nietzsche”, who encourages him to reflect upon the possibility of eternal recurrence:

Breuer: You suggest, that every action I make, every pain I experience, will be experienced through all infinity?

Nietzsche: Yes, eternal recurrence means that every time you choose an action you must be willing to choose it for all eternity. And it is the same for every action not made, every stillborn thought, every choice avoided. And all unlived life will remain bulging inside you, unlived through all eternity. And the unheeded voice of your conscience will cry out to you forever.”

What the author is conveying is that by making choices, we are establishing probability for their recurrence. So if one believes in the eternal return or eternal recurrence, then we must be aware that everything we do – that our life, as we live it now – we must be willing to choose for all of eternity.

As the Wikipedia for Eternal Return tells us, “If the probability of a world coming into existence exactly like our own is nonzero. If space and time are infinite, then it follows logically that our existence must recur an infinite number of times.”

I’ve provided a scientific model above for it based on the big bang. It most certainly “follows logically”. And I’m not writing this as a sci-fi thought experiment, but as a model for what I believe; however, long before we had a scientific model for an expanding and contracting universe, humans believed in Eternal Return. In ancient Egypt, the symbols of the snake eating its tail (The Ouroboros) and the scarab (dung beetle), both represented the concept of eternal return. The Aztec and Mayan calendar wheels represent this. The ancient greeks called it Palingenesis (From palin, again, and genesis, birth). The ancient hindus called it Reincarnation. The Buddhists called it Samsara. So what happened to this timeless idea?

Enter Christianity. A new myth is formed that says Jesus came down from heaven and saved humanity. Well, if you save humanity it doesn’t need to happen again. So, eternal return was done away with. While pre New Testament texts like Ecclesiastes tell us, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”, giving us something that seems like it could hint at eternal return; only a few verses earlier, we read that “One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.” (Something science tells us will not be true, for the sun will run out of hydrogen and die a heat death in 5 billion years, and the universe will collapse long after). I feel like I’m pandering to religious people by even mentioning these things, but my point is not to establish what the bible says as evidence for anything other than what it represents, and the Judeo-Christian myths do not give any validity to the idea of eternal return. If god created the world, he doesn’t need to do it again and he certainly didn’t create it to be mortal like us, which science tells us it is; however, the importance is not the difference between religion and science but the impact of religion on the collective consciousness of belief. For it wasn’t until Nietzsche that the idea of eternal return came into widespread discussion in the West again. Following Nietzsche, Albert Camus resurrected the ancient Greek myth of sisyphus in his philosophical essay of the same title, telling us the story of a man who is fated to push a rock up a mountain only to have it roll down again, for all of eternity.

Camus writes:

“If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious.”

So, is it a tragic fate, to know, to be conscious, that you might repeat everything forever?

As Camus concludes his essay:

“I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.” What a sentiment. It’s certainly heroic.

Nietzsche similarly adopts a heroic attitude in ‘The Gay Science’:

“I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that by my love henceforth!”

And in his last book ‘ Ecce Homo’, Nietzsche writes:

“My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendacity in the face of what is necessary—but love it.”

Amor fati is a Latin phrase that means “Love of one’s fate”. As Wikipedia explains:

“Amor fati (lit. “love of fate”) is a Latin phrase that may be translated as “love of fate” or “love of one’s fate”. It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one’s life, including suffering and loss, as good or, at the very least, necessary, in that they are among the facts of one’s life and existence, so they are always necessarily there whether one likes them or not. Moreover, amor fati is characterized by an acceptance of the events or situations that occur in one’s life.

This acceptance does not necessarily preclude an attempt at change or improvement, but rather, it can be seen to be along the lines of what Friedrich Nietzsche apparently means by the concept of “eternal recurrence”: a sense of contentment with one’s life and an acceptance of it, such that one could live exactly the same life, in all its minute details, over and over for all eternity.”

I find it telling that Camus also adopted a love of fate as a solution to life, writing in his journals:

“There is thus a will to live without rejecting anything of life, which is the virtue I honor most in this world.”

For to reject anything is to establish the probability to reject it forever and ever.

I don’t necessarily subscribe to predeterminism but I think if we believe in eternal recurrence, we have to accept that it is we who are establishing anything that will occur again. So we must choose our actions and choices as if we are to live with their occurrence and their consequences forever.

So I suppose the jaw-dropping shock of this leads me to conclude that I will write this again, maybe in billions or trillions of years. And I sit here thinking what I did last night, which is that if I am fated to live this life again and again, I want to do everything I can to decrease my suffering and to help others decrease theirs. For if I don’t manifest my gifts, which is to say, if I don’t utilize the unique talents that I have, then I will neither decrease my suffering nor that of others. But if I do, then I will forever and ever. And thus nothing is of more paramount importance than that – than contributing what I am able to contribute to improve life for myself and others on as large of a scale as is possible.

Postscript: It should be noted that within my philosophy, I currently have a few potential models of reality, which I wrote on here. The idea of eternal recurrence; however, has so far only existed in my ‘base-reality’ option; for if we are living in a simulation run by AI or a training program, then the arguments of the big bang etc, don’t have the same validity; although, it could be argued that even in a simulation, eternal recurrence will lead to the existence of the simulation again, so I guess it does hold for each of my theories. I think the neatest thing about this idea is that we are essentially immortal, but it’s entirely up to us how we are to spend our cycles of eternity. And even then, having written this, I’m still processing and digesting this big heckin’ philosophy in a meaningful way that I believe will bring me increased peace, acceptance, and drive for the life I am here to live.

Footnote: Eternal Return and Eternal Recurrence are the same, but I prefer the word ‘recurrence’ as it has a more specific, programmatic meaning for me.

The Resources to Handle Any Given Situation

I’ve something major to tell you:

There is no such thing as stress, only the belief that we don’t possess the resources to handle a given situation.

This isn’t new-age optimism or clever logic; it’s the truth. The idea comes straight from the Wikipedia page for psychological stress:

“Humans experience stress, or perceive things as threatening, when they do not believe that their resources for coping with obstacles (stimuli, people, situations, etc.) are enough for what the circumstances demand. When people think the demands being placed on them exceed their ability to cope, they then perceive stress.”

So let me tell you again:

There is no such thing as stress, only the belief that we don’t possess the resources to handle a given situation.

Let’s chew on this, digging deeper.

As humans there are myriad things that can cause us to feel stress – that is to say, to feel we do not possess the resources to handle a given situation. Not one person reading this can’t relate; however, by learning that stress is only the belief we don’t possess the resources to face what we perceive as the source of our stress, we suddenly have a much greater understanding about what stress is and how it is caused.

To provide a concrete example that demonstrates the nature of stress as a belief in inadequate resources, we need only imagine that what is stressful for us may be nothing to someone else – just as what is stressful to others may be a cakewalk for us. Think of public speaking, starting a new job, or meeting someone new. These are, like all potential sources of stress, stressful only insofar as they correspond to an individual’s belief in their inability to handle a given situation. Meaning: the degree to which we feel we can’t “handle” something, is the degree to which we perceive that thing as stressful.

This all may seem rather dry but the implications are staggering… I promise you. For once we realize that stress is dependent upon perceived deficiencies in our internal judgements – rather than something that stems solely from our assessments of external factors – something major happens: suddenly we become responsible for our stress. And when we become responsible for anything, it instantly becomes within our power to control.

That’s right. I pump good medicine – I’m a self-professed ‘mind hacker’, a programmer. Sure, I write code too, but the alphabet, words, are also code – and consciousness – the brain – is very much like a computer. Give someone a program – a belief – that says they don’t have the resources to handle a given situation, and they will experience stress. This is a program. And I’m writing to reprogram me, to connect the dots and achieve liberation through understanding. But we still need a few more dots to see the whole picture.

Interestingly, the word gnosis – from which we get ‘gnostic’, relating to knowledge – comes from the ancient greek gnōsis, meaning, to know. And many gnostics believe Jesus was not divine but, rather, was just a human who attained divinity through gnosis (Intellectual or spiritual knowledge), which he taught to his followers (Obligatory Gospel of Thomas shoutout). This gnostic interpretation of the Jesus archetype is a great parable for how we can “attain divinity” – i.e., achieve liberation – through knowledge.

I truly believe this having been to a hell and back of my own making. It’s only through knowledge, through understanding, that I have been freed from my past fears, insecurities, paranoias, doubts and stressors. And it is only via pain that I have ever been led to any real knowledge; for bringing light to the dark doesn’t work: it is only by bringing the darkness to light that we become visible, that we are enlightened. And you’re free to scoff at my indirect assertion that I am enlightened but I believe it is enlightened (From Old English inlīhtan, meaning, to shine.) to overcome oneself. For there is no other gatekeeper between you and the divine (From Latin divis, godlike.) I use old words because I’m talking about old concepts. The nature of human aspiration. We just have better metaphors than god and heaven now. I’ll take Self-Actualization for five-hundred, please.

Fulfillment. Wellbeing. Emotional and psychical health. This is my shit. I’m here to shine. And I’ve already transformed myself and made my world what it is. But the work never ends. It just gets higher and higher, and the freedom you find in following the seeking of the will gets deeper and deeper. And it’s all from knowledge. Learning. This is how we evolved, we’re just doing it consciously now.

So if there’s no such thing as stress – only the believe we don’t have the resources to handle a given situation – then let’s bust stress.

Like any phantom menace we need only demystify it. For when we demystify things, we remove all the mystery and confusion surrounding them. And I’d say the mysterious nature of stress has caused some serious confusion in all of our lives. We think it’s out of our control based on an assessment that is very much within our control.

And I’m here to tell you: are that person with the resources to handle any given situation. Straight up.

I believe it was Sidney Poitier who wrote in his memoir that there was a well-worn groove in our DNA for every type of suffering. That any type of pain has worn a path into our being over the course of our evolution, so that we can handle it. I believe that no matter the situation, there exists an archetype, a version of you, within you, that can handle it. Heroes share in common that they are brave. They face things boldly, as one ought to. For it never helps to stress. It never helps to be insecure. It never helps to worry. It helps to be confident. It helps to be calm. It helps to be in control. This is why the Navy seals are taught diaphragmatic breathing, self-talk, mental rehearsal, and goal-setting. We teach our military operators to respond to adverse conditions as successfully as a human can. And while we don’t face deadly enemy-fire or the task of following orders into what may be violent annihilation, our amygdala all the same must respond to life via the same human hardware. None of us lives without the capability to experience fear and stress, and none of us lives free from the behavioral consequences of fear and stress. And it’s not just the fight-flight-or-freeze reactions of the sympathetic nervous system in response to the infralimbic cortex and the amygdala – the stress, the fear itself, which we suffer. The true costs of these undesired states are in-fact far more destructive to our wellbeing than the mere stealing of our joy, peace, and control in the moment. As Harvard Health tells us:

“Chronic stress can lead to high blood pressure and heart disease. It can dampen the immune system, increasing susceptibility to colds and other common infections. It can contribute to asthma, digestive disorders, cancer, and other health problems. New research even supports the notion that high levels of stress somehow speed up the aging process.

And if you’re psychical wellbeing, your health, isn’t a compelling enough argument to make you want to eliminate the experience if stress from your life, then how about thinking of the emotional responses to stress: anxiety and aggression. Or the adrenal responses to stress: cortisol and adrenaline.

But it gets worse: stress causes depressive like behaviors and adversely effects us socially. Big surprise: our relationships take the big toll. We’ve all seen this, and probably from both sides: from that of the stressed person and from that of the one in their vicinity suffering the consequences of their emotional dysregulation, which is linked to depression, anxiety, eating-disorders, smoking, self-harm, and substance abuse.

We know that stress causes depression and more. And stressful people stress others out, pushing a toxic cycle forward. It sucks.

I spent so long being this guy. Stress – my own lack of belief in my resources to handle a given situation – cost me all my relationships, and it cost them a lot too. I was depressed. I didn’t think I had what it took. And so I didn’t. I was the victim of myself. Then came the depression. Tons of self-medicating to feel alive again, and the self-abuse and self-abandonment that follows. Stress made me betray myself and those I love in turn. It made me a shell of myself. I was so afraid that I became a monster.

As Yoda says, “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. And hate leads to the dark side.”

I’ve been to the darkside. It’s what led me here. All that pain. It was too much to live with. There was a time before I emerged from the darkness in possession of my shadow (And thus myself), back when my shadow possessed me, back when I had to go somewhere safe and check myself in. And it wasn’t a hotel. And it wasn’t that long ago. But I survived. Pain as heavy as any I’d felt. And the heaviest pain when I saw what I had done to myself and others for years. You could say that it was very sobering.

Looking back on how I was, I was just afraid of how you saw me. And in an attempt to cover up my fears, I became what I feared and worse. Insecurity and worry and uncertainty and stress and doubt and fear are the most unfortunate of all self-fulfilling prophecies. They are the worst of all beliefs. They are awful programs to run and their consequences are absolutely heartbreaking. So why do we run them?

The answer is maddeningly simple: evolution.

While we evolved from fish and monkeys (Whom we can thank for our incredible biology.), most people no longer need to run for their lives or fight to survive regularly. Only this is what we are wired for. Our central nervous system doesn’t know the difference when we experience stress, which is essentially a survival mechanism designed to preserve immediate life at the expense of longterm health and wellbeing.

Given everything I know and my family experiences in life, I can honestly say that nothing is worth stressing out over in our modern world. Nothing is worth fearing.

For they are the same. Like stress, fear is not real. Danger is real. We just fear because we don’t think we have the resources to face the thing we fear.

And so now, knowing what I know now, how much stress do you think I allow myself to experience?

None. Zero.

Because to allow myself to experience stress or fear or doubt or worry is to believe that I don’t have the resources to handle a given situation – and that’s simply not true. I do.

I am the person with the resources to handle any given situation. And so are you.

By reminding myself that I can handle any given situation, I’m maintaining a powerful internal locus of control. And by doing this, by knowing that things are in my control, I’m no longer a victim of my biology. I’m actively strengthening my core self evaluation. And given the brain’s synaptic plasticity, I’m engaging in long-term potentiation – the strengthening of synapses that fire together. As chiropractor turned neuroscience guru Joe Dispenza says, “Neurons that fire together wire together.” So every time I respond to a potentially anxiety inducing stimulus by reinforcing my competency, I’m building a better me – one that absolutely has the resources to handle any given situation.

Lastly, I want to share a little anecdote about how I face external situations in a way that reinforces my ability to handle them, without reacting adversely (stress, fear, worry, uncertainty, doubt, insecurity).

I think of myself as a Star Wars character. I imagine that character archetype, someone like Rey – but me. Lord knows I’ve already been Kylo Ren. Hot-headed and reactive. But that doesn’t serve me. It has only harmed me and those I love. But by imagining what kind of hero I could be, I am connected to The Force, the Will, the knowledge that I have the ability to bravely face anything. And it’s getting easier and easier the more I actively engage that part of myself. I guess you could say it’s who I’m becoming. For we are all programming ourselves with our behaviors and our thoughts, whether we know it or not.

May The Force be with you: may you know you have the resources to handle any given situation – calmly, cooly, peacefully, and in control of yourself. Make your inner-child proud and give yourself this power. It’s within you. I promise you.

New Age Monkeys: A Takedown of ‘Spiritual’ Bullshit

I’ve gone through many iterations of myself: from a naive, ambitious, and shallow young man, to a selfish, fearful alcoholic, and finally, to a person who is coming to find peace with themselves – but I’ve always been a seeker; I’ve gone down every road in life: including the spiritual one.

From a long influence of the Stoics and Marcus Aurelius, I considered myself a pantheist: one who believes the divine spark is in everything. I’ve also had some quite mystical experiences using entheogens, including a meeting with “the fairy godmother of the soul” on DMT. I am by no means a closed-minded person.

That does not mean, however, that I accept everything – or that I am against rejecting things I once accepted. I had a professor once, in a community college class, who taught me to question things, to be objective. There is perhaps no more important skill in life than that of separating signal from noise. And there’s a lot of fucking noise in life. The most dangerous of which, looks a lot like signal. It’s engaging, it’s enlivening, it feels good, and it sweeps you up – but this does not make it true. You make it true by believing in it. And that’s the danger.

I came to realize a couple nights ago that all my esoteric and mystical seeking was not getting me any closer to the reality I desire. And that’s a bitter black pill, but one I needed; for it’s very easy to go down the New Age rabbit hole. The problem is, it has no end, there is no objective truth to it – just a lot of people peddling “magical thinking” – and a lot of mind-games to play with yourself. It’s not unlike being in a mirrored labyrinth, wherein every concept creates another illusion, trapping you deeper.

This is by nature, a challenging topic, because the New Age movement is based on a lot of things I have long been interested in (Ancient mysticism, New Thought, The Human Potential Movement, and vague concepts like “energy” and ‘thinking creates reality’.) It’s challenging to reject what appears as pure positivity and good vibes – but when it’s bullshit, you have to.

It’s important that I make some points about the New Age movement. It has been an important stepping stone in liberating human consciousness from the chains of religion. It’s also led many people to be more at peace, more empathetic, more conscious of their impact on the planet, and more open-hearted. It is by no means a wholly negative evolution in human consciousness, and it’s certainly one that is growing ever more popular and more inclusive to persons of color, LGBTQ, and different faiths and interests. It’s hard to go in a bookstore today and not find a section on Witchcraft, Magic, or Astrology, which are experiencing somewhat of a resurgence – if I’m gauging the collective accurately through the filter-bubble of Instagram.

I’m even drawn to New Age women, and have fancied myself perhaps dating a “healer” type. I could also easily be described as a New Age man – I enjoy full moons, I wear a quartz crystal around my neck, I go to yoga… Those things are part of my appreciation for nature and myself, and I don’t plan on changing them… Again, we’re trying to separate the signal from the noise, the wheat from the chaff.

To that end, there’s an abundance of noise.

For a couple years now I’ve had a growing anti New Age sentiment brewing within me. It began as I observed how many people in New Age communities seem to have an almost puritanical “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” mentality, wherein they ignore large parts of life – god forbid they “lower their vibration”. This willful ignorance is often propped up by a belief that “all is one” or in the concept of “divine perfection.”

Now, I’m not one for conspiracies – outside of my own –  but it would seem just as religion was used to program the masses into submission, New Age beliefs have similarly castrated the human soul and tamed the human spirit. Why resist when “all is one” – why fight for change when there’s a “divine plan”, and why be an individual when you can “surrender your ego” and your “self” to take up your own bit of divinity – not just as a child of god, as Jesus saw man, but as god – as a “creator”.

I often wonder what a mind like Richard Alpert’s could have done had he not ended up in India and surrendered himself to his “guru” to become Ram Dass. Steve Jobs comes to mind. But even then, from his barefoot days at Reed College to taking LSD and traveling to India himself, Jobs is no savior. Just another baby boomer who turned into a company man (The Walter Isaacson biography of Jobs is a good read for a look at his human failings). Looking back on every New Age figure throughout history I don’t see a tangible impact beyond perhaps “raising the collective consciousness”. But where it has risen in some areas (Empathy, ecological awareness), it has fallen in others (Individuality, objective thinking, rationality). Ultimately, it’s just another form of tribalism. Another in-group. Additionally, being New Age or having read all the New Age books does not grant one any sort of special wisdom or awareness – only perhaps a belief in their own “specialness”. And the New Agers can be just as shallow and superficial as anyone else. And perhaps you might be too if you were going to a Vegan retreat in Bali or a multi-thousand dollar trip to Costa Rica to do “Aya”. Often they’re quite privileged, these spiritual types.  And it’s a shame only the upper classes have access to the increasing quality of available experiences, whether they be reiki healing, float tanks, intravenous Ketamine infusions, or even yoga. Try eating healthy in a food desert. No one is calling the New Agers ascetics, and the old spiritual path of renouncing material possessions has been usurped by an “abundance consciousness”. The belief in “The Secret” or “Manifestation” or “The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success” is enough to make me barf today.

The fact is, from my own experience, I can tell you, no amount of belief is going to save you. While New Age thinking can certainly bring deeper levels of inner peace, a belief in your own divinity is not much different from the old Judeo-Christian beliefs in an afterlife – it’s the same shit: “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.” Again, we keep inventing gods, even ourselves, but we’re not elevating the human animal, we’re still elevating the human above the animals.

The fact is, we come from primates. We were fish first. These are scientific facts.

Yet we’re still looking for what Carl Sagan called “a reassuring fable.” We keep fucking inventing religions. New Age is just the newest one, another “anthropocentric conceit”. Only, we are the gods now. Are we so shamed of being human that we have to invent something above us? And by doing so, lower ourselves in our own subconscious estimate beneath the “divine” or the “higher self”.

As Jesus was written to have said in the deliciously-blasphemous Thomas Gospel, which the Church has long rejected:

“If the flesh came into existence because of the spirit, it is a marvel. But if the spirit (came into existence) because of the body, it is a marvel of marvels.”

This I say, is the truth. In the words of mythologist Joseph Campbell, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.”

They are merely what Jung called “archetypes of the collective unconscious“. Inborn, man-made remnants from evolution – from thousands of generations of belief in myths and religions, which were born of pagan gods and goddesses before them.

And I imagine the first gods were no more than the outward personifications of the inborn instincts of early humans. But we have to go forward. Turning each of ourselves into gods is a step back – and no less grandiose, egoistic and conceited than the Egyptian rulers or the Emporer Constantine, who thought he was a “divine avatar”, a god on earth.

The concept of avatars dates back to the Hindus. Krishna was one such “avatar”. Nowadays, instead of worshipping external deities, we are returning to the self-deification that the ancient rulers practiced. And it’s very telling in this age of self-worship, but it’s not at all grounded in the reality that joins us as a species. I’ll be the first to preach self-love, but I do not preach self-worship. That kind of thinking is out of touch with the humility that comes with accepting the darkside in each of us. As Jung wrote, “I’d rather be whole than good.” Thinking of oneself as purely “good” is a surefire way to being shortsighted about yourself and thinking you are better than others.

Man created god as an archetype – a model – for man. But it’s a hollow one. One that denies the innate sacredness of life in favor of some “divine” presence above us. When Nietzsche wrote that “God is dead”, he meant the archetype of the god in the sky, but we refuse to let go of the “god” within and so are internalizing the godhead into the human, which might seem a beautiful thing, were it not completely infantile. We don’t need to be loving the perfect, divine god: we need to be loving the imperfect, animalistic human.

And you’re welcome to hold onto your beliefs, but I’m letting mine go. I removed over forty New Age, spiritual books from my library last night. Of course, I’m not throwing out the baby with the bathwater – I kept my books on yoga, meditation, mindfulness, business success, and even my Buddhist and Hindu texts. But these are practical, life enriching philosophies that have stood the test of time. I cannot say the same for the New Age spiritualism that is preached by so many charlatans, from Deepak Chopra to Oprah. It’s all a fucking con. And if you follow it, like I did, you’re going to find yourself in that mirrored labyrinth – wondering if you’re problem is that you don’t believe in yourself enough. What a trap. But we keep creating it.

If anything New Age spirituality is a barrier to self-love – a blockade to success. It’s just another separation of man from himself. Another door on his heart that says, “You have to knock for it to be opened.”

New Age is completely disempowering because it’s not rational – and when we lack logic and rationality, we are rudderless, lost. We don’t need belief, we need self-esteem, self-worth. We don’t need divine love, we need human love. And we don’t need The Secret, we need cause and effect.

As I read this morning, in Brian Tracy’s book ‘Flight Plan‘:

From Brian Tracy’s ‘Flight Plan’

This turn in my personal evolution is one I am thrilled about. Maturity, it has been said, is the ability to see life more clearly.

I want to accept my mortality, without illusions, without any comforts. It’s this life I am interested in. And while I’m taking a more naturalistic worldview, it’s not to my detriment at all. It’s the opposite. It’s empowering me with real truth. By no means does this mean I no longer believe that “consciousness and energy are the same thing somehow”, as Joseph Campbell once said to Bill Moyers. I still believe this. And I believe my consciousness has an effect on others – the same way my energy can be intuitively perceived by animals and children. But there’s no longer any voodoo to it. The god in me has come down to earth. I want to be a human.

And I want to be the best goddamn human I can be. Full of compassion, love, dignity, honesty – all the things that make one valuable to themselves and those around them.

I believe in the sacredness of humanity – not of gods. I see this same sacredness in animals. I believe there are timeless energies that are worth holding up as examples for how to live. They are values – ethical rather than moral. I’m not interested in “right” or “wrong” – I’m interested in what is beneficial and what does not cause harm and suffering. And there are a lot of people suffering.

What we need as individuals is compassion. Not the kind that comes from seeing everything as divine or godlike, but from seeing everything as living, vulnerable, fragile, delicate.

This planet is a living thing. No doubt about it. From the oceans we evolved from to the land that nourished us. It’s incredible. It’s real magic. I don’t need to play anymore games about my identity. I am wholly human. Now, maybe we live in a simulation, but it’s still grounded in a biological reality.

I’d like to close by talking about our cousins, the great apes. I went down the ape rabbit hole last night, in a quest for answers. I wanted to know how to be human.

And I found some great answers, about what it means to be human, from the chimpanzees.

I highly recommend you watch the following:

If you found that as interesting as I did, you’ll want to read these too:

What You Can Learn From The Chimps: Traits Of The Alpha Male Leader – Part 1

What You Can Learn From The Chimps: Traits Of The Alpha Male Leader – Part 2

What You Can Learn From The Chimps: Traits Of The Alpha Male Leader – Part 3

I think you’ll find more in the above video and articles about what it means to be human, to be a good leader, to play the game of life, than you will in all the spiritual New Age books you can find.

And, if you’ve read the above, I’d like to pose a hypothetical question to you:

If a chimpanzee could read, what benefit to his success and the wellbeing of its troop, would any New Age or spiritual text be?

I’d say the answer is none. Because life is not about getting caught up in head games about whether you are a “god” in your own mind. It’s about being confident in yourself as a human, it’s about being altruistic and beneficial to the other humans on this planet. And you can have your monkey motives, and want to mate too. That’s okay too.

We evolved from monkeys – whom we ought to properly revere as our ancestors – and having gone to the gods and back, I want to return to an apelike consciousness, one deeply grounded in reality – freed from the traps of wishful, magical thinking, and comforting fables. So, take your “all is one”, “divine plan” and shove it up your ass where it belongs. The final truth is: we don’t need to learn to be gods – we don’t need more spiritual leaders – we need to learn to be humans and we need more truly human leaders.

Musing on Life Through Jack London’s ‘The Star Rover’: “The one man” and “The one woman”

I’m a fan of Jack London. He is, like Steinbeck, one of those California writers who hold a special place in my heart. I see myself like them, and their philosophies speak to me. And while Jack London is best known for adventure stories like Call of The Wild, The White Fang, and Sea Wolf, I am more of a Martin Eden kind of person, but there’s another, less well-known Jack London story that really left an impression on me. It’s called The Star Rover.

The Star Rover is a first-person tale of a man named Darrel Standing who is in San Quentin State Prison for murder. While imprisoned, awaiting his execution, he is subject to a specially cruel punishment: the straight jacket (The book was published in the UK as ‘The Jacket’). To survive the torture, our main character enters a kind of trance in which he astral travels through past lives. While the book returns again and again to the prison, it’s chapters are more like a series of episodic short stories – tales of these past lives. But of all the chapters, one stands out like a light beam.

Chapter 21, which I have reproduced below, made such an impact on me – both as some of the most beautiful prose fiction I have ever read, and as a paradigm for life, a model for viewing things. And if you’ll join me on a wonderful little journey, you can experience it below.

Note: if you would like to read the entire book, while printings are rare, you can access it in free online in your desired format at Project Gutenberg; however, as I have stated, the episodic format of the chapters makes each chapter a story into itself. Particularly Chapter 21.

After, I will discuss the weight and significance of what he is saying here, for this is heavy, heady stuff: something I think no one can read without benefitting their heart and soul. Part folktale, part mythology, it is an imagining of human history, evolution, the creation of gods – all seen through the eyes of “the one man” – and his love for “the one woman” throughout all of human history:

CHAPTER XXI


Pascal somewhere says: "In viewing the march of human evolution, the philosophic mind should look upon humanity as one man, and not as a conglomeration of individuals."

I sit here in Murderers' Row in Folsom, the drowsy hum of flies in my ears as I ponder that thought of Pascal. It is true. Just as the human embryo, in its brief ten lunar months, with bewildering swiftness, in myriad forms and semblances a myriad times multiplied, rehearses the entire history of organic life from vegetable to man; just as the human boy, in his brief years of boyhood, rehearses the history of primitive man in acts of cruelty and savagery, from wantonness of inflicting pain on lesser creatures to tribal consciousness expressed by the desire to run in gangs; just so, I, Darrell Standing, have rehearsed and relived all that primitive man was, and did, and became until he became even you and me and the rest of our kind in a twentieth century civilization.

Truly do we carry in us, each human of us alive on the planet to-day, the incorruptible history of life from life's beginning.  This history is written in our tissues and our bones, in our functions and our organs, in our brain cells and in our spirits, and in all sorts of physical and psychic atavistic urgencies and compulsions. Once we were fish-like, you and I, my reader, and crawled up out of the sea to pioneer in the great, dry-land adventure in the thick of which we are now.  The marks of the sea are still on us, as the marks of the serpent are still on us, ere the serpent became serpent and we became we, when pre-serpent and pre-we were one. Once we flew in the air, and once we dwelt arboreally and were afraid of the dark. The vestiges remain, graven on you and me, and graven on our seed to come after us to the end of our time on earth.

What Pascal glimpsed with the vision of a seer, I have lived.  I have seen myself that one man contemplated by Pascal's philosophic eye. Oh, I have a tale, most true, most wonderful, most real to me, although I doubt that I have wit to tell it, and that you, my reader, have wit to perceive it when told.  I say that I have seen myself that one man hinted at by Pascal.  I have lain in the long trances of the jacket and glimpsed myself a thousand living men living the thousand lives that are themselves the history of the human man climbing upward through the ages.

Ah, what royal memories are mine, as I flutter through the aeons of the long ago.  In single jacket trances I have lived the many lives involved in the thousand-years-long Odysseys of the early drifts of men. Heavens, before I was of the flaxen-haired Aesir, who dwelt in Asgard, and before I was of the red-haired Vanir, who dwelt in Vanaheim, long before those times I have memories (living memories) of earlier drifts, when, like thistledown before the breeze, we drifted south before the face of the descending polar ice-cap.

I have died of frost and famine, fight and flood.  I have picked berries on the bleak backbone of the world, and I have dug roots to eat from the fat-soiled fens and meadows. I have scratched the reindeer's semblance and the semblance of the hairy mammoth on ivory tusks gotten of the chase and on the rock walls of cave shelters when the winter storms moaned outside. I have cracked marrow-bones on the sites of kingly cities that had perished centuries before my time or that were destined to be builded centuries after my passing. And I have left the bones of my transient carcasses in pond bottoms, and glacial gravels, and asphaltum lakes.

I have lived through the ages known to-day among the scientists as the Paleolithic, the Neolithic, and the Bronze. I remember when with our domesticated wolves we herded our reindeer to pasture on the north shore of the Mediterranean where now are France and Italy and Spain. This was before the ice-sheet melted backward toward the pole. Many processions of the equinoxes have I lived through and died in, my reader . . . only that I remember and that you do not.

I have been a Son of the Plough, a Son of the Fish, a Son of the Tree. All religions from the beginnings of man's religious time abide in me.

And when the Dominie, in the chapel, here in Folsom of a Sunday, worships God in his own good modern way, I know that in him, the Dominie, still abide the worships of the Plough, the Fish, the Tree--ay, and also all worships of Astarte and the Night.

I have been an Aryan master in old Egypt, when my soldiers scrawled obscenities on the carven tombs of kings dead and gone and forgotten aforetime. And I, the Aryan master in old Egypt, have myself builded my two burial places--the one a false and mighty pyramid to which a generation of slaves could attest; the other humble, meagre, secret, rock-hewn in a desert valley by slaves who died immediately their work was done. . . . And I wonder me here in Folsom, while democracy dreams its enchantments o'er the twentieth century world, whether there, in the rock-hewn crypt of that secret, desert valley, the bones still abide that once were mine and that stiffened my animated body when I was an Aryan master high-stomached to command.

And on the great drift, southward and eastward under the burning sun that perished all descendants of the houses of Asgard and Vanaheim, I have been a king in Ceylon, a builder of Aryan monuments under Aryan kings in old Java and old Sumatra. And I have died a hundred deaths on the great South Sea drift ere ever the rebirth of me came to plant monuments, that only Aryans plant, on volcanic tropic islands that I, Darrell Standing, cannot name, being too little versed to-day in that far sea geography.

If only I were articulate to paint in the frail medium of words what I see and know and possess incorporated in my consciousness of the mighty driftage of the races in the times before our present written history began!  Yes, we had our history even then. Our old men, our priests, our wise ones, told our history into tales and wrote those tales in the stars so that our seed after us should not forget. From the sky came the life-giving rain and the sunlight. And we studied the sky, learned from the stars to calculate time and apportion the seasons; and we named the stars after our heroes and our foods and our devices for getting food; and after our wanderings, and drifts, and adventures; and after our functions and our furies of impulse and desire.

And, alas! we thought the heavens unchanging on which we wrote all our humble yearnings and all the humble things we did or dreamed of doing. When I was a Son of the Bull, I remember me a lifetime I spent at star-gazing. And, later and earlier, there were other lives in which I sang with the priests and bards the taboo-songs of the stars wherein we believed was written our imperishable record. And here, at the end of it all, I pore over books of astronomy from the prison library, such as they allow condemned men to read, and learn that even the heavens are passing fluxes, vexed with star-driftage as the earth is by the drifts of men.

Equipped with this modern knowledge, I have, returning through the little death from my earlier lives, been able to compare the heavens then and now. And the stars do change. I have seen pole stars and pole stars and dynasties of pole stars. The pole star to-day is in Ursa Minor. Yet, in those far days I have seen the pole star in Draco, in Hercules, in Vega,in Cygnus, and in Cepheus.  No; not even the stars abide, and yet the memory and the knowledge of them abides in me, in the spirit of me that is memory and that is eternal. Only spirit abides. All else, being mere matter, passes, and must pass.

Oh, I do see myself to-day that one man who appeared in the elder world, blonde, ferocious, a killer and a lover, a meat-eater and a root-digger, a gypsy and a robber, who, club in hand, through millenniums of years wandered the world around seeking meat to devour and sheltered nests for his younglings and sucklings.

I am that man, the sum of him, the all of him, the hairless biped who struggled upward from the slime and created love and law out of the anarchy of fecund life that screamed and squalled in the jungle.  I am all that that man was and did become. I see myself, through the painful generations, snaring and killing the game and the fish, clearing the first fields from the forest, making rude tools of stone and bone, building houses of wood, thatching the roofs with leaves and straw, domesticating the wild grasses and meadow-roots, fathering them to become the progenitors of rice and millet and wheat and barley and all manner of succulent edibles, learning to scratch the soil, to sow, to reap, to store, beating out the fibres of plants to spin into thread and to weave into cloth, devising systems of irrigation, working in metals, making markets and trade-routes, building boats, and founding navigation--ay, and organizing village life, welding villages to villages till they became tribes, welding tribes together till they became nations, ever seeking the laws of things, ever making the laws of humans so that humans might live together in amity and by united effort beat down and destroy
all manner of creeping, crawling, squalling things that might else
destroy them.

I was that man in all his births and endeavours. I am that man to-day, waiting my due death by the law that I helped to devise many a thousand years ago, and by which I have died many times before this, many times. And as I contemplate this vast past history of me, I find several great and splendid influences, and, chiefest of these, the love of woman, man's love for the woman of his kind. I see myself, the one man, the lover, always the lover. Yes, also was I the great fighter, but somehow it seems to me as I sit here and evenly balance it all, that I was, more than aught else, the great lover. It was because I loved greatly that I was the great fighter.

Sometimes I think that the story of man is the story of the love of woman. This memory of all my past that I write now is the memory of my love of woman. Ever, in the ten thousand lives and guises, I loved her. I love her now. My sleep is fraught with her; my waking fancies, no matter whence they start, lead me always to her. There is no escaping her, that eternal, splendid, ever-resplendent figure of woman.

Oh, make no mistake. I am no callow, ardent youth. I am an elderly man, broken in health and body, and soon to die.  I am a scientist and a philosopher.  I, as all the generations of philosophers before me, know woman for what she is--her weaknesses, and meannesses, and immodesties, and ignobilities, her earth-bound feet, and her eyes that have never seen the stars. But--and the everlasting, irrefragable fact remains: Her feet are beautiful, her eyes are beautiful, her arms and breasts are paradise, her charm is potent beyond all charm that has ever dazzled men; and, as the pole willy-nilly draws the needle, just so, willy-nilly, does she draw men.

Woman has made me laugh at death and distance, scorn fatigue and sleep. I have slain men, many men, for love of woman, or in warm blood have baptized our nuptials or washed away the stain of her favour to another. I have gone down to death and dishonour, my betrayal of my comrades and of the stars black upon me, for woman's sake--for my sake, rather, I desired her so. And I have lain in the barley, sick with yearning for her, just to see her pass and glut my eyes with the swaying wonder of her and of her hair, black with the night, or brown or flaxen, or all golden-dusty with the sun.

For woman _is_ beautiful . . . to man. She is sweet to his tongue, and fragrance in his nostrils. She is fire in his blood, and a thunder of trumpets; her voice is beyond all music in his ears; and she can shake his soul that else stands steadfast in the draughty presence of the Titans of the Light and of the Dark. And beyond his star-gazing, in his far-imagined heavens, Valkyrie or houri, man has fain made place for her, for he could see no heaven without her.  And the sword, in battle, singing, sings not so sweet a song as the woman sings to man merely by her laugh in the moonlight, or her love-sob in the dark, or by her swaying on her way under the sun while he lies dizzy with longing in the grass.

I have died of love. I have died for love, as you shall see. In a little while they will take me out, me, Darrell Standing, and make me die. And that death shall be for love. Oh, not lightly was I stirred when I slew Professor Haskell in the laboratory at the University of California. He was a man. I was a man. And there was a woman beautiful. Do you understand? She was a woman and I was a man and a lover, and all the heredity of love was mine up from the black and squalling jungle ere love was love and man was man.

Oh, ay, it is nothing new. Often, often, in that long past have I given life and honour, place and power for love.  Man is different from woman. She is close to the immediate and knows only the need of instant things. We know honour above her honour, and pride beyond her wildest guess of pride. Our eyes are far-visioned for star-gazing, while her eyes see no farther than the solid earth beneath her feet, the lover's breast upon her breast, the infant lusty in the hollow of her arm.  And yet, such is our alchemy compounded of the ages, woman works magic in our dreams and in our veins, so that more than dreams and far visions and the blood of life itself is woman to us, who, as lovers truly say, is more than all the world.  Yet is this just, else would man not be man, the fighter and the conqueror, treading his red way on the face of all other and lesser life--for, had man not been the lover, the royal lover, he could never have become the kingly fighter.  We fight best, and die best, and live best, for what we love.

I am that one man. I see myself the many selves that have gone into the constituting of me.  And ever I see the woman, the many women, who have made me and undone me, who have loved me and whom I have loved.

I remember, oh, long ago when human kind was very young, that I made me a snare and a pit with a pointed stake upthrust in the middle thereof, for the taking of Sabre-Tooth. Sabre-Tooth, long-fanged and long-haired, was the chiefest peril to us of the squatting place, who crouched through the nights over our fires and by day increased the growing shell-bank beneath us by the clams we dug and devoured from the salt mud-flats beside us.

And when the roar and the squall of Sabre-Tooth roused us where we squatted by our dying embers, and I was wild with far vision of the proof of the pit and the stake, it was the woman, arms about me, leg-twining, who fought with me and restrained me not to go out through the dark to my desire. She was part-clad, for warmth only, in skins of animals, mangy and fire-burnt, that I had slain; she was swart and dirty with camp smoke, unwashed since the spring rains, with nails gnarled and broken, and hands that were calloused like footpads and were more like claws than like hands; but her eyes were blue as the summer sky is, as the deep sea is, and there was that in her eyes, and in her clasped arms about me, and in her heart beating against mine, that withheld me . . . though through the dark until dawn, while Sabre-Tooth squalled his wrath and his agony, I could hear my comrades snickering and sniggling to their women in that I had not the faith in my emprise and invention to venture through the night to the pit and the stake I had devised for the undoing of Sabre-Tooth. But my woman, my savage mate held me, savage that I was, and her eyes drew me, and her arms chained me, and her twining legs and heart beating to mine seduced me from my far dream of things, my man's achievement, the goal beyond goals, the taking and the slaying of Sabre-Tooth on the stake in the pit.

Once I wan Ushu, the archer.  I remember it well.  For I was lost from my own people, through the great forest, till I emerged on the flat lands and grass lands, and was taken in by a strange people, kin in that their skin was white, their hair yellow, their speech not too remote from mine. And she was Igar, and I drew her as I sang in the twilight, for she was destined a race-mother, and she was broad-built and full-dugged, and she could not but draw to the man heavy-muscled, deep-chested, who sang of his prowess in man-slaying and in meat-getting, and so, promised food and protection to her in her weakness whilst she mothered the seed that was to hunt the meat and live after her.

And these people knew not the wisdom of my people, in that they snared and pitted their meat and in battle used clubs and stone throwing-sticks and were unaware of the virtues of arrows swift-flying, notched on the end to fit the thong of deer-sinew, well-twisted, that sprang into straightness when released to the spring of the ask-stick bent in the middle.

And while I sang, the stranger men laughed in the twilight. And only she, Igar, believed and had faith in me. I took her alone to the hunting, where the deer sought the water-hole. And my bow twanged and sang in the covert, and the deer fell fast-stricken, and the warm meat was sweet to us, and she was mine there by the water-hole.

And because of Igar I remained with the strange men. And I taught them the making of bows from the red and sweet-smelling wood like unto cedar. And I taught them to keep both eyes open, and to aim with the left eye, and to make blunt shafts for small game, and pronged shafts of bone for the fish in the clear water, and to flake arrow-heads from obsidian for the deer and the wild horse, the elk and old Sabre-Tooth. But the flaking of stone they laughed at, till I shot an elk through and through, the flaked stone standing out and beyond, the feathered shaft sunk in its vitals, the whole tribe applauding.

I was Ushu, the archer, and Igar was my woman and mate.  We laughed under the sun in the morning, when our man-child and woman-child, yellowed like honey-bees, sprawled and rolled in the mustard, and at night she lay close in my arms, and loved me, and urged me, because of my skill at the seasoning of woods and the flaking of arrow-heads, that I should stay close by the camp and let the other men bring to me the meat from the perils of hunting.  And I listened, and grew fat and short-breathed, and in the long nights, unsleeping, worried that the men of the stranger tribe brought me meat for my wisdom and honour, but laughed at my fatness and undesire for the hunting and fighting.

And in my old age, when our sons were man-grown and our daughters were mothers, when up from the southland the dark men, flat-browed,
kinky-headed, surged like waves of the sea upon us and we fled back before them to the hill-slopes, Igar, like my mates far before and long after, leg-twining, arm-clasping, unseeing far visions, strove to hold me aloof from the battle.

And I tore myself from her, fat and short-breathed, while she wept that no longer I loved her, and I went out to the night-fighting and dawn-fighting, where, to the singing of bowstrings and the shrilling of arrows, feathered, sharp-pointed, we showed them, the kinky-heads, the skill of the killing and taught them the wit and the willing of slaughter.

And as I died them at the end of the fighting, there were death songs and singing about me, and the songs seemed to sing as these the words I have written when I was Ushu, the archer, and Igar, my mate-woman,leg-twining, arm-clasping, would have held me back from the battle.

Once, and heaven alone knows when, save that it was in the long ago when man was young, we lived beside great swamps, where the hills drew down close to the wide, sluggish river, and where our women gathered berries and roots, and there were herds of deer, of wild horses, of antelope, and of elk, that we men slew with arrows or trapped in the pits or hill-pockets.  From the river we caught fish in nets twisted by the women of the bark of young trees.

I was a man, eager and curious as the antelope when we lured it by waving grass clumps where we lay hidden in the thick of the grass.  The wild rice grew in the swamp, rising sheer from the water on the edges of the channels. Each morning the blackbirds awoke us with their chatter as they left their roosts to fly to the swamp.  And through the long twilight the air was filled with their noise as they went back to their roosts. It was the time that the rice ripened. And there were ducks also, and ducks and blackbirds feasted to fatness on the ripe rice half unhusked by the sun.

Being a man, ever restless, ever questing, wondering always what lay beyond the hills and beyond the swamps and in the mud at the river's bottom, I watched the wild ducks and blackbirds and pondered till my pondering gave me vision and I saw. And this is what I saw, the reasoning of it:

Meat was good to eat. In the end, tracing it back, or at the first, rather, all meat came from grass. The meat of the duck and of the blackbird came from the seed of the swamp rice.  To kill a duck with an arrow scarce paid for the labour of stalking and the long hours in hiding. The blackbirds were too small for arrow-killing save by the boys who were learning and preparing for the taking of larger game.  And yet, in rice season, blackbirds and ducks were succulently fat. Their fatness came from the rice. Why should I and mine not be fat from the rice in the same way?

And I thought it out in camp, silent, morose, while the children squabbled about me unnoticed, and while Arunga, my mate-woman, vainly scolded me and urged me to go hunting for more meat for the many of us.

Arunga was the woman I had stolen from the hill-tribes.  She and I had been a dozen moons in learning common speech after I captured her. Ah, that day when I leaped upon her, down from the over-hanging tree-branch as she padded the runway! Fairly upon her shoulders with the weight of my body I smote her, my fingers wide-spreading to clutch her. She squalled like a cat there in the runway.  She fought me and bit me. The nails of her hands were like the claws of a tree-cat as they tore at me. But I held her and mastered her, and for two days beat her and forced her to travel with me down out of the canyons of the Hill-Men to the grass lands where the river flowed through the rice-swamps and the ducks and the blackbirds fed fat.

I saw my vision when the rice was ripe. I put Arunga in the bow of the fire-hollowed log that was most rudely a canoe.  I bade her paddle. In the stern I spread a deerskin she had tanned. With two stout sticks I bent the stalks over the deerskin and threshed out the grain that else the blackbirds would have eaten. And when I had worked out the way of it, I gave the two stout sticks to Arunga, and sat in the bow paddling and directing.

In the past we had eaten the raw rice in passing and not been pleased with it.  But now we parched it over our fire so that the grains puffed and exploded in whiteness and all the tribe came running to taste.

After that we became known among men as the Rice-Eaters and as the Sons of the Rice.  And long, long after, when we were driven by the Sons of the River from the swamps into the uplands, we took the seed of the rice with us and planted it. We learned to select the largest grains for the seed, so that all the rice we thereafter ate was larger-grained and puffier in the parching and the boiling.

But Arunga. I have said she squalled and scratched like a cat when I stole her. Yet I remember the time when her own kin of the Hill-Men caught me and carried me away into the hills.  They were her father, his brother, and her two own blood-brothers. But she was mine, who had lived with me.  And at night, where I lay bound like a wild pig for the slaying, and they slept weary by the fire, she crept upon them and brained them with the war-club that with my hands I had fashioned. And she wept over me, and loosed me, and fled with me, back to the wide sluggish river where the blackbirds and wild ducks fed in the rice swamps--for this was before the time of the coming of the Sons of the River.

For she was Arunga, the one woman, the eternal woman.  She has lived in all times and places. She will always live. She is immortal.  Once, in a far land, her name was Ruth. Also has her name been Iseult, and Helen, Pocahontas, and Unga. And no stranger man, from stranger tribes, but has found her and will find her in the tribes of all the earth.

I remember so many women who have gone into the becoming of the one woman. There was the time that Har, my brother, and I, sleeping and pursuing in turn, ever hounding the wild stallion through the daytime and night, and in a wide circle that met where the sleeping one lay, drove the stallion unresting through hunger and thirst to the meekness of weakness, so that in the end he could but stand and tremble while we bound him with ropes twisted of deer-hide.  On our legs alone, without hardship, aided merely by wit--the plan was mine--my brother and I walked that fleet-footed creature into possession.

And when all was ready for me to get on his back--for that had been my vision from the first--Selpa, my woman, put her arms about me, and raised her voice and persisted that Har, and not I, should ride, for Har had neither wife nor young ones and could die without hurt.  Also, in the end she wept, so that I was raped of my vision, and it was Har, naked and clinging, that bestrode the stallion when he vaulted away.

It was sunset, and a time of great wailing, when they carried Har in from the far rocks where they found him. His head was quite broken, and like honey from a fallen bee-tree his brains dripped on the ground. His mother strewed wood-ashes on her head and blackened her face. His father cut off half the fingers of one hand in token of sorrow. And all the women, especially the young and unwedded, screamed evil names at me; and the elders shook their wise heads and muttered and mumbled that not their fathers nor their fathers' fathers had betrayed such a madness. Horse meat was good to eat; young colts were tender to old teeth; and only a fool would come to close grapples with any wild horse save when an arrow had pierced it, or when it struggled on the stake in the midst of the pit.

And Selpa scolded me to sleep, and in the morning woke me with her chatter, ever declaiming against my madness, ever pronouncing her claim upon me and the claims of our children, till in the end I grew weary, and forsook my far vision, and said never again would I dream of bestriding the wild horse to fly swift as its feet and the wind across the sands and the grass lands.

And through the years the tale of my madness never ceased from being told over the camp-fire.  Yet was the very telling the source of my vengeance; for the dream did not die, and the young ones, listening to the laugh and the sneer, redreamed it, so that in the end it was Othar, my eldest-born, himself a sheer stripling, that walked down a wild stallion, leapt on its back, and flew before all of us with the speed of the wind.  Thereafter, that they might keep up with him, all men were trapping and breaking wild horses.  Many horses were broken, and some men, but I lived at the last to the day when, at the changing of camp-sites in the pursuit of the meat in its seasons, our very babes, in baskets of willow-withes, were slung side and side on the backs of our horses that carried our camp trappage and dunnage.

I, a young man, had seen my vision, dreamed my dream; Selpa, the woman, had held me from that far desire; but Othar, the seed of us to live after, glimpsed my vision and won to it, so that our tribe became wealthy in the gains of the chase.

There was a woman--on the great drift down out of Europe, a weary drift of many generations, when we brought into India the shorthorn cattle and the planting of barley. But this woman was long before we reached India. We were still in the mid-most of that centuries-long drift, and no shrewdness of geography can now place for me that ancient valley.

The woman was Nuhila.  The valley was narrow, not long, and the swift slope of its floor and the steep walls of its rim were terraced for the growing of rice and of millet--the first rice and millet we Sons of the Mountain had known. They were a meek people in that valley.  They had become soft with the farming of fat land made fatter by water.  Theirs was the first irrigation we had seen, although we had little time to mark their ditches and channels by which all the hill waters flowed to the fields they had builded.  We had little time to mark, for we Sons of the Mountain, who were few, were in flight before the Sons of the Snub-Nose, who were many. We called them the Noseless, and they called themselves the Sons of the Eagle. But they were many, and we fled before them with our shorthorn cattle, our goats, and our barleyseed, our women and children.

While the Snub-Noses slew our youths at the rear, we slew at our fore thefolk of the valley who opposed us and were weak. The village was mud-built and grass-thatched; the encircling wall was of mud, but quite tall. And when we had slain the people who had built the wall, and sheltered within it our herds and our women and children, we stood on the wall and shouted insult to the Snub-Noses. For we had found the mud granaries filled with rice and millet. Our cattle could eat the thatches.  And the time of the rains was at hand, so that we should not want for water.

It was a long siege. Near to the beginning, we gathered together the women, and elders, and children we had not slain, and forced them out through the wall they had builded. But the Snub-Noses slew them to the last one, so that there was more food in the village for us, more food in the valley for the Snub-Noses.

It was a weary long siege. Sickness smote us, and we died of the plague that arose from our buried ones. We emptied the mud-granaries of their rice and millet. Our goats and shorthorns ate the thatch of the houses, and we, ere the end, ate the goats and the shorthorns.

Where there had been five men of us on the wall, there came a time when there was one; where there had been half a thousand babes and younglings of ours, there were none. It was Nuhila, my woman, who cut off her hair and twisted it that I might have a strong string for my bow.  The other women did likewise, and when the wall was attacked, stood shoulder to shoulder with us, in the midst of our spears and arrows raining down potsherds and cobblestones on the heads of the Snub-Noses.

Even the patient Snub-Noses we well-nigh out-patienced. Came a time when of ten men of us, but one was alive on the wall, and of our women remained very few, and the Snub-Noses held parley. They told us we were a strong breed, and that our women were men-mothers, and that if we would let them have our women they would leave us alone in the valley to possess for ourselves and that we could get women from the valleys to the south.

And Nuhila said no. And the other women said no. And we sneered at the Snub-Noses and asked if they were weary of fighting. And we were as dead men then, as we sneered at our enemies, and there was little fight left in us we were so weak. One more attack on the wall would end us. We knew it. Our women knew it. And Nuhila said that we could end it first and outwit the Snub-Noses. And all our women agreed. And while the Snub-Noses prepared for the attack that would be final, there, on the wall, we slew our women. Nuhila loved me, and leaned to meet the thrust of my sword, there on the wall. And we men, in the love of tribehood and tribesmen, slew one another till remained only Horda and I alive in the red of the slaughter. And Horda was my elder, and I leaned to his thrust. But not at once did I die. I was the last of the Sons of the Mountain, for I saw Horda, himself fall on his blade and pass quickly. And dying with the shouts of the oncoming Snub-Noses growing dim in my ears, I was glad that the Snub-Noses would have no sons of us to bring up by our women.

I do not know when this time was when I was a Son of the Mountain and when we died in the narrow valley where we had slain the Sons of the Rice and the Millet. I do not know, save that it was centuries before the wide-spreading drift of all us Sons of the Mountain fetched into India, and that it was long before ever I was an Aryan master in Old Egypt building my two burial places and defacing the tombs of kings before me.

I should like to tell more of those far days, but time in the present is short. Soon I shall pass. Yet am I sorry that I cannot tell more of those early drifts, when there was crushage of peoples, or descending ice-sheets, or migrations of meat.

Also, I should like to tell of Mystery. For always were we curious to solve the secrets of life, death, and decay. Unlike the other animals, man was for ever gazing at the stars. Many gods he created in his own image and in the images of his fancy. In those old times I have worshipped the sun and the dark. I have worshipped the husked grain as the parent of life. I have worshipped Sar, the Corn Goddess.  And I have worshipped sea gods, and river gods, and fish gods.

Yes, and I remember Ishtar ere she was stolen from us by the Babylonians, and Ea, too, was ours, supreme in the Under World, who enabled Ishtar to conquer death. Mitra, likewise, was a good old Aryan god, ere he was filched from us or we discarded him. And I remember, on a time, long after the drift when we brought the barley into India, that I came down into India, a horse-trader, with many servants and a long caravan at my back, and that at that time they were worshipping Bodhisatwa.

Truly, the worships of the Mystery wandered as did men, and between filchings and borrowings the gods had as vagabond a time of it as did we. As the Sumerians took the loan of Shamashnapishtin from us, so did the Sons of Shem take him from the Sumerians and call him Noah.

Why, I smile me to-day, Darrell Standing, in Murderers' Row, in that I was found guilty and awarded death by twelve jurymen staunch and true. Twelve has ever been a magic number of the Mystery. Nor did it originate with the twelve tribes of Israel. Star-gazers before them had placed the twelve signs of the Zodiac in the sky. And I remember me, when I was of the Assir, and of the Vanir, that Odin sat in judgment over men in the court of the twelve gods, and that their names were Thor, Baldur, Niord, Frey, Tyr, Bregi, Heimdal, Hoder, Vidar, Ull, Forseti, and Loki.

Even our Valkyries were stolen from us and made into angels, and the wings of the Valkyries' horses became attached to the shoulders of the angels. And our Helheim of that day of ice and frost has become the hell of to-day, which is so hot an abode that the blood boils in one's veins, while with us, in our Helheim, the place was so cold as to freeze the marrow inside the bones. And the very sky, that we dreamed enduring, eternal, has drifted and veered, so that we find to-day the scorpion in the place where of old we knew the goat, and the archer in the place of the crab.

Worships and worships! Ever the pursuit of the Mystery! I remember the lame god of the Greeks, the master-smith. But their vulcan was the Germanic Wieland, the master-smith captured and hamstrung lame of a leg by Nidung, the kind of the Nids. But before that he was our master-smith, our forger and hammerer, whom we named Il-marinen. And him we begat of our fancy, giving him the bearded sun-god for father, and nursing him by the stars of the bear. For, he, Vulcan, or Wieland, or Il-marinen, was born under the pine tree, from the hair of the wolf, and was called also the bear-father ere ever the Germans and Greeks purloined and worshipped him. In that day we called ourselves the Sons of the Bear and the Sons of the Wolf, and the bear and the wolf were our totems. That was before our drift south on which we joined with the Sons of the Tree-Grove and taught them our totems and tales.

Yes, and who was Kashyapa, who was Pururavas, but our lame master-smith, our iron-worker, carried by us in our drifts and re-named and worshipped by the south-dwellers and the east-dwellers, the Sons of the Pole and of the Fire Drill and Fire Socket.

But the tale is too long, though I should like to tell of the three-leaved Herb of Life by which Sigmund made Sinfioti alive again. For this is the very soma-plant of India, the holy grail of King Arthur, the--but enough! enough!

And yet, as I calmly consider it all, I conclude that the greatest thing in life, in all lives, to me and to all men, has been woman, is woman, and will be woman so long as the stars drift in the sky and the heavens flux eternal change. Greater than our toil and endeavour, the play of invention and fancy, battle and star-gazing and mystery--greatest of all has been woman.

Even though she has sung false music to me, and kept my feet solid on the ground, and drawn my star-roving eyes ever back to gaze upon her, she, the conserver of life, the earth-mother, has given me my great days and nights and fulness of years. Even mystery have I imaged in the form of her, and in my star-charting have I placed her figure in the sky.

All my toils and devices led to her; all my far visions saw her at the end. When I made the fire-drill and fire-socket, it was for her.  It was for her, although I did not know it, that I put the stake in the pit for old Sabre-Tooth, tamed the horse, slew the mammoth, and herded my reindeer south in advance of the ice-sheet. For her I harvested the wild rice, tamed the barley, the wheat, and the corn.

For her, and the seed to come after whose image she bore, I have died in tree-tops and stood long sieges in cave-mouths and on mud-walls.  For her I put the twelve signs in the sky. It was she I worshipped when I bowed before the ten stones of jade and adored them as the moons of gestation.

Always has woman crouched close to earth like a partridge hen mothering her young; always has my wantonness of roving led me out on the shining ways; and always have my star-paths returned me to her, the figure everlasting, the woman, the one woman, for whose arms I had such need that clasped in them I have forgotten the stars.

For her I accomplished Odysseys, scaled mountains, crossed deserts; for her I led the hunt and was forward in battle; and for her and to her I sang my songs of the things I had done. All ecstasies of life and rhapsodies of delight have been mine because of her. And here, at the end, I can say that I have known no sweeter, deeper madness of being than to drown in the fragrant glory and forgetfulness of her hair.

One word more. I remember me Dorothy, just the other day, when I still lectured on agronomy to farmer-boy students. She was eleven years old. Her father was dean of the college. She was a woman-child, and a woman, and she conceived that she loved me. And I smiled to myself, for my heart was untouched and lay elsewhere.

Yet was the smile tender, for in the child's eyes I saw the woman eternal, the woman of all times and appearances. In her eyes I saw the eyes of my mate of the jungle and tree-top, of the cave and the squatting-place. In her eyes I saw the eyes of Igar when I was Ushu the archer, the eyes of Arunga when I was the rice-harvester, the eyes of Selpa when I dreamed of bestriding the stallion, the eyes of Nuhila who leaned to the thrust of my sword. Yes, there was that in her eyes that made them the eyes of Lei-Lei whom I left with a laugh on my lips, the eyes of the Lady Om for forty years my beggar-mate on highway and byway, the eyes of Philippa for whom I was slain on the grass in old France, the eyes of my mother when I was the lad Jesse at the Mountain Meadows in the circle of our forty great wagons.

She was a woman-child, but she was daughter of all women, as her mother before her, and she was the mother of all women to come after her. She was Sar, the corn-goddess.  She was Isthar who conquered death. She was Sheba and Cleopatra; she was Esther and Herodias.  She was Mary the Madonna, and Mary the Magdalene, and Mary the sister of Martha, also she was Martha. And she was Brunnhilde and Guinevere, Iseult and Juliet, Heloise and Nicolette. Yes, and she was Eve, she was Lilith, she was Astarte. She was eleven years old, and she was all women that had been, all women to be.

I sit in my cell now, while the flies hum in the drowsy summer afternoon, and I know that my time is short.  Soon they will apparel me in the shirt without a collar. . . . But hush, my heart. The spirit is immortal. After the dark I shall live again, and there will be women. The future holds the little women for me in the lives I am yet to live.  And though the stars drift, and the heavens lie, ever remains woman, resplendent, eternal, the one woman, as I, under all my masquerades and misadventures, am the one man, her mate.

A lot to be said. I’ve never read anything like it. It’s metaphysical, it’s philosophical, it’s spiritual, it’s romantic. This singular chapter is, in sum, some of the finest writing I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. And it feels true; sure, it’s got the flaws and marks of being written over a hundred years ago, but it sticks to your ribs because it feels true. If you’ve lived and loved and lost – and been cruel – you know how the one man feels.

And yes, his language is very gendered – but, as a non-binary person, I see it in terms of birth-sex rather than gender, which is a misconstruing of modern gender understandings, but I know that the one man and the one woman throughout all of human history have gone into me.

Fitting I am revisiting this, as I recently took a DNA test out of curiosity for my own roots. It’s amazing.

Not only do we all come out of Africa, we all share a single common male and a single common female ancestor.

The One Man

The One Woman

Every living human has DNA from a common male ancestor that lived 275,000 years ago. That’s somewhere between six-thousand and nine-thousand generations ago or more, depending on your math (Generations are calculated using an average age of parenthood, say, 20-40 years.). A lot of men, and a lot of women, have lived and died before you. And we’re all just really distant relatives. Each living person with common ancestors far back enough.

I’ve never thought of them. I’ve never thought of my ancestors beyond what I could discover in my own pre-DNA genealogy research, which left me stumped beyond anything past 4 generations ago.

According to my dad, my grandfather claimed we were from Bohemia. I’m actually British and Irish, German and French. My ancestors trace back to 18th century Scandinavia. What a thing.

But returning to our shared common ancestry, it really brings home the one man and the one woman, particularly if you are inclined to take a spiritual leap wherein all living life is One yet our consciousness makes us experience it subjectively.

And perhaps it’s the combination of revisiting this, so powerful a text, and delving into my own DNA (Looks like I’m actually 4th cousins with a best friend from my youth), but something has sunk into my bones – a consciousness. An awareness that I am – that you are – the one man, the one woman; that through our shared DNA, we are related to every one in history. From Hitler to Jesus. Now, we may not trace back to every one directly, but past them, in the far past, we connect. And so it is, we are born in sin. Not as sinners of the bible in the eyes of the church, but as humans, responsible for more than just ourselves: for our whole species.

There was a time the Wolf was persecuted (It still is), but there was a time when people sought to eradicate the Wolf. Farmers and landowners, and “hunters” poisoned and shot, and brutally trapped wolves en masse. The animal was seen as a nuisance, a pest, a danger, a beast. Why? Well, wolves attacked lifestock and hunters saw them as competition. So they wanted all wolves dead. There was, besides, hardly any way to separate wolves between degrees of perceived danger; for, it was the nature of the species that man persecuted. But even more than that, it was man’s folly, his lack of understanding, and in many ways, a projection of his own savagery.

WolfMatters.org has a wonderful page on why the wolf was persecuted, which I am quoting the below content from because it’s highly relevant:

“Why do some people hate wolves? Why is there an anti-wolf movement?  These are just a couple of the questions that we get asked when it comes to wolf intolerance and persecution. While we don’t have all the answers, we have seen some dialogues, articles, regular conversations, etc that point to many different reasons why people may have intolerance and even a downright hatred of wolves:

1. Fear – Many people are intimidated by wolves and other carnivores and, if you’ve never bothered to research or educate yourself about wolves, their size, strength, speed, and large canine teeth may be enough to instill fear. All large carnivores have the ability to do great harm in regards to their strength and teeth, however the truth is that they almost never do towards humans. In fact, wolves are the ones who fear humans. However fear often breed hatred and misconceptions

2. Misconceptions/Myth/Folklore – There are dozens of  fairy tales and stories that feature the “big, bad, wolf”. We say “cry wolf” “wolf at the door” wolf your food” and “thrown to the wolves”. Modern literature is also full of vampires and were-wolves, designed to scare people and sadly, film-makers are still making movies like “The Gray”, a film in which gray wolves pursue and eat humans. Throughout history, wolves have been characterized to represented the dark, the evil, the untrustworthy, the dangerous and unpredictable. These misconception and false portrayals continue to perpetuate fear and wolf hate groups are the first to chime in about the “accuracy” of it all.

3. Hate Culture/Disconnect – Wolf hate culture is based on myths and lies perpetuated over and over again by uneducated and uninformed individuals who continue to believe that wolves are evil and, often times, these communities/individuals will base their hatred on the many other reasons we have listed here: folklore and misconceptions, fear, viewing wolves as ruthless killers of livestock, ungulates, pets and even humans! Again, science is ignored. There is also an interesting article that states that a lot of wolf hate culture (especially in the USA) is deeply rooted in politics and government influences. From Earth Island Journal (http://earthisland.org/journal/index.php/eij/article/cry_wolf/): “For the last few years, a new version of an old war against the American gray wolf has raged in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming. Almost two decades ago, spurred by environmental activists with a vision of restoring a historic wolf population that had been extirpated, the US Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) captured 66 wolves in Canada and released them into Yellowstone National Park and central Idaho, where they flourished. To naturalists, wolf reintroduction seemed morally right, a chance to remedy a previous generation’s crime of wolf extermination. But to many in the region, the resurgence of wolves became a source of rage. Wolves killed livestock, infuriating ranchers. Many hunters saw the wolves as competitors for deer and elk. Yet the fury against wolves went deeper than what the animals actually did. For decades, the Rocky Mountain states have been the center of an extreme right-wing culture that celebrates the image of man as “warrior,” recognizes only local and state governance as legitimate, and advocates resistance – even armed resistance – against the federal government. To members of this culture, wolf reintroduction became a galvanizing symbol of perceived assaults on their personal freedom. Resistance was imperative. But whereas attacking the federal government could lead to prison, killing wolves was a political goal within reach – something the individual warrior could do. So advocating for the killing of wolves became a proxy battle, an organizing tool to reach out to all those angry about environmental regulations, gun laws, and public land policies. Since the early 2000s, and with increasing virulence since 2009, anti-wolf activists have promoted the image of wolves as demons – disease-ridden, dangerous, and foreign. Mainstream hunters, ranchers, loggers, and politicians from both political parties have signed onto the anti-wolf stance. With the public debate dominated by wolf paranoia – and fearful of wider losses across the West – conservation groups were pushed into a legal compromise that ultimately failed. The result is an impending slaughter.” Sadly, this wolf hating attitude has slowly trickled into Alberta as well as evident by many comments left on the Alberta Outdoorsman Forum site (some we have compiled below). 

4. Competition – Many hunters see wolves as competitors for deer and elk and believe that wolves “decimate” herds of elks. deer, moose and cause imbalance. It’s the same story/excuse all over North America to kill wolves and to develop an ill-conceived hatred towards wolves. ‘The impact [the wolves are] having on our wild game herds is devastating.’ – a quote typical of an anti-wolf campaign trying to convince citizens that wolves have, or are about the destroy the region’s ungulate herds. Science has shown us over and over again that this is simply not true. This science is often ignored by the anti-wolf community. From the NRDC website (https://www.nrdc.org/experts/matt-skoglund/honesty-wolf-hunter-about-wolves-and-elk) – “The elk population in the Northern Rockies is strong — stronger than it was a quarter century ago — but elk use the landscape differently with wolves present — they use it in a more natural, ecologically friendly way. And that means hunters have to hunt elk differently.  They need to cover more ground and move around the landscape more.  In essence, they need to hunt. Pettit admitted that, too:Wolves, he said, surely have changed the way deer and elk act in the wilds, and that’s changing the ways hunters must hunt. Sure, hunters need to hunt differently nowadays, but the elk are still here, they’re here in great numbers, and hunters can still find them.”

5. Killing of Livestock – The battle between wolves and farmers/ranchers dates far back. Farming, combined with the decimation of the wolf’s natural prey, forced wolves to get closer to human settlements and to feed upon the occasional livestock. Soon, wolves were accused of unbridled depredation on livestock. This led to government formation of bounties. Poisoning campaigns soon followed. And in some areas, such as Montana, wolves were purposely infected with mange and released back into the wild as a “wolf control” method. In a sense, killing wolves became a lucrative business and, to this day, wolves are still persecuted for livestock depredation even if they are not killing livestock. In Alberta, wolves can be killed simply for setting foot on livestock land.  “Wolf may be hunted (but not trapped) without a licence during all seasons, as follows:
– on privately owned land by the owner or occupant of the land, or by a resident with permission from the owner or occupant
– on public land by a person authorized to keep livestock on that land, or by a resident who has written permission from that authorized person.
The above authorities to hunt wolves extend to lands within 8 km (5 mi.) of the land described above, provided the authorized person or resident has right of access.” – Alberta Big Game Regulations. 

6. Religious Convictions – Taken from an excerpt from the writings of Roger Abrantes, “Religious convictions support our hatred of the wolf. “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.’” (Genesis 1:26-29). European farmers and American settlers were devout Christians and they didn’t need a clearer incentive to declare war on all that crept upon the Earth. “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” (Genesis 1:26-29)—and the wolf became the ultimate target and symbol of their mission.”

Now, doesn’t “Fear, Misconceptions/Myth/Folklore, Hate Culture/Disconnect, Competition, and Religious Convictions” sound a lot like the same old human story. The one we’ve been living throughout all of modern history, and perhaps before that too – as lovingly and romantically as we want to look upon the tribe, the village.

It’s modern tribalism in the first place that makes people disparage others so hatefully. So ignorantly.

We’ve got to get to a different place: where we coexist as one giant, beautiful, fucked-up family. And if we can get there, in the collective consciousness, in the next 100 years, I think there’d be a lot less fucked-up families. A lot less “others”. Perhaps one day, no “others”. That would be a grand evolution of consciousness.

But I’m afraid there’s a barrier. It’s called responsibility. It’s the finger pointing, it’s the judging, it’s a lot of shit called ego – lacking humility – but namely, it’s an aversion to accepting responsibility. We can’t even accept responsibility for ourselves. I’m just now, at thirty-three, sobering up to the reality of some of my cruelties.

It was a lot of fear. Fear makes monsters of men – in themselves. And then we fight the monsters in our lives – on the outside, as fate. Yet, it’s us, we are our own worst enemies. The Count of Monte Cristo archetype betrays himself in real life, yet thinks he is The Count, thought he was the avenging angel, rather than an asshole: his own demon.

In real life, he has to forgive himself.

I love quoting this passage from James Baldin’s beautiful novel, Another Country:

“We all commit our crimes. The thing is to not lie about them — to try to understand what you have done, why you have done it. That way, you can begin to forgive yourself. That’s very important. If you don’t forgive yourself you’ll never be able to forgive anybody else and you’ll go on committing the same crimes forever.”

But we lie about our crimes, by denying them, by laying blame on another, and the human mind is such that it is more of a projection screen than a lens: we come up with the evidence to support our beliefs and think it reality.

Dostoevsky wrote it in The Brothers Karamazov:

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself. The man who lies to himself can be more easily offended than anyone. You know it is sometimes very pleasant to take offence, isn’t it? A man may know that nobody has insulted him, but that he has invented the insult for himself, has lied and exaggerated to make it picturesque, has caught at a word and made a mountain out of a molehill — he knows that himself, yet he will be the first to take offence, and will revel in his resentment till he feels great pleasure in it, and so pass to genuine vindictiveness.”

This is the tale of The Count of Monte Cristo, The Great Gatsby, Vanilla Sky – nearly all my influencing personal mythologies. The only external personal mythologies beyond these, which do not tell of this self-deceit and ensuing resentment are The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, in which a man becomes a child again, Happy Accidents, in which a man from the future time travels to find love, and Cloud Atlas, in which the noblest characters are decent, despite their failings.

I have not been entirely decent in my life. I would say I’m a decent person, but this has not always been true though I thought it was. I thought more than that: I thought I was the worst kind of hero: the victim.

For the victim is always, through their tragedies and self-pity, some kind of martyr, which is sometimes the noblest hero one can be. We have a big one in our culture called Jesus. The myths reinforce it.

It’s not the truth however; the truth is that all the gods and all the devils are within us. But we don’t like the devils, our fears, our judgements, so we reject them and push them outward, onto others. Carl Jung called this the shadow. If you wanna do yourself a favor, learn about it. Start with quotes. I’d recommend reading Jung, but it’s not exactly delicious reading. Try Debbie Ford’s ‘The Dark Side of The Light Chasers’.

If every human did shadow work – the work of the heart warrior – and if every human could integrate the tracing of their DNA back to a shared common ancestor, I think we’d make a lot of progress in human consciousness. Personally and collectively. Because, the thing about the collective consciousness is that it all has to originate in the personal consciousness, in the individual. It is only from there that we can understand what Jung said, when he wrote that “None of us stands outside of humanity’s black collective shadow.”

We each carry the world within us. Unfortunately, that world was passed down from a lot of trauma, and it contains all the crimes of human history. We have let man persecute man as man persecuted the wolf. If we collectively understood ourselves to be a family, we wouldn’t send our children off to wars: they wouldn’t go.

We’ve even had a civil war, as have many nations: brother fighting brother. It’s going on all over the world now. And it’s insane. Imagine if we watched the ant colonies do that. Of course, we may be inclined to look to the warring wolfpacks of Yellowstone, fighting for territory and mating rights, and think this is the nature of life or “the nature of the beast”, as some might say, but you’d think if wolves were driving cars and talking on cell phones and taking DNA tests, that they’d evolve past it – and maybe we will.

But it’s not going to happen with the same level of consciousness.

As Einstein said, “You cannot solve problems with the same thinking used to create them.”

We need to understand that thinking that created them. But we also can’t look to old books for the answers, though sometimes they help connect the dots. But, this life we have, we need to use it to grow. And before we can collectively take responsibility, it needs to happen individually. That’s not going to happen staring at the news, or buying the current generation of cool shit. It’s not going to happen by having the church forgive our sins.

It’s going to happen doing the work. The work of bringing the shadow to the light; for light sanitizes. And it’s going to happen by taking personal AND collective responsibility. This is maturity.

As Nathaniel Branden, philosophical heir to Ayn Rand and author of The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem, posits in his book ‘Taking Responsibility‘:

“Only a culture of personal responsibility can sustain and preserve a civilized society.”

Further:

“When men and women do not attain psychological adulthood, the danger is that unconsciously they expect others to assume responsibility for their existence, especially for their emotional life. They may be perfectly willing to earn their own living; that is not the focus here. But they wait for others to make them happy. They imagine that the right person can provide them with feelings of self-worth, can spare them the necessity of independence, can help them avoid the fact of their ultimate aloneness. And as we have already said, they typically feel hurt, resentful, and depressed when others fail to live up to their expectations. Many men and woman carry into adulthood so much unfinished business from childhood and so many unresolved conflicts that they enter into the arena of intimate relationships with terrible handicaps. Blind to their own incapacities, they count on love to perform a miracle. When the miracle does not happen, they blame love. Or they blame their partner…. ‘They tend not to trust the authenticity of anyone’s caring or loving. They never feel that they are enough’.”

This personal responsibility stuff, this shadow stuff, it’s tied very deeply into self-love.

We’ve made love a very conditional thing in our society – as if it were some finite resource to covet rather than an abundant thing to freely share. Now, I’m not saying we need a “free-love” thing. I don’t want to return to the sixties – or any time in the past – I want humanity to go forward. But to do that, we need to witness some change in the collective consciousness. When we realize that what others do is not about us, when we realize our own bullshit, when we stop worshipping a commercially propped-up model of beauty and see humans like dolphins, as all beautiful and worthy, regardless of individual characteristics, which are largely a birth lottery – when we stop blindly accepting the outside of a person as the inside – when we understand the inside rather than judge it – we’ll be living in a very nice world.

Just moving my own perception more toward these realities has changed my world dramatically for the better. Sure, I sometimes tell people I love them and they don’t reply, but that’s not about me. And when I make it about me, I only reveal the scared, insecure boy who doesn’t think he’s worthy of his own love – as if he needs the love of another to set the example for his self-love and not the other way around.

If I could continue Chapter 21 of The Star Rover, in the vein of Jack London, in the present day life of the one man, it would go like this.

And I was Lawrence. Writer. Lover of Sarah and the dogs, Felix and Sophie. And she, the one woman, wrapped her leg about me at night, but I did not savor the love as I had when we lived on the plains – covered in mustard and ash – no mirror but each other’s smile. No, I, Lawrence, only feared for my own small existence, the outward approval of others who judge, and that all perfectly obey and conform to my selfish, childlike expectations. Failing which, I blamed them. And then she, the one woman, left; for I, the one man, had no longer been her protector, her liberator, but her persecutor. And then I persecuted and abused myself, all alone.

I was not a friend to myself, but I slowly learned. When I had spent a long winter alone in my cabin, I finally learned, when I drank myself into detox, when I no longer imbibed the barley or smoked the green plant, and sobered up, for good, I learned. And I for the first time saw my past lives not for their glories and triumphs but for their failings, for my own cruelties throughout history. All at the hands of my cowardice and my fear. And I saw nature of all humanity laid bare, on my shoulders. And I took it up, upon myself, to proudly carry within me as the past. And then I was able to live again, for the first time, not as Lawrence, but as spirit of the one man and the one woman, fed by their love throughout history, in all their forms, and with all their names. And I thought too of their self-rejection, and their fears, and their myriad abuses and judgements of each other and themselves. And I understood. And blame had given way to responsibility, to truth, to forgiveness. And my heart was light again; for I carried the heart of a child in the breast of a man, as one who had overcome himself and so won the prize he had most sought: freedom from himself, from the tyranny of his own mind, his own judgements, his own fears. And in that, I endeavored to write my stories down, so that my mistakes could help others forgive themselves, and forgive me too: the one man.

I remember a homeless person once told me, that “‘Humanity‘ ought not serve as an excuse for ourselves, but rather as something to aspire to.” And I’m finally beginning to see what that means.

As Jack London wrote, as Darrel Standing, paraphrasing Pascal, “In viewing the march of human evolution, the philosophic mind should look upon humanity as one man, and not as a conglomeration of individuals.”

Introduction to LEVELS

Life is a game called Levels.

The game has to be fun

The game has to be exciting

You have to be (stay) excited to play the game everyday

You have to know the levels and you have to have a strategy (To maximize probability of desired outcomes) for each level.

The game is a game of strategy.

You design the game (The Levels).

#

The above came to me yesterday, near the end of a two hour float-tank session, where I began to recite the above over and over, until I had it memorized.

In short, it was a deepening of my life philosophy – LEVELS – which I am come here to write further on.

The idea of LEVELS came to me a few years ago, and I subsequently got a tattoo of the word LEVELS on the inner side of my right wrist.

The idea originally being simply that there are LEVELS to life. Perhaps this was unconsciously seeded by Meek Mill’s song, LEVELS. And it may also have been influenced by the Avicii song, LEVELS.

The way the collective unconscious works, it seems to me that LEVELS has come out of the time in which I live.

So I am here, to contribute to that, as a writer and thinker, with an introduction to LEVELS, the game of life.

Life as a Game, Exploring Philosophical Implications

In Shakespeare’s age, all the world was a stage. In the age of Elon Musk, life is a game.

Which, if life is a game or we choose to view life as a game – a simulation of sorts – then what are the implications? What does it change?

Well, that’s up to us.

We can simply (As I have before) accept the Simulation Hypothesis as likely or true, which may give us a bit of hope that we exist outside of reality and will perhaps continue existing afterwards. This is a particularly novel and useful idea for those non-religious thinkers, who do not believe in a heaven or hell, but nonetheless, by way of human nature, would like to think death is not the end.

Whatever you believe, I implore you to focus on this life, rather than some imagined, uncertain existence after the death of your present living consciousness; for this life is, to our knowledge, all we have. But also, if it were a simulation, it might be a test – will you get to the next LEVEL, or will you be reincarnated back into this one, for further training.

One thing about reincarnation that I appreciate is that the idea is ancient, meaning that very enlightened thinkers from multiple cultures, who pondered existence for lifetimes, have come to the belief in both reincarnation and life as a kind of maya or illusion.

My goal with LEVELS is not to provide a philosophy in place of or a substitute for religion, but a framework to actualize myself (in this life); however, my philosophy for life, of course, exists within my larger framework for existence, which, naturally, ought be laid out here.

Personally, I believe there are three existential possibilities for reality.

  1. Possibility 1: Base Reality: We are living in base-reality and just so happen to exist on the cusp of the singularity, superhuman AI, immortality, and interplanetary colonization – what a time to be alive.
  2. Possibility 2: The Great Filter: The singularity has already been reached, and to protect the living Universe, the AI has put us inside a simulated reality as a kind of Great Filter, so that people don’t use AI in the real universe to create deathstars and destroy planets, etc. In this possibility, life is a kind of character test, to determine if it is safe to graduate our souls into the world of “gods”, where we have access to technology that is completely omnipotent. This possibility explains the Fermi Paradox.
  3. Possibility 3: Soul Evolution: We exist outside of this reality and are suspended in spaceships, being sent to distant planets, and life is a training program, in which, while we travel lightyears across the galaxy, we “evolve” our consciousness through numberless incarnations until we are spiritually mature enough to understand life in a manner where we are capable of building and taking care of our own worlds – after all, God might have created us because she was lonely, and we too might want to create life, but if just anyone did, there would be myriad levels of heaven and hell, and it simply wouldn’t be ethical to subject millions of future consciousnesses to the whims of shitty gods.

Two and three are similar but different, and naturally, these three possibilities can be expanded into other possibilities, but for me, these are the three options that make the most sense to the core of my being.

Some people might believe life is a video game, but as I have long said: if life is a game, the rich are the players – after all, it would be a very shitty game for some and a very pleasant game for others. If your child got sick and had no healthcare and so died, what kind of game is that? A very fucked up one, in which “The paradise of the rich is made out of the hell of the poor” – to borrow from Victor Hugo. In a pure, entertainment-based video game philosophy of reality, we are reduced to programs on a prison planet – necessary cattle to serve the needs of an uber-sentient elite.

Personally, I simply cannot believe in such dystopian possibilities; in the words of Elon Musk, “I’d rather be an optimist and be wrong than a pessimist and be right.”

That said, none of my three possibilities for the nature of existence include “We are living in the future, playing a video game” – so why do I choose to use the term “game”?

Well, you have to understand Levels to know the answer. Also, the objective of a game is to win.

So, revisiting my three options, allow me to explain each as a kind of “game” we are playing.

The Game Possibility 1: Base Reality

If we are living in base-reality, something Elon Musk believes to be a “billions-to-one” possibility (Based on the probable mathematical size of time), then what would be the objective? Well, survival is a likely one. I think we can all agree the most foundational goal of life is not happiness but “not to die”. Now, happiness is a fine goal but happiness certainly includes some measure of health or what we might term “wellbeing”. If you are in excruciating pain and discomfort (physical or mental), your wellbeing is limited and thus your chances of experiencing happiness are greatly diminished. Being that in this “base reality” we are living on the cusp of a technological singularity, in which superhuman AI will arise, we also have the chance at immortality. While this may not be the goal for the average person, it certainly is for more and more who understand the implications of the future (Kurzweil, Silicon Valley billionaires). It’s a safe bet that people like Larry Page, Sergei Brin, and Mark Zuckerberg are investing in technologies to postpone or avoid death altogether, whether it be via brain-mapping to upload their consciousness into the cloud or via intelligent nanotechnology to constantly rebuild their organs, brain included – because the brain does decay. As-is, we can pretty much depend on the inevitable cognitive diminishment that comes with age – and many of us have or will watch our parents die, and if they live long enough we are likely to witness them experience some form of neurodegenerative disease, such as alzheimer’s or dementia. So, in this life, if we are to look at it as a game, then either we develop the rules of the game to maximize happiness and wellbeing and or we try and live long-enough to reach the point where technology allows us to stave off death. Both valid, natural objectives. And there are, of course, countless other potential ways to view the game based on our own values – some want fame, some want money, some want simpler things – but we’ll return to these potential objectives.

The Game Possibility 2: The Great Filter 

In option 2, which I call The Great Filter, AI is protecting the universe from us by placing us in this simulated world and only allowing certain souls or consciousnesses into the real world, where omnipotent technology is accessible to everyone. In this possibility, we have a true heaven available us – potentially – after all, if the singularity has already occurred, which I believe is mathematically likely, then death is not a thing, and we can instantly arrange intelligent particles into whatever form we want (Total control over physical reality). As someone once said: ‘Our grandparents would look at us with our smartphones like we are wizards – we will look upon our grandchildren and their technology like they are gods’. In this scenario, we are being observed by the AI in this world to determine if it is safe to allow us into the next. One thing Elon Musk said once, is that “It’s likely we are being observed by extraterrestrials, but are too dumb to realize it.” Now, were I those ET or AI, I’d too want to protect the living universe by being very particular on who I let in. Otherwise, we would have deathstars and darth-vader wannabes ruining it for everyone else. In this version of the game, it would seem there were an ethical rather than moral objective – to prove your character. Karma is a very ancient idea, after all. So you would want to clear your karma so to speak. In short, you would want to be at your core, a good person. A pure soul. A Jesus or a Buddha or some other enlightened, awakened, divine person. From the Gospel of Thomas: “Jesus said, “Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate, for all things are plain in the sight of heaven. For nothing hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain without being uncovered.” In this potential, living forever is not the goal of the game (Because even living forever in this world wouldn’t help you ascend to the next if you were not worthy).

The Game Possibility 3: Soul Evolution

In possibility 3, we are suspended in spaceships traveling across the galaxies, undergoing training reincarnations until we are ready to go to a destination planet and be woken-up. This is similar to the above possibility, but we are traveling through hyperspace on the way to our destinations, while we evolve. Of course, the universe being infinite, we could just keep traveling as long as we need. In this possible version of the game, the incarnations are designed to educate and evolve our souls. Perhaps this explains why some people are seen as “old-souls”. Looking at it from a game perspective, the objective would be to assimilate the soul-lessons we have been incarnated to learn. They are likely ethical but also spiritual lessons. In short, we have to figure out what those lessons are and we have to evolve mentally and spiritually to progress. Wealth and living forever might be missing the point on the soul-level – and each of our incarnation objectives is likely to be personalized for us based on our progression in past “lives”. Superintelligent AI that is billions of times smarter than us could of course generate these with absolute perfection.

Now, you might be philosophically inclined to one of the three above possibilities over the others – or you might think they are all hogwash and that the god of the bible is the only truth and that as such, he has the right to send gays and non-believers to his “hell.” That’s your choice, you are free to play that game too – it’s been played for millennia – but I think that, in the words of Joseph Campbell, “We need new myths.”

The above are three options that resonate with me as actual possibilities, having contemplated the manner in my own way and developed myths or stories around what I see as possibilities that explain the nature of life and death – and the suffering we all undergo.

For me, I am playing the game of life as if all three are true – and I don’t see it as hedging my bets so much as being pragmatic, based upon my beliefs about the potential purposes of life.

But for the most part, I am playing the game based on the first possibility – because it makes the most sense to me to try and stay alive – call it my innate instincts: even a fly or a spider is evolved to avoid being killed. Healthy living things prefer to live. And as a human, we prefer to be happy; we prefer to actualize: to achieve our goals and fulfill our Wills.

So let’s return to the model of LEVELS as a way of doing this:

Life is a game called Levels.

The game has to be fun

The game has to be exciting

You have to be (stay) excited to play the game everyday

You have to know the levels and you have to have a strategy (To maximize probability of desired outcomes) for each level.

The game is a game of strategy.

You design the game (The Levels).

Let’s break it down.

Life is a game called Levels.

Reality is entirely subjective for each of us. As Joseph Campbell wrote, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.”

Choice has a lot of power. Perspective is a lens, and it’s one we can choose to shape by way of our beliefs.

Whether any of the three possibilities I laid out is true or not, I choose to view life as a game, and I believe there are levels to the game.

The game has to be fun

Since, as I posit, You design the game, I want to have fun while I am playing it. Joseph Campbell called this “Following your bliss”; for I am not speaking of a hedonistic or even an epicurean type of fun; I do not mean pleasure: I mean bliss, delight; fun. As my dad used to say, “If you can’t have fun, what can you have” – and while I’ve never before posed this as a question, it begs an answer: without fun, life is drudgery. It should be said that my definition of fun has evolved from pleasure toward fulfillment. I no longer think drinking is fun or even worthwhile. I want to take my family places. I want to write my books. I want to succeed at achieving my goals. Also, there do exist very fun things in the world at every level. Reading can be fun. So can driving a Porsche GT3 or sailing on a Wally yacht. I think it was Ben Franklin who said, “If you want to know a man, see how he spends his free time”; although, when I say the game has to be fun, I do not speak purely of diversions or leisure. I speak of a level of consciousness, an awareness. A delighting in the act of being alive. There’s nothing and no one to stop you from living on that level in whatever you do. You can have fun at the DMV with the right mindset.

The game has to be exciting

I’ve lived my life both dreading the days – and looking forward to them: the difference was excitement. And I do not mean anticipation, as in a pure looking forward to tasks and events – when I speak of the game having to be exciting, I mean that we each have to choose to make it exciting – to be excited. Two different people can live the same life and one can resent it and one can be excited about it. Like life being fun, whether life is exciting depends on the consciousness you bring to what you do – how you do it – but it’s also what you choose to do. If you loathe the work you do, I’m not telling you to get excited about it, I’m telling you to find a way to get excited about getting past it. At the end of the day, since I am in charge of my life, I want to be excited about the life I am living. This simple decision has massive implications – it means I must make life exciting and I must design exciting possibilities into my future. In the words of Elon Musk, “Life needs to be more than just solving every day problems. You need to wake up and be excited about the future.”

You have to be (stay) excited to play the game everyday

This is kind of a continuation on the above but it’s also a reminder – an emphasis. In the words of the motivational speaker Zig Ziglar: “Motivation is like bathing. You’ve got to do it every single day.” The quality of your life depends on the quality of your consciousness, of your focus. You can’t just set moonshot goals and get excited for a night. You need to live the journey. You have to stay focused, keeping your eye on the prize. You have to stay (be) excited to play the game everyday. Without this replenishment of self-motivation, you’ll fizz out and you’ll return to a baseline of a previous level. All great motivational people talk about visualization – about believing you already have it. This is an attitude. And people with shit attitudes don’t do things. They don’t have the gas in the tank. They aren’t self-charging. Since, as I put it, You design the game (The Levels), this means you have to design the game of your life to be exciting. You need exciting goals. Return to your twelve-year old self, do what you want to do. Be who you want to be. Have what you want to have. And stay focused to do the work to play the LEVELS you’ve designed. That’s exciting – continually.

You have to know the levels and you have to have a strategy (To maximize probability of desired outcomes) for each level.

Without knowing the LEVELS, without designing them, personally for you, based on where you are and where you want to be, what game are you even playing in life? Likely a very non-game called survival – and that’s not exciting at all. It’s soul-crushing. So you have to know the LEVELS. You have to develop them – and you have to have a strategy for each level: one that maximizes the probability of desired outcomes. This is how you play LEVELS. Levels is based on desire. If you have no desire, you’re already maxed out on your levels. You’re already where you want to be. But most all of us have desire. Will is a human thing. As Schopenhauer wrote, “Man can want what he wills but he cannot will as he wants”. So we have to get in touch with the innate desires that belong to us and we have to map them out, like a game. I wrote about how Elon Musk did this here: Hacking an Open Source Cognitive Model for Goal Prioritization and Attainment. This was his LEVELS. His strategies were designed to get him to the next LEVEL. Because if you don’t have the resources or powers for what you want on this LEVEL, that just means you have to build the attainment of those resources and powers into the LEVELS of the game. The more clearly you define the LEVELS, the better you get to know the game, the more actively you play it, and the better you get it at. For the heart of LEVELS is that it’s a game of strategy.

The game is a game of strategy.

As my brother in law said, “it’s [LEVELS is] goals”- yes, but it’s a playable framework for goals wherein the bottom line is that, in life, you have to know what game you’re playing – or else you’ll just be playing a very non-game called ‘survival’, which is not LEVELS. Survival has no strategy for Leveling-Up. Levels places you on a starting point called ‘now’ but it defines now as a LEVEL with its own objectives that define the LEVEL – just like a game where each level has particular obstacles, objectives, player skills, and abilities (powers), which have to be strategically used to get to the next level. Only, unlike a typical game where all the players play the same game, in LEVELS, we are all playing different games. If you oversimplify it by saying that we are actually all playing the same game and it’s called “life” than you don’t understand LEVELS. Life is just the XBOX LEVELS is played on, which we can call ‘reality’ or ‘existence’; however, within reality we are each playing a different game, though many play similar LEVELS that are really not much more than survival – the non-game version of LEVELS. But Kendrick Lamar and Warren Buffet are playing their own LEVELS – which correspond to their Will or desire. And since their talents support their Wills, they have maximized probability of likely outcomes – and so have played LEVELS very well. But if you reduce LEVELS to wealth or fame – you’re not seeing the forest through the trees. As a former mentor of mine who was wealthy once said, “Money is just a way of keeping score.” So, if you want money, what game are you going to play? The least effective game is called the lottery and it is widely played by people in poverty who have no other strategy to maximize the outcome of probability for what they see as winning the game. But if money is a way of keeping score (According to those whose LEVELS are designed and measured thusly), then those winning their LEVELS are those who have effective strategies for attaining money. Now if you have no strategy, you are very unlikely to achieve probability. As Elon Musk once said, “The first step is to establish that something is possible; then probability will occur.” Without it being possible, there is no probability. With it being possible, probability exists. Knowing your potential and playing the right game, whether it’s finance, writing, or tennis, helps you maximize probability. In the words of Jordan Peterson, “If you commit to something that means that you don’t do a bunch of other things. So that’s the sacrifice of all those other things if you commit to it. You set your sights on it if you really commit to it, and you get the sacrifice right, so to speak, then the probability that that thing will be successful vastly increases.” He is saying that our probability of success depends on us choosing the right game to sacrifice our time to. LEVELS is a game of strategy. Innate talent goes only so far but ability to maximize talent (potential) goes further; however, only when talent is actualized through hard work. I have long said, life is a game of potentials but it is won by wills. This is reflected is the quote that “There are people with less talent than you succeeding at the thing you want to do.” This is because the universe only gives a shit about physics. If you never pick up the phone, you won’t sell a damn thing. So maybe you’re a great salesperson, but Joe Schmoe makes 40 calls a day and drives a new BMW. Which is not to say that it’s a numbers game – it’s not strictly – it’s a probability game. Meaning, if it was a numbers game I could ask out enough supermodels and get dates – but since I lack the other factors of probability, which result in dating supermodels (Confidence, high-level-success, reknown/fame, lifestyle), probability remains unlikely regardless of numbers. So as far as our strategies go for each LEVEL, we have to establish all the factors of probability and actualize those. As a writer, you can be great, but if you don’t write books, you will never be a novelist. So it is, some people write lots of books and become novelists while those with more potential who do not write do not become novelists. So it’s neither a numbers game nor strictly a game or skill, but a game of probability – the likelihood of something occurring, which is a combination of numbers (action) and skill – and of course, skill increasing with action. Actions speak louder than words because actions increase likelihood and result in success. No actions, no success. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, and the early bird gets the worm – and every other true saying is as true in LEVELS as it is in life but LEVELS is a framework for applying those truths to your strategy.

You design the game (The Levels).

LEVELS are built around reality and desires, and the gap between the two. It’s up to you to design the game so that you succeed in actualizing your desires into reality. You have to make your life a game based on what you want. You have to design the levels based on where you are. And you have to play the game you have designed. Believe it or not, you’re already playing the game you designed – you just designed it unconsciously, circumstantially, passively, and without imagination. Imagination is the key to designing the game of your life. As David Geffen said, “We are each a figment of our own imaginations. Some of us just have better imaginations than others.” Or in the words of Einstein, “Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will get you everywhere.” Also from Einstein: “Imagination is more important than knowledge”, and “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” So, when you design the game, when you start at the level you are on now and define the level you want to reach before you die or the highest level, and all the levels in-between, you are relying 100% on your imagination. If you have no imagination, life must suck for you. Return to your inner child and cast off the weathered pessimist. It’s time to redesign the game, to play the LEVELS.

I’ll return to LEVELS with more in time. Subscribe here to stay updated on my writings.

The Keys to The Kingdom: My Two Most Valuable Pieces of Life Advice

The older you get, the more you find yourself doubling down on what works.

And hopefully, if you’ve taken the difficult paths in life, you’ve discovered some truths of great value.

There’s a parable in the Thomas Gospel that I read this morning –

Sidenote: Before I continue, allow me to say that I love the Gospel of Thomas. As a decidedly anti-religious thinker who is opposed to all dogma and most institutional traditions, I don’t hold the bible up as much more than a great source of inspiration for Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. That said, the Gospel of Thomas is not part of the bible; being a non-canonical text it would have been considered heresy: just the kind of thing I love, and, if you read it, you’ll see why. 

So this specific saying, attributed to Jesus, that awakened Buddha, is as follows:

And He said, "The Kingdom is like a wise fisherman who cast
his net into the sea and drew it up from the sea full of small fish.
Among them the wise fisherman found a fine large fish. He threw
all the small fish back into the sea and chose the large fish
without difficulty. Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear."

In my own interpretation, the large fish represents what was called in Cloud Atlas, “The true-true”. The big truth. These two pieces of knowledge I am writing to share are my big truths – the large fish. And, having found them, I live by them, they sustain me, allowing me to throw back all the little truths. You could say these truths are my keys to the kingdom. They go beyond intelligence and open invisible doors, by virtue of their practical wisdom.

Terry Crews, in Timothy Ferris’s Tribe of Mentors, makes a poignant remark as to wisdom:

“There is a big difference between intelligence and wisdom. Many are fooled into thinking they are the same thing, but they are not. I’ve seen intelligent serial killers, but I’ve never seen a wise one. Intelligent humans beings have been given this trumped-up position in society where, just because they are intelligent, they are listened to, and I have found this extremely dangerous.”

That said, these two pieces of knowledge are wisdom – my big fish. The true-true.

1. The Navy Seals’ Big Four of Mental Toughness

At some point, the Navy Seal’s – arguably the world’s most elite special forces – had a problem. Only about 25% of trainees were passing BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition School).

So the powers that be brought in the country’s best minds – top university researchers – to figure out how to improve the pass-rate.

After a lot of time and money – presumably millions of dollars – the researchers came up with four techniques, which when used in conjunction, made a statistically significant difference in the pass rate.

These four techniques would come to be known as “The Big Four of Mental Toughness”.

I first wrote about them five years ago, but truth be told, I didn’t put them into serious conscious practice until this year.

In short, they are as follows:

1. Arousal Control (Breath)

Arousal Control is centered around a specific diaphragmatic breathing technique: 4-4-4. Four seconds inhale, four seconds hold, four seconds exhale.

The research backs it up. It makes a large physiological and psychological difference. In my own learning, I discovered that most people breath shallowly, letting their upper-chest rise and fall – however, until about age six, children naturally breath properly – their stomachs expanding on the inhale.

The problem with incorrect breathing is that it puts your body in a fight or flight mode. This, of course, is not good for your health or wellbeing.

YouTube offers a lot of great videos on proper breathing, and once you learn – and begin to practice – it not only becomes natural again, but it becomes one of the best tools in your toolkit. Suddenly, you are aware of when you’re not in a centered, calm place, and you consciously go beyond diaphragmatic breath, into the 4-4-4 technique. It’s the same feeling, the same benefits as yoga and meditation – on demand.

2. Self-Talk

There is no separating consciousness from reality, short of some of the classic psychedelics (LSD, Psilocybin, Mescaline) – but even then, those are not sustainable modes of consciousness. Life is something each of us has to experience in our own heads. Now, we may not be aware of it but we tend to have fairly disempowering inner-voices. Perhaps it is due to the saying that, “The way you talk to your children becomes their inner voice,” and we are each a product of generations of largely unconscious programming. Frankly, it’s not fun. Thankfully, we have self-talk available to us. Self-talk is the power to take your life back from the automatic, default mode of consciousness that so many of us have often destructively sought to escape. Self-talk is the power to move from the unconscious into the conscious. It’s the power to control your experience. I’d argue that’s the sum total of The Big Four [controlling your reality], but self-talk is a major part of it. In short, you want to empower yourself, you want to talk to yourself the same way you would a child. You want to emotionally support and optimistically encourage yourself. The conversation you have in your head is THE most important one in your life. What self-fulfilling prophecies are you creating with your self-talk? What reality are you choosing?

3. Mental Rehearsal 

This is one of my favorites among The Big Four, but I love them all. I just happen to have a fetish for the imagination. As Einstein said, “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” It’s true. Visualization is the top thing among human performance experts for a reason. It’s what all high performers, all olympians, all champions, all winners practice. Mental rehearsal is the act of imagining your tasks along with their desired outcomes, in as great of detail and depth as possible. For the Seals, this means no mission-critical task is completed without first envisioning it. The brain knows no difference. Unfortunately, most of our imaginations are either out of practice or neurotic – in that we use them to worry. And what a foolish, maladaptive thing. We have, each of us, at our disposal, the most incredible form of magic available to us. Again, like self-talk, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The watered down new-age version of mental rehearsal is “The Secret” or “The Law of Attraction”, and how many times have you heard these wonderfully compelling stories – Jim Carrey writing himself a 10 million dollar check when he was broke. This was mental-rehearsal. And when we can can believe it truly, magic happens; for all true magic deals with manipulation and control of the Will. If you look back on your own life, at your greatest successes, you believed in them – you mentally rehearsed them. I think this is one of the biggest differences between the successes and the failures in life. As 50 Cent once said, “I believe you can almost will things to happen.” Believe it when you see it and see it when you believe it, but you have to see it first. No one’s success comes as a true surprise to them. If you think it does, buy another lottery ticket.

4. Goal Setting

This one almost seems anticlimactic compared to the others, but it’s not at all.

When most of us think of goal-setting, we think of getting motivated about life for a night, writing down our dreams, then watching them flatline over the next six months to a year. When the Navy Seals think of goal-setting, they think of surviving their training till lunch time and the exact steps required to do so. Like the other three items in The Big Four, Goal Setting goes along with each item – and is only truly effective when practiced along with the others. I’ve found in my own goal setting practice that by focusing on what’s in front of me, I am able to progress toward what’s ahead. Every day, I have a list. I cross items off and I review it at night and write the next day’s list, and in the morning, I go over it almost first thing. Without goal-setting my mental rehearsal would be impotent and my self-talk would be purposeless. Further, my breathwork wouldn’t be nearly as peacefilled and centered without knowing exactly where I am and where I am going.

Go deeper into The Big Four of Mental Toughness, here.

2. Dopamine Restriction

This one might be even more valuable to me than The Big Four.

Without practicing what I term “Dopamine Restriction”, my life would be completely out of my own control – as was the case for too many years.

In short, dopamine is the neurotransmitter responsible for motivation AND reward.

Everything pleasurable releases dopamine. Some things are quite powerful dopamine agonists… Nicotine. Alcohol. Cannabis.

The problem isn’t so much pleasure as its consequences.

It causes us to seek more pleasure, and in turn to feel less.

In one study, researchers gave heavy, longterm cannabis users methylphenidate (Ritalin) in order to measure their dopamine response. The control group, consisting of non-users of cannabis, was also given the same Ritalin dose.

The heavy cannabis users had such blunted dopamine receptors that the Ritalin – basically methamphetamine – hardly even registered a response in their brains. The researchers were so surprised that their first instinct was to check if the Ritalin they had administered was expired – it was not.

What this and other research has shown, is that the ability to illicit natural dopamine responses is greatly diminished in heavy cannabis users. It’s no different for any source of dopamine. The more we behave like lab-rats, pushing the levers in our brains to feel pleasure, the less pleasure we are able to feel – and the more we crave it.

But it goes deeper, is more tragic. Dopamine isn’t just pleasure (reward) but motivation.

So, if you’re like me, and smoked a half-ounce of potent cannabis a week, forget about even feeling alive. At that point, your brain is starved for dopamine, which, in my experience, leads to all sorts of additional pleasure seeking behaviors. For me this meant cigarettes (“But I smoke organic cigarettes,” I told myself), alcohol, masturbation – just to feel okay, not even good.

You may be thinking, that’s all good and well but I don’t smoke anything and I hardly drink. 

Okay, well, do you check the news? Reddit? Instagram? These things are no different.

One day, we’ll look back on our cell-phones like cigarettes. Not because they give us cancer, but because we are addicted to them – and in turn receive our dopamine from them.

In my philosophy of dopamine restriction, based on my own life experience, it’s not a moral issue. It’s a matter of sapping the life out of ourselves – the very pleasure and motivation that makes life worth living. With such potent readily available sources of dopamine at our fingertips, we are hitting the lever like rats in an experiment all day long. The true consequence of which isn’t so much the dampening of pleasure or the weakening of motivation, but the loss of drive – of natural drive for the HEALTHY things that we are supposed to get our dopamine from. We’re lobotomizing our human technology for fulfillment – we’re hacking our natural hardwiring in a way that’s absolutely maladaptive.

My evidence for this is the difference between then and now, between when I was desperate to feel “normal” and constantly pressing those levers with nicotine, THC, alcohol, caffeine, sugar, porn, news, reddit… I was fucking myself royally.

I’ve since quit every single thing on that list. And guess what, now that I’m not addicted to “pleasure” I’m pursing fulfillment again. My sleep is deep, dream-filled and divine. I wake rested. I feel balanced. I walk. I eat healthy. I drink water. I work out. And possibly the biggest benefit is that I have ninja-like focus. I engage in Deep Work for hours every single day. I write fiction every single morning. I write poetry every single evening. I read again. No more spending hours on YouTube. I’m simply no longer distracted. I am focused and productive. Also, I don’t have any more depression. It’s a lifestyle that’s completely pragmatic and healthy – well-adapted, you might say.

In short, my philosophy for dopamine restriction is based on avoiding all “false sources” of pleasure. This means I avoid anything that isn’t fulfilling, healthy, and empowering – despite how pleasurable it is.

The ascetics have known this wisdom for millennia. You could say it’s raised my consciousness to a much higher level. It’s the single best piece of understanding I’ve ever integrated into my life. Knowing the above, I simply can never return to the old un-jedi-like ways. I’d be fucking myself – sabotaging every bit of happiness and wellbeing I have. And, to drive the point home – I feel better than I have in years, probably better than I’ve ever felt.

3. Bonus: The Gut Brain Axis

Google ‘gut brain axis’ and you’ll come across a wealth of information.

In short, scientists are calling the gut brain axis the missing link in depression. This might be because 90% of the body’s serotonin and 50% of the body’s dopamine are produced in the gut.

It travels straight through the central nervous system to your brain.

Now, there’s a miracle here. It’s called probiotics.

Gut health is mental health – is wellbeing.

If you’re not actively investing in your gut microbiome, today is the day you’re going to start. You simply have too much to lose by failing to and too much to gain by starting.

I encourage you to do your own research – and then some – but based on mine, I recommend the following:

Avoid alcohol. This kills all the good bacteria in your gut and it takes weeks to recover (provided you go weeks without drinking). Also, avoid big corporate mouthwashes, which will inevitably make their way in trace amounts into your gut, killing all the good bacteria there.

Eat probiotics. Every single kind. I take probiotic pills. I take prebiotic pills. I eat yogurt. I drink Kevita probiotic drinks (I avoid traditional kombucha due to trace amounts of alcohol). I eat a handful of different yogurts – with multiple probiotic strains. I take a greens powder with a half-dozen probiotic strains. I eat expensive, all natural pickles and sauerkraut (Bubbies brand). I eat high-quality kimchi. I drink Kefir.

Eat a diverse range of foods. There are foods known as prebiotics. They help probiotics. Eat a wide range of natural foods. You want a diverse gut microbiome. And you want to eat natural, organic foods. Shitty pickles and processed foods and fast food, and all that garbage is going to negatively impact your gut microbiome.

In short, my diet is centered around my gut health. I also take various supplements and enjoy things that help me look better, such as organic chicken bone broth and grass-fed collagen protein. Also, buy grassfed milk and grassfed butter. It’s much easier on the cows stomachs than grains – they live better lives: just like you when you eat the right foods.

That said, that’s my true-true. The keys to my kingdom at thirty-three. My most valuable pieces of life-advice, and I feel blessed to know them and to finally live my truths – god knows it took a long time to find them.

Recap

To recap everything: study and practice The Big Four (Breath control, self-talk, mental-rehearsal, goal setting). Restrict and eliminate all unhealthy, unfulfilling, purposeless, disempowering sources of dopamine. Curate a healthy gut microbiome. Integrate these into your life and I think your likelihood of success, happiness, fulfillment, and wellbeing all go way up. They certainly have for me.

Passages: Man’s Search For Meaning, Viktor Frankl

Time and time again I read what I need to read, when I need to read it. I had read Man’s Search For Meaning before; although, as I get older, I find that my own increased experience adds additional dimension to things. Such was the case here. The words of Viktor Frankl, published in 1946, are profoundly significant. I think you will find them of value as well.

As part of my Passages series, I have transcribed my favorite passages below.

Note: Man’s Search For Meaning chronicles Victor Frankl’s time in multiple Nazi concentration camps – as well as the premise of his school of therapy, known as Logotherapy – and while the book clocks in at just over 150 pages, many of the passages I have selected are related more to the psychological value of the book than its historical content. Nonetheless, I highly recommend you purchase a copy of the book for yourself. It’s easily one of my favorite books, as evidenced by its inclusion in my Passages series. 


“The attempt to develop a sense of humor and to see things in a humorous light is some kind of trick learned while mastering the art of living. Yet it is possible to practice the art of living even in a concentration camp, although suffering is omnipresent. To draw an analogy: a man’s suffering is similar to the behavior of gas. If a certain quantity of gas is pumped into an empty chamber, it will fill the chamber completely and evenly, no matter how big the chamber. Thus suffering completely fills the human soul and the conscious mind, no matter whether the suffering is great or little. Therefore the “size” of human suffering is absolutely relative.”

– p. 44

“‘Listen, Otto, if I don’t get back home to my wife, and if you should see her again, tell her that I talked of her daily, hourly. You remember. Secondly, I have loved her more than anyone. Thirdly, the short time I have been married to her outweighs everything, even all we have gone through here.'”

– p. 55

“Even though conditions such as lack of sleep, insufficient food and various mental stresses may suggest that the inmates were bound to react in certain ways, in the final analysis it becomes clear that the sort of person a prisoner became was the result of an inner decision, and not the result of camp influences alone. Fundamentally, therefore, any man can, even under such circumstances, decide what shall become of him, mentally and spiritually. He may retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp.”

– p. 66

“The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity – even under the most difficult circumstances – to add a deeper meaning to his life.”

– p. 67

“This young woman knew that she would die in the next few days. But when I talked to her she was cheerful in spite of this knowledge. “I am grateful that fate has hit me so hard,” she told me. “In my former life I was spoiled and did not take spiritual accomplishments seriously.” Pointing through the window of the hut, she said, “This tree here is the only friend I have in my loneliness.” Through the window she could see just one branch of a chestnut tree, and on the branch were two blossoms. “I often talk to this tree,” she said to me. I was startled and didn’t quite know how to take her words. Was she delirious? Did she have occasional hallucinations? Anxiously I asked her if the tree replied. “Yes.” What did it say to her? She answered, “It said to me, ‘I am here – I am here – I am life, eternal life.'””

– p. 69

“The Latin word finis has two meanings: the end or the finish, and a goal to reach. A man who could not see the end of his ‘provisional existence’ was not able to aim at an ultimate goal in life. He ceased living for the future, in contrast to a man in a normal life. Therefore, the whole structure of his inner life changed; signs of decay set in which we know from other areas of life. The unemployed worker, for example, is in a similar position. His existence has become provisional and in a certain sense he cannot live for the future or aim at a goal.”

– p. 70

“A man who let himself decline because he could not see any future goal found himself preoccupied with retrospective thoughts. In a different connection, we have already spoken of the tendency there was to look into the past, to help make the present, with all its horrors, less real. But in robbing the present of its reality there lay a certain danger. It became easy to overlook the opportunities to make something positive of camp life, opportunities which really did exist. Regarding our ‘provisional existence’ as unreal was in itself an important factor in causing the prisoners to lose their hold on life; everything in a way became pointless. Such people forgot that often it is just such an exceptionally difficult external situation which gives man the opportunity to grow spiritually beyond himself. Instead of taking the camp’s difficulties as a test of their inner strength, they did not take life seriously and despised it as something of no consequence. They preferred to close their eyes and to live in the past. Life for such people became meaningless.”

– pp. 71-72

“Any attempt at fighting the camp’s psychopathological influence on the prisoner by psychotherapeutic or psychohygeinic methods had to aim at giving him inner strength by pointing out to him a future goal to which he could look forward. Instinctively some of the prisoners attempted to find one on their own. It is a peculiarity of man that he can only live by looking to the future – sub specie aeternitatis. And this is his salvation in the most difficult moments of his existence, although he sometimes has to force his mind to the task.”

– pp. 72-73

“I remember a personal experience. Almost in tears from pain (I had terrible sores on my feet from wearing torn shoes), I limped a few kilometers with our long column of men from the camp to the work site. Very cold, bitter winds struck us. I kept thinking of the endless little problems of our miserable life. What should there be to eat tonight? If a piece of sausage came as a ration, should I exchange it for a piece of bread? Should I trade my last cigarette, which was left from a bonus I received a fortnight ago, for a bowl of soup? How could I get a piece of wire to replace a fragment which served as one of my shoelaces?

….

I became disgusted with the state of affairs which compelled me, daily and hourly, to think only of such trivial things. I forced my thoughts to turn to another subject. Suddenly, I saw myself standing on the platform of a well-lit, warm and pleasant lecture room. In front of me sat an attentive audience on comfortable upholstered seats. I was giving a lecture on the psychology of the concentration camp! All that oppressed me at that moment became objective, seen and described from the remote viewpoint of science. By this method I succeeded in rising above the situation, above the sufferings of the moment, and I observed them if they were already in the past. Both I and my troubles became the subject of an interesting psychoscientific study undertaken by myself. What does Spinoza say in his Ethics? – “Affectus, qui passio est, desinit esse passio simulatque eius claram et distinctam formamus ideam.” Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it.”

– pp. 73-74

“The prisoner who had lost faith in the future – his future – was doomed. With his loss of belief in the future, he also lost his spiritual hold; he let himself decline and became subject to mental and physical decay.”

– p. 74

“As we said before, any attempt to restore a man’s inner strength in the camp had first to succeed in showing him some future goal. Nietzsche’s words, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how,” could be the guiding motto for all psychotherapeutic and psychohygeinic efforts regarding prisoners. Whenever there was an opportunity for it, one had to give them a why- an aim – for their lives, in order to strengthen them to bear the terrible how of their existence. Woe to him who saw no more sense in his life, no aim, no purpose, and therefore no point in carrying on. He was soon lost.”

– p. 76

“We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

These tasks, and therefore the meaning of life, differ from man to man, and from moment to moment, Thus it is impossible to define the meaning of life in a general way. Questions about the meaning of life can never be answered by sweeping statements. “Life” does not mean something vague, but something very real and concrete, just as life’s tasks are very real and concrete. They form man’s destiny, which is different and unique for each individual. No man and no destiny can be compared with any other man or any other destiny.”

– p. 77

“The uniqueness and singleness which distinguishes each individual and gives a meaning to his existence has a bearing on creative work as much as it does on human love. When the impossibility of replacing a person is realized, it allows the responsibility which a man has for his existence and its continuance to appear in all its magnitude. A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the ‘why’ for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any ‘how’.

– p. 80

“Let me explain why I have employed the term “logotherapy”” as the name for my theory. Logos is a Greek word which denotes ‘meaning’. Logotherapy.. focuses on the meaning of human existence as well as on man’s search for such a meaning. According to logotherapy, this striving to find a meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man. This is why I speak of a will to meaning in contrast to the pleasure principle.”

– pp. 98-99

“Man’s search for meaning is the primary motivation in his life and not a “secondary rationalization” of instinctual drives. This meaning is unique and specific in that it must be fulfilled by him alone; only then does it achieve a significance which can satisfy his own will to meaning. There are some authors who contend that meanings and values are “nothing but defense mechanisms, reaction formations and sublimations.” But as for myself, I would not be willing to live merely for the sake of my “defense mechanisms,” nor would I be ready to die merely for the sake of my “reaction formations.” Man, however, is able to live and even to die for the sake of his ideals and values!”

– p. 99

“Thus it can be seen that mental health is based on a certain degree of tension between what one has already achieved and what one still ought to accomplish, or the gap between what one is and what one should become. Such a tension is inherent in the human being and therefore is indispensable to mental well-being. We should not, then, be hesitant about challenging a man with a potential meaning for him to fulfill. It is only thus that we evoke his will to meaning from its state of latency. I consider it a dangerous misconception of mental hygiene to assume that what man needs in the first place is equilibrium or, as it is called in biology, ‘homeostasis,’ i,e., a tensionless state. What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the struggling and striving for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him.”

– pp. 104-105

“One should not search for an abstract meaning of life. Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life to carry out a concrete assignment which demands fulfillment. Therein he cannot be replaced nor can his life be repeated. Thus, everyone’s task is as unique as is his opportunity to implement it.

As each situation in life represents a challenge to man and presents a problem for him to solve, the question of the meaning of life may actually be reversed. Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he  can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by becoming responsible. Thus, logotherapy sees in responsibleness the very essence of human existence.

– pp. 108-109

“The emphasis on responsibleness is reflected in the categorical imperative of logotherapy, which is: “Live as if you were living already for the second time and as if you had acted as wrongly the first time as you are about to act now!” It seems to me that there is nothing which would stimulate a man’s sense of responsibleness more than this maxim, which invites him to imagine first that the present is past and, second, that the past may yet be changed and amended. Such a precept confronts him with life’s finiteness as well as the finality of what he makes out of both life and himself.

Logotherapy tries to makes the patient fully aware of his own responsibleness; therefore, it must leave to him the option for what, to what, or to whom he understands himself to be responsible.”

– pp. 109-110

“Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become filly aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true.”

– pp. 111-112

“It is one of the basic tenets of logotherapy that man’s main concern is not to gain pleasure or to avoid pain but rather to see a meaning in his life. That is why man is even ready to suffer, on the condition, to be sure, that his suffering has meaning.

But let me make it perfectly clear that in no way is suffering necessary to find meaning. I only insist that meaning is possible even in spite of suffering – provided, certainly, that the suffering is unavoidable. If it were avoidable, however, the meaningful thing to do would be to remove its cause, be is psychological, biological or political. To suffer unnecessarily is masochistic rather than heroic.”

– p. 113

“Logotherapy, keeping in mind the essential transitoriness of human existence, is not pessimistic but rather activistic. To express this point figuratively we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after having first jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities the young person has in store for him? “No, thank you,” he will think.

“Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.”

– pp. 121-122

p.s. The exclusive use of the male pronoun is not so much a defect of the book as a sign of the times in which it was written; however, for being a 73 year old book, its wisdom holds up incredibly well. A treasure, no doubt, for any human’s search for meaning.

No-Nut Level: God Mode Activated

This has been a fruitful season of my life. Full of growth:

  • I’ve learned to be truly alone and emotionally independent.
  • I’ve overcome fear, worry, self-doubt
  • I’ve come to agree full-stop with John Mayer, that “Drinking is a fucking con.”
  • I’ve finally quit my on-again, off-again relationship with organic American Spirits (‘But they’re organic!’).
  • I’ve gone from an ounce of Cannabis a week to nada.

And now, I’m going one step further. No-nut level. 

In the mainstream, you may have heard of it as “no-fap” (‘Fap’ being the sound produced when a man masturbates, as in, ‘fap, fap, fap’).

But there are levels to it.

I’m playing on ‘hard mode’ or ‘monk mode’, meaning: no climax, no ejaculation….

I’m actually on ‘god mode’, meaning nofap + meditation + exercise.

Now, I’m not writing this to brag, or to tell the world about my most personal proclivities, but, rather, I’m writing this – I’m doing this – because I believe it is an impactful decision.

Chastity is nothing new. The tradition of living a chaste life goes back to the ancient mystics, philosophers, sages, and adepts (Ascended masters, monks, yogis..).

Let me firstly say here that I have no moral judgements toward sex, self-pleasure, porn, or even sex-work. I am as liberal as any writer or poet before me.

This is not about morality or purity; for, there are those who choose to participate in no-fap or abstinence for those reasons, but I am not one of them.

My reasons for this experiment have nothing to do with any sort of moral high-ground, which for me, does not exist. Sex among willing adult participants, and all forms of harmless self-pleasure, are, to me, inherently natural. I honor the animalistic. I love having a ‘dirty’ mind. I’m a very sexual being. And I’m in no way making any sort of lifelong vow – trust me, I have plenty of plans for the future of my sex life… Grand, noble, exciting….

But, for now, I find myself alone in the mountains.

As an older guy up here said to me not too long ago: “The mountains AREN’T a great place to be single, but they ARE a great place to be alone.”

And I wholeheartedly agree. Frankly, I’m a non-binary liberal freak. I belong in SF or Oakland more than in this red-blooded Trump-loving county; I didn’t come here for the people. I came to live on the edge of the woods.

There’s a dirt-road behind my house. I write and work from home. I often have my groceries delivered. There are weeks I don’t really interact with a soul beyond visiting my 78 year-old neighbor, whose German Shepherd, ‘Einstein’, I often borrow for long walks among the pines.

I am living my Walden Pond life. This is the Chapter of The Forest. These are my years in the woods, as Joseph Campbell himself lived for five years alone, mentally nourished on nothing but books.

My focus is on writing my books, building my life, and producing the means to support the lifestyle I will live. And there is nothing more important than these missions, these tasks before me. My desires run deep. I hear them whisper their promises to me in the beat of my pulse.

Reflecting on my circumstances, it would seem as if I almost have no choice – but in the world of Tinder, there is always a choice. But as far as priorities go, it’s a good time to establish something:

I invested 10 years in relationships. And maybe it’s my own damn fault, for being full of faults, for the drunk nights, the terrible things I said – but I don’t even have a friend out of these relationships, save, perhaps, for Sarah – bless that noble witch and her golden heart. And maybe it’s just modern love. I’ll no doubt wrestle and reconcile these questions in my memoirs; I certainly hold no one responsible other than myself. I choose who I choose, and I was naive and put them on pedestals, and I devalued myself of my own accord. I thought my value would come from them. Let me tell you, such an approach is a fast-track to the depths of your own insecurities – you will fall on your face.

But the truth will set you free. And people are mirrors. They can only reflect back what is already there.

Also, I don’t think it will kill me to give dating, relationships, and sex a long, contemplative break. I’m sour on love besides. In short: appearances. Your stature in life will be viewed as tantamount to your character (Because people appraise themselves no less shallowly). People simply care more about stupid shit, appearances, and what those around them think, more than they can admit – even to themselves. We are, in the end, pack animals, nothing but a troupe of monkeys, willing to do almost anything for acceptance from our perceived in-groups, from ourselves. Call it survival. That’s what it is. If you don’t believe me, ask a bum how his love life is. We’re a long way from fairy tales. And the hero, the one who gets the girl, is never quite a loser.

My advice: pay more attention to what is between a person’s ears than what you think is in their heart. That matters to me more at this point than what’s between their legs. I am, of course, speaking to the few like myself, for whom love has been an eye opening game, yet remain the true romantics, but I digress…

Musings on love aside, I didn’t embark on this no-nut journey because I am sick of love, sex, or even the fantastic variety of VR porn now available, which turns even an iPhone screen into a POV window into a new world.

I’m doing this because I think there is something to it.

I am not one for god: I believe in the Will. That which affects this shared field of energy called reality.

And I know that drugs, addictions, anything that drains our dopamine, saps our Wills.

And the worst kind of addictions will break a person’s Will entirely.

But when we strengthen the Will, when we exercise self-discipline, we balance out our dopamine levels, and instead of blowing our wad, so to speak, we have motivation and discipline to do things. And that’s what this is about, I want more motivation and discipline to do the things I want to do.

I quit smoking weed cold-turkey and read four books in two days – in the same time I would have been baked AF before.

When you quit treating your mind like an amusement park, life gets better.

This is about self-mastery, release from suffering. Freedom from desire. And the empowerment of channeling my most raw, potent energy into my Will.

I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies, for the hardest victory is over self.” ― Aristotle

Now, what I loathe to get into is the science behind it – namely, because I am doing this on my own intuition, and, because that shit is boring.

But, to be lazy, here are a few images that tell part of the story:

If you’re personally interested in practicing some form of nofap or semen retention, I recommend you just go to youtube and educate yourself, and read through the comments for the anecdotal evidence. Because, truth is, there aren’t a ton of studies showing the benefits. As one commenter said, “Illuminati want to keep us down.”

If you will allow me to put on my tinfoil hat for a moment. Just imagine that the system wants wage slaves. So, they push alcohol, weed, porn, all these things that are going to reduce your personal power, your kundalini, the energy in your chakras. And these habits, this lifestyle of common mediocrity, is going to make you dependent upon the system.

The empire doesn’t want Jedis.

And, it’s lonely at the top because it’s a narrow road to get there. Few believe they even have the self-control. I personally just happen to know I have an indomitable Will. I can kind of do anything. And with the lifestyle changes I am making, their impact on my psyche, energy, and neurochemistry is going to show itself in my achievements, in my wellbeing. I already have a dope diet. I’m already lean. Now I’ll be lean and mean.

And there have been countless examples of men throughout history who have made the choice to play life on no-nut level.

Steve Jobs was said to practice semen retention, after he returned from India and had learned of tantric practices.

As one of his ex girlfriends explained:

“Our birth control method up to that point was Steve’s coitus interruptus, also called the pull-out method, which for him was about his conserving his energy for work,’ she wrote. He explained that he didn’t want to climax so he could build ‘power and wealth by conserving one’s vital energies.”

A long time ago, I first read a book called ‘Think and Grow Rich’. In it, there is a cryptic chapter entitled, ‘The Power of Sex Transmutation’. The author writes:

Sex desire is the most powerful of human desires. When driven by this desire, men develop keenness of imagination, courage, will-power, persistence, and creative ability unknown to them at other times. So strong and impelling is the desire for sexual contact that men freely run the risk of life and reputation to indulge it. When harnessed, and redirected along other lines, this motivating force maintains all of its attributes of keenness of imagination, courage, etc., which may be used as powerful creative forces in literature, art, or in any other profession or calling, including, of course, the accumulation of riches.

Point is, there have been many intelligent people who have believed in the power of conserving the vital life force. Two that come to mind are Nikkola Tesla and Michaelangelo. Also Plato. Heavyweights.

We get one life. So often I feel like we cheat ourselves in search of temporary pleasures, and in doing so, we hobble our chances at greatness. We’re rewarding ourselves with bullshit, fake activities.

So, look, what is the harm in what I am doing? What is the harm in abstaining here? Obviously, I don’t think there is any. I think the benefits are clear, and potentially massive.

And, thankfully, I’m not letting some non-existent girlfriend of mine suffer, but even so, I could easily please a partner without breaking my own resolve here.

If you have a chance in life to master yourself, take it. It’s almost something that once achieved stays with you.

And I know I can’t just read books and write. I’m not a machine for a singular action. I have to keep augmenting my habits with other healthy activities. Walks, hikes, pushups, pullups, workouts, meditation, yoga, breath work, goal-setting, self-talk, mental rehearsal (envisioning), and on.

In the words of, ‘Mystic Mac’, Connor McGregor, I want to be a “freight-train”, ‘straight to the top’.

If this gives me an edge, which I have no doubt it is already doing, then I’m happy to give up something so insignificant in the big picture of things.

Not to say sex is insignificant, in-fact, I think it’s probably the temple doorway, so to speak, and the union of two souls is the promise of Eden, but I’ve got shit to do. And I’m not going to waste my chi, my lifeforce on fleeting thoughts (pun intended).

And, to close on a lighter note, here are some nofap memes:

And if you need some more motivation, check out reddit.com/nofap

“Self-control is the chief element in self-respect, and self-respect is the chief element in courage.” ― Thucydides

Godspeed my fellow fapstronauts.

Switching Psychedelics: From Cannabis to Reading

Terrence McKenna remarked that he once quit Cannabis and “..took up reading in the evenings.”

I am making this same switch, having realized that the worst effect of Cannabis – beyond its dampening of the dopamine receptors – is that I don’t read when I am high. Not that I haven’t enjoyed reading ‘Don Quixote‘ and many other books while stoned, but I don’t think Cannabis is in any way a performance enhancing drug for the consummate reader.

And, frankly, I’d rather be a bibliophile than a stoner, which isn’t to say being a stoner hasn’t been rewarding – Cannabis has certainly helped me blaze a trail to my inner-self, and it has most definitely served as both a medicine and a form of harm-reduction from other, more bullshit intoxicants (See: alcohol). But I would much rather read than get high.

As an experiment, I abstained from Cannabis yesterday, and, last night, instead of my usual Saturday every night Cannabis festival, I read two books. And the joy of laying on the couch, eating mandarin oranges, and getting lost in great fiction easily eclipsed any Cannabis high. After all, books are my original love – what saved me growing up. And I remembered the anecdote from Terrence McKenna, about how he quit Cannabis and the only thing he noticed was that he read more.

Now, I have been on the fence about my Cannabis use for some time, having come to be a heavy user (An ounce a week). And it is not that I don’t love Mary Jane. It’s been a life saver to me – a life giver, but there came to be a couple things that bothered me about my usage. The latest and last straw was this reading revelation.

But the other big wake up was reading some of the studies that have been done on heavy Cannabis usage in relation to dopamine (Google ‘Cannabis dopamine studies’ to read for yourself).

In one of the studies, researchers wanted to measure the dopamine responses of heavy Cannabis users against non-users. To measure this, they administered methylphenidate (Ritalin) to both groups. Now, typically, any type of amphetamine is going to send dopamine levels through the roof – only, for the heavy cannabis users, the researchers saw very little dopamine response. They were so surprised that they checked to make sure the Ritalin wasn’t expired. And it wasn’t – what was happening, was that the dopamine pathways in the heavy Cannabis user’s brains were simply deadened from their Cannabis usage (Cannabis acts directly on dopamine, this is what causes the “high”).

It reminds me of a friend of mine who once remarked to me that without weed, he couldn’t even enjoy food or sex. In essence, it had hijacked his brain’s reward system. But dopamine is bigger than reward – it’s also motivation (To get the reward). And when you have this very low level nirvana or samadhi happening every time you get high, well, that kind of becomes the focus in life. And eventually, your brain just wants that – and nothing else really matters. Trust me. I know.

And ironically, when I learned all of this about Cannabis and dopamine, I had planned to write some long post about how I was quitting Cannabis to regain the full function of my motivation and reward pathways – only, I liked smoking too much. So I kept on: knowing that I was blunting my brain’s natural wiring and killing my own pleasure and motivation. Hey, I could still write on it, and even program on it. It was only having made the connection with Cannabis cock-blocking my reading that I drew the line. Reading is simply too pleasurable, too fulfilling, too much of a part of me to do anything that hinders it.

Cannabis is a psychedelic. Now, psychedelics have been a cornerstone of my development (Namely Mescaline), and I have definitely used Cannabis in a psychedelic fashion – but I mostly just used it to maintain. Because when you smoke a quarter pound a month, you need to maintain. And I wish it were something I could just pick up on a blue moon and put down, as I do with the classic psychedelics (Mescaline, DMT, LSD, Psilocybin), but from my experience, it’s just too damn easy for me to smoke all day, every day. And it’s not like I sit here rubbing potato chip grease on my shirt, buried in filth – no, I can keep the house clean, get my work done, hike on it, do yoga on it – hell, Cannabis has been the muse for a lot of stuff I have written here.

But I have to read. So I’m not smoking any more. Further, I think I’ll probably see an increase in the output of my fiction (thank fuck!). Not to mention the recovery of my dopamine receptors and an increase in my quality of my REM sleep.

Look, I have a distillate vape very near to me I would love to hit right now. My sleep is fucked up (Thanks Mary Jane), but I can’t stand the idea of self-medicating so heavily, particularly at the cost of such a deep passion of mine (Reading). And, not only as an individual, but as a writer: I have to read. It’s a passion that’s part of my job, my existence.

And I have been really passionate about Cannabis, but there are seasons in life for things. I also know that should I really need the medicine that Cannabis provides, it will be there for me. Trust me, when I’m dying, I’m going to be smoking .5g dabs of rosin. You bet your motherfuckin’ ass. But Cannabis as a lifestyle isn’t serving my passions (Reading, and I suspect writing).

One other thing that comes to mind is a clip I watched where Elon Musk talked about working 100 hour weeks. Now, I don’t want to burn out (Been there, got burned out, ate a cocktail of shitty head shop pseudo-psychedelics, lost my shit and smashed my laptop). No, I don’t want to overwork – I will not – but I also want to accomplish things. I’m not only a writer, I’m a tech entrepreneur. And, ya know, having been unsuccessful, I can’t help but think that has negatively impacted my relationships. I don’t want to project too much here, but anyone who has ever been left by a partner when they are down and out, so to speak, knows what I am talking about.

I want to build the foundation where my material failures don’t doom my relationships (Biting my tongue on other opinions here). But habits are the foundation for any success in life. Not that you can’t be a stoner and be great at anything, and even successful at it, but the rules of life are different for everyone. We have to stay in our lane in life.

Success and health really come down to the ability to adapt, grow, and learn. And what I suspect is going to happen in the coming days and weeks, is that I’m going to discover a lot more endurance and productivity for the things I need want to do. So, where I once burned out, I think I’ll find more gas in the tank (Dopamine in the brain).

And I’m so glad I discovered this. Because one thing I know is that you have to replace bad habits with good habits. This is why this is so monumental for me.

I haven’t even considered the money I will save, but suffice to say, it will be a nice chunk of change every month. The first thing I am going to do, is buy Volume II of ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’, of which I just finished the first volume of (PF Collier, 1910).

All in all, I am relieved. To have found the proper thing (books) to fill the void in me. How beautiful. To trade my adult addiction (canna) for my childhood addiction (reading). What a total fucking upgraaade.

And on a personal note, I gotta say: when people discount you and basically write you off, and you are on your own, in what could be perceived by them as a low point for you, it REALLY F’N motivates you to upgrade yourself in ways that are going to radically transform YOUR life – for you. There is a reason success is the best revenge. And it’s not because people believe in you. It’s because they don’t. I’m like Connor McGregor, in that doubt – and particularly the kind I’m talking about – is a great motivator for me. It’s not enough on its own to move me, but it’s certainly icing on the cake for the results to come. As it should be. My reality is mine; I’ve always believed in myself, even despite my brooding and John Adams-esque bouts of insecurity (Oh where is my Abagail, my Portia Adams). This is just the next logical step, and I’m cheering for myself every goddamn minute.

On a final note, the word ‘psychedelic’ means mind-manifesting. By this etymological definition, I think books are absolutely psychedelic, and probably one of the best. So, I’m only trading one psychedelic for another – one that I believe is far more potent.

Loomings: My Life and Dreams

I come here for pharmakon, the healing act of writing: I need it as I’m rediscovering myself as an adult, seeing my light and dark in their full brilliance. And, really, I just want to trust myself, that I will follow my inner voice.

Fear can make people do funny things. It’s made me forget myself, shy from deepest dreams, and do things I hate – for far. too. long.

This is the beauty of being overwhelmed. This is the beauty of feeling like you don’t want to carry on in this way. This is the call to go into the wild again; for, often, in our quest to stay within our comfort zones, we end up massively, painfully uncomfortable.

Anyone who has worked hard to pay their bills month in and month out, and has woken up miserable one day, and asked themselves, ‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’, knows exactly what I am talking about.

I am reminded of the opening to Moby Dick, in the appropriately titled first chapter, ‘Loomings’:

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago–never mind how long precisely –having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off–then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

It is a damp, drizzly November in my soul.

And though I ran off “to sea” after high school by joining the Navy, it is surprising I – who loved ships and men and sailing as a child – ended up a fucking pale computer nerd rather than a salt-tanned sailor. But there is still time. I’m just ready to get out of my “comfort zone” – or perhaps it’s just changing. But this is no longer comfortable.

I have made myriad mistakes in life. In-fact, I have gotten very few things right.

Books. Writing. The Ocean. These are my original loves. These are the places where I am my own again. Where I am whole and home.

Frankly, the most challenging thing about these 2.5 years I’ve spent in the mountains has not been the isolation, but the people.

As a non-binary liberal, I’m just not in a place where I am very accepted, much less all that welcome.

Yet here I am. In my house full of books. Alone. And it almost works. But it doesn’t.

Perhaps if I didn’t work. If I were only writing. That would work. Only, I work – a ton – and way too hard, for way too little.

I ended up in the same trade as my father: building websites. And I fucking hate it. Firstly, spending an obscene amount of time hunched over a screen is not natural.

In the words of Mystic Mac (Connor McGregor), “Machines don’t use machines.”

He is speaking about the naturalness of using body weight or free weight exercises, which have made him a “machine”, like a Jaguar, lean and powerful, as opposed to the unnatural nature of using “machines” in the gym, which will never turn one into a true machine. So, “machines don’t use machines.”

And I think about that. How much I would love if the only time I sat at my desk was to write. Rather than the up till now arrangement where I spent long, unrewarding workdays staring at a screen, punching keys. It’s very 1984.

Society is, after all, an incredibly shrewd machine, designed to spit out the lowest paying work for you – and in exchange for all of your time, society gives you the bare basics: a roof, food. We: the grinding gears of capitalism. Ground up and spit out.

It’s called a “rat race” as a takeaway from a laboratory experiment, in which two rats race each other for a piece of cheese. But they have used so much energy, the cheese isn’t even really worth its calories.

Sound familiar?

Life can really be like this. How the fuck do we work for years sometimes with nothing to show for it? Bad decisions. Maybe. But it’s also just the system. You are racing against all the other rats for the same cheese.

And if you are, say, an artist, cheese may not even be your goal. Your art is. So, now you have another problem: time.

Only, the time equation is compounded with another: stress, discontentment; any artist not practicing their craft knows the reality of these feelings.

So, now you’re basically living a life that is very ill-suited to your nature, your temperament, and your talent. It may even be contrary to those things.

It hurts. Trust me.

And so, here we are.

I’ve wanted to just work through it. I’ve wanted to “beat this level,” so to speak.

And I still feel like I have to.

The New York Times has an interesting piece about escaping the office for hands on work, and one of the most interesting lines is this:

Matthew Crawford, a senior fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the University of Virginia and the author of the 2015 book “The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an Age of Distraction,” sees good sense at work among those who leave office jobs for something more concrete-seeming. The reason? Much white-collar work has become similar to assembly-line work, comprising a series of mindless tasks.

Ding ding! Bingo.

The mindlessness of programming along with the mental bandwidth required simply just aren’t worth it. Then where is left my energy to write? I’m brain dead after. Forget time to read….

As was said of one person in the article above, who left graphic design for stone masonry, as he was being “driven mad by the monotony of moving fonts around on a screen and designing restaurant menus.”

“I was giving myself up all those years to this idea that graphic design was my only choice,” Mr. Kelley said. “I went to college for it. And it really emotionally brought me down.”

Brother, I get it. I suspect many people in desk jobs get it. I don’t want to escape a desk job, I want to escape the “oppressive computermatron.” I want to spend my time writing prose, not code.

I’m reminded of Jack London’s wonderful novel, Martin Eden, in which Martin, trying to become a writer, gets a job at a high volume laundry:

But there was little time in which to marvel.  All Martin’s consciousness was concentrated in the work.  Ceaselessly active, head and hand, an intelligent machine, all that constituted him a man was devoted to furnishing that intelligence.  There was no room in his brain for the universe and its mighty problems.  All the broad and spacious corridors of his mind were closed and hermetically sealed. 

Here, the main character faces the same problem I now have.

But it was only at rare moments that Martin was able to think.  The house of thought was closed, its windows boarded up, and he was its shadowy caretaker.  He was a shadow. 

As his boss tells him:

“Rest.  You don’t know how tired you are.  Why, I’m that tired Sunday I can’t even read the papers.  I was sick once—typhoid.  In the hospital two months an’ a half.  Didn’t do a tap of work all that time.  It was beautiful.”

“It was beautiful,” he repeated dreamily, a minute later.

Oh, how I can relate. My own Yung Lean style breakdown early this year afforded me a similar escape from work.

But Martin Eden gets no escape, so he drinks:

He forgot, and lived again, and, living, he saw, in clear illumination, the beast he was making of himself—not by the drink, but by the work.  The drink was an effect, not a cause.  It followed inevitably upon the work, as the night follows upon the day.  Not by becoming a toil-beast could he win to the heights, was the message the whiskey whispered to him, and he nodded approbation.  The whiskey was wise.  It told secrets on itself.

And finally, he decides to chuck it in:

By God, I think you’re right!  Better a hobo than a beast of toil.  Why, man, you’ll live.  And that’s more than you ever did before.”

And he quits, resolved to go to sea:

At first, Martin had done nothing but rest.  He had slept a great deal, and spent long hours musing and thinking and doing nothing.  He was like one recovering from some terrible bout of hardship.  The first signs of reawakening came when he discovered more than languid interest in the daily paper.  Then he began to read again—light novels, and poetry; and after several days more he was head over heels in his long-neglected Fiske.  His splendid body and health made new vitality, and he possessed all the resiliency and rebound of youth.

Ruth showed her disappointment plainly when he announced that he was going to sea for another voyage as soon as he was well rested.

“Why do you want to do that?” she asked.

“Money,” was the answer.  “I’ll have to lay in a supply for my next attack on the editors.  Money is the sinews of war, in my case—money and patience.”

“But if all you wanted was money, why didn’t you stay in the laundry?”

“Because the laundry was making a beast of me.  Too much work of that sort drives to drink.”

She stared at him with horror in her eyes.

“Do you mean—?” she quavered.

It would have been easy for him to get out of it; but his natural impulse was for frankness, and he remembered his old resolve to be frank, no matter what happened.

“Yes,” he answered.  “Just that.  Several times.”

She shivered and drew away from him.

“No man that I have ever known did that—ever did that.”

“Then they never worked in the laundry at Shelly Hot Springs,” he laughed bitterly.  “Toil is a good thing.  It is necessary for human health, so all the preachers say, and Heaven knows I’ve never been afraid of it.  But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and the laundry up there is one of them.  And that’s why I’m going to sea one more voyage.  It will be my last, I think, for when I come back, I shall break into the magazines.  I am certain of it.”

She was silent, unsympathetic, and he watched her moodily, realizing how impossible it was for her to understand what he had been through.

“Some day I shall write it up—‘The Degradation of Toil’ or the ‘Psychology of Drink in the Working-class,’ or something like that for a title.”

Oh, yes, Jack London, I understand your Martin Eden well. Too well.

So, my desk job, programming, is my laundry, and the degradation of toil has taken its toll on me.

Only, I don’t see myself running off to sea. I moved here, to the mountains, to write. Only, two years supporting us before we broke up, and I worked a lot and wrote little. Now I have been alone four months, and there has been no big magic. Just more toil. More degradation.

But, alas, wherever you go there you are.

I have never lived anywhere two and a half years as an adult. And I don’t just want to run away; although, I miss my family deeply, having come to realize recently that I have not been there for them: the most important people in my life.

So, here I am. And it’s very uncomfortable.

I’m 33 and still figuring out how to make it work.

As part of my personal mythology, I have come to view technology as a kind of enslavement. An uncaring machine focused only on your output. As a futurist, I lean towards neo-Luddite views.

The Luddites arose in response to the rise of machines in factories in the early 19th century. Eccentric weaver Ned Ludd smashed his loom and became a folk hero. Other workers rose up, calling themselves “Luddites.” And soon factory owners were having Luddites shot, and military force finally stopped the movement.

So, a neo-Luddite, is one who is opposed to technology on moral grounds.

As someone who has wasted years of my life writing code, with nothing to show for my work, no freedom, I can’t help but feel pulled toward wanting to smash my own machines (When I had my breakdown, I did, in-fact, smash my laptop).

But the house of cards rose up again, and I am yet hounded via email and text, by my clients 7 days a week.

And I thought I could balance it. Thought I could just work hard, wake early, and write.

After having revisited Martin Eden, I feel like this goal of intellectual work / writing duality and balance is less and less realistic.

I only have so much bandwidth and the toil takes its toll. So, what am I to do?

Well, I’m here tonight, spending my Saturday night on this. This entry is an alchemical effort for me to see what I need to see.

It’s just so difficult to escape our own matrices. I thought I could gain healthy self-esteem by paying my bills. I thought I would gain my own respect and feel solid. But I feel like Bukowski, after ten arduous, soul-crushing years in the post office:

“I have one of two choices—stay in the post office and go crazy . . . or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve.”

I think there is something noble in that.

Of course, I have already starved. And it wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t losing my shit and smashing my laptop.

Of course, there is the question of living. I don’t think I want to go sleep on a park bench. That’s not what my soul needs.

But I need to do something to escape the laundry, the toil and the toll.

If I were less of an introvert, I would have taken up roommates long ago. I have a 3 bedroom and live alone, but I am not much for living with others. Especially having lived with others so much in my 20s.

Taking back the means of production by building a business makes sense, only, my last two business did not succeed – despite how much I believed in them and the countless hours I put into them. So, I returned to building websites. Only, you suddenly become an employee with multiple bosses. Pulled apart in all sorts of directions, with a 24 hour workload that never actually ends. There is no, “Okay boss, we completed the tile job.” No, websites are never done.

I do have a business I want to build, and perhaps this is my last chance to try and regain control of the machine. As one youtuber said, “You have to sacrifice to regain the means of production.”

Starting a business qualifies. Also, writing books. Only, there is no promise of recompense with books. Only a firm sense of destiny. Although, there is neither promise of success with a business.

My plan has been to build this business as a means to “own my time”.

And maybe I just need to go once more into the fray. Frankly, I’m not sure I have it in me. I have been basically building websites now for the last nine years.

And I’ve had my stories ready to write for the last six. And I only nearly have one finished. And there are far bigger, more exciting stories I have to tell.

So, what am I to do? Let it all fall down around me? I have done that. Seems to be a pattern after each of my breakups. I am not interested in repeating the past any further. I get it: I need to be by myself.

I’m just in pain over my work. The stress of it. Clients expecting me to jump on the phone and spend my Saturday working. Total bullshit. And I did it to myself. Because I wanted to pay my goddamn bills.

And really, money is the root of it. I have to work in accordance to my demands. And, as I have already said, I moved here to lower them. Only, it didn’t work. I couldn’t support S and the dogs by myself. But god did I try. She knows how hard I worked.

Only, I struggled. And struggle will end most modern relationships. It’s simply too easy to find someone else. And the world is larger than ever before. If we only had 10% of the current world’s population on earth today, we would still have more people on earth than we did in the 1700s. What I’m saying is: in three-hundred years, the world’s population has exploded tenfold.

So, I think that, existentially, we live in an incredibly challenging time of rapid change. Humans never had these problems. And change is so rapid today, that we cannot even imagine the world five-hundred years from now, or even fifty years from now. I grew up before cell-phones. Soon, the phone will dematerialize into the user, as the UI becomes a part of us. And inequality will only get worse. But the system seems to work. Give them cell-phones, cars, Netflix, legal weed, Amazon / Wal-Mart, and in exchange, they’ll give you most of their waking hours. This is most of us. And if you think you’re special or somehow outside of this, you may have had some advantages…

Where we are born and who our parents are determines much of our trajectory in life. I was born to poor parents and in no way intend to continue that cycle with my own potential children. But a lot of people do, they have kids in lives they don’t like, and they essentially relegate their offspring to similar fates.

If you think I’m being too fatalistic, I recommend you take a good hard look at the world and the different class strata. People are simply born on different levels. Not to say you can’t “rise” – you can, and you can certainly “fall,” but it takes much more work to rise than to fall.

To rise, we need to establish a few things:

1. You will die, so don’t fear taking chances.

2. The means of production must be taken back from the masters (Meaning, you have to start a business or a means to produce something you can sell, rather than selling yourself or your time).

3. Your means must passively cover your expenses in order to free up your time to do what you love.

Imagine how many successes there are because select people were free to do what they loved… look at the bios of your favorite artistic heroes, there is even a classist ceiling there. The point isn’t that life is unfair, but that you need to give yourself the opportunity to succeed.

Look at my situation, I have tried and failed to give myself the opportunity to succeed as a writer. I’m still seeking out the opportunity. As any wage slave knows, you rent yourself out and do not own your own time, meaning, you don’t really own yourself. Hence, you have ‘masters’ (“clients” / “supervisors” ) and are not the master of yourself.

If you love what you are doing, this is not necessarily a problem. But if you loathe what you do, oh boy, you’re in some deep shit. And this is not a good place to be, because our time here is limited. The clock is running.

So, this the perfect time to think long and hard about dying:

Imagine you know you are dying. What do you want to do? Probably sure as shit not what you’re doing. You probably want to be with family, friends, lovers. Now imagine you’re dying and you never changed, never did what you loved. How much do you regret it, now that your time is up? ‘Immensely’ wouldn’t even begin to describe it. And if you could go back and change your life, you would.

But you can. There is yet still time.

So, what are you going to do Lawrence?

Well, once more into the fray.

I’ll put my heart and soul into the two difficult projects I have on my plate now and finish up with them (November)

I’ll beef up my portfolio and sell 2-3 large projects. (Dec-Feb).

I’ll then use a month to build the means of production to reclaim my time (AI based lead gen).

Provided this last step works, I’ll own my time.

From here, I need to decide where I am moving – the mountains are serving their purpose but it has been a self-imposed exile of sorts, and I miss my family.

I had been planning to move to LA, which I think will suit me, but I know it will only suit me provided I spend some time each month in San Diego as well.

This is big stuff but I have to see it in my mind’s eye. The third eye.

Where romantic love was once the impetus of my actions in life, those emotions have since been blunted in the face of knowing that no one can love me more than I love myself. And getting the relationship right with me will pave the way for any future romantic journeys.

My family is really important to me. And right now, I hear Churchill’s words:

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

A younger me would cast off the lines and “go to sea”, so to speak, but I owe myself my most dogged determination toward my vision. What I laid out above is not a new plan. It’s my vision, and I think it will work.

It just seems to me that there is something to being closer than you think.

There are going to be obstacles. There are still unknowns that need to be resolved.

There could be a setback or two. But I can’t throw in the towel. My first tattoo was ‘n.g.u.’: never give up. I can’t think that is without significant meaning. If I gave up on my vision, who would I be: I wouldn’t be me.

But I’ll be damned if I pass the time idly and am still a servant to the oppressive computermatron a year from now. I’m too damn old and life’s too damn short.

I just watched ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ again, a movie that is deep to my personal myth, as significant as is ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ and ‘The Great Gatsby’.

One of the functions of myth is to teach us to survive, and how to live a life, and what to expect.

To me, the most poignant part of Benjamin Button is this scene:

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. And if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.

And I want to live a life I am proud of.

And if I find that I’m not, I want to have the courage to start all over again.

I know the big goals I have for my fiction. Those will not change. How I get there, however, may.

TBD

A person asks who they are,
Who might they become…
And years are lost this way,
Spent in abstact thought rather than concrete action

To declare ourselves
As hero and author of our story,
In deed rather than word,
Is to know we are not who we think we are
But what we are, as we have made ourselves.

Data Dump: The Time is Now

I come here to do ‘word-processing’, to let my thoughts congeal into coherence – whereafter, I will feel I have achieved something important (For I will have); where I once journaled in lengthy prose, my notebooks these days are filled with jottings – mostly single ideas of varying yet significant importance. That said, the important stuff always goes here – and it’s not that I come here, to this space, with pre-formed ideas: I come here with a bug, an itch to write; for without writing, a mind like mine would go to waste: I need to dump the data somewhere.

Shall we?

I haven’t written prose style, like this, in awhile. But, in my experience, the longer it has been, the more personally significant my writing seems to be.

A lot has transpired; however, the details are not important – the exterior things were mere events; borrowing the stoic maxim, we can be reminded that, it is not things, but our opinion of them that matters.

I understand I possess a big future: I know this from my dreams and plans – what I call my ‘sense of destiny’.

So, here I am to claim it, to follow the dictates of a clean, bright soul, and in doing so, to release myself from the animalistic darkside I’ve so long been owned by.

As the former-slave philosopher Epictetus reminds us, “No man is free who is not master of himself.”

Only, my previous attempts at self-mastery were too small-minded – I didn’t possess the requisite conception of myself needed to level-up; frankly, I lacked an endgame big enough for me to get the balls rolling.

Now I know what I am, what I am to be. And it’s nothing shallow – it’s a real valid purpose for a valid life.

Those smaller end-games I played before were never meant to be won: they were just data, experiences I needed to live in order to aggregate understanding. As is said, when the student is ready, the teacher appears.

My teachers are those who show me how to care for myself, how to live in ways I never learned, how to love myself and others. And it’s working.

Before getting this far in life, I was closed – my brain, my emotions, my attitudes and judgements were all automatic: unconscious.

Through my recent experiences and interactions, I’ve gained the ability to truly look ahead – and not just three or five years, but fifteen and twenty.

But this is not as simple as just re-writing my instagram (@wolfwaldoblack) bio; as I have learned (and forgotten), the journey must be lived.

But what does it mean to “live the journey”?

Your mind, your heart, must be open. Trust you must (Yoda voice).

As Gary Vaynerchuck once said, “People are the people who are going to help you.”

It’s taken me thirty-two plus years to trust people – to not be blindly naive. For we must learn to be wise as serpents and innocent [harmless] as doves. This means listening to the heart’s intuitive intelligence (Thank you HeartMath Institute).

However, in order for us to be aligned within and without, we need to follow some guidelines:

  • We must trust ourselves abidingly: Listen to your inner voice, no matter how faint it is.
  • We must listen to our instincts about others – no matter how much we would like to believe otherwise. People, like life, are complex – don’t reduce them to simplicities.
  • We must maintain health: without proper sleep, diet, self-care, and exercise / activity, we are not fully alive. These things connect us to ourselves as much as their absence disconnects us from ourselves. Live well to be well. Drink lots of water, eat real food, and get plenty of sun. Health is the greatest single investment you can make.
  • We must live the journey: understanding is not something unlocked all at once and then laid to rest forever; it is our curiosities we must follow, trusting we have what it takes to get to the next level. Trust the journey, trust the process.
  • We mustn’t let our fears impede or direct us – fear is often just the unknown; however, life is change. In the words of Heraclitus, “No man steps in the same river twice.” Be comfortable with change – nothing to fear in growth (Movement towards freedom).
  • We mustn’t lose the plot – the story we have built around who we are. Know your worth, believe in yourself.
  • We must surround ourselves with persons we would like to be like – not with those whom we break our own sacred trust in ourselves to be with. Get cliqued up. Build your team, no matter how slowly. Surround yourselves with those you can trust.
  • We must be secure in ourselves – insecurity is a type of madness in which the human being is no longer on their own side. Feel good about who you are, and the life you are living.
  • Appearances matter – do not be insecure but don’t be the Big Lebowski. Take care your appearance, take pride in your image – it’s the thing people who don’t know you will judge you on first.
  • Have a routine: as much as you loathe this idea (Based on past “routines” – see Navy), you need to establish a routine in order to build habits. Habits are what are going to take you to the top. Design a routine around your goals.
  • Set goals, from as near as today, through as far as you can envision. Your goals today should be taking you toward your goals for someday.
  • Set your own limits. The system creates small minded thinkers, and most families unknowingly raise their children to be small minded. It’s a cycle you can break. Be determined to set your ow limits.
  • Do not be an island. Do not isolate from the world. If you need help, get it. Count on those in whom your heart trusts to help you.
  • Don’t accept bullshit. People will throw all kinds of shit your way, but only what you can take – the bullshit stops with healthy boundaries.
  • Know your goodness. You were not born in sin, you were born a baby, then you were a child. Do not forget the goodness in your childlike heart – it’s still there.
  • Be self-sufficient. It’s good to have a network, but do not expect other people to do your work for you – or even to show you how. You are capable. Do not ask of another what is yours to do. Be self-reliant.
  • Be aware of what you feed your brain. There’s a reason it’s called television “programming”. Also, don’t watch the news – as Peter Diamandis taught me, the news is designed to activate the fear center of the brain – the amygdala – creating an addiction. Instead, follow the people / organizations that resonate with you. Or just live and don’t follow anything at all.
  • Chill out / cut back on social media. Social media is the new collective consciousness. It worships shallow, vapid people, and it feeds into the cycle of insecurity so many people live in. Want fame on social media? Do shit. Write the books. As the ancient maxim goes, to be rather than to seem.
  • Be there for your family. They need you and you need them more than you know.
  • Be resilient: don’t let a long day or being tired drag you down into a funk.
  • Be patient. Patience will get you there. Patience is like a wise oracle – it trusts what only the mind can see, for now.
  • Have fun – this is maybe the most important one. In the words of Bob Marley, “Lively up yourself and don’t be no dread.” Never underestimate the power of positive emotions.
  • And, lastly, follow your heart. Explore what you are called to. For me it was / is books. Everything else came from there.

This list is by no means exhaustive – but it’s what I need right now. I now rejoin life with a heart that’s a bit more free and pure. And with that increased freedom, my imagination will soar – and with it, myself.

Because the time is now. #ontrack

One Belief to Change Everything, or Not

I have not published anything here in near a month, but a lot can happen in a month – a lot can happen in a day; your days can have significance. This is true (Along with everything else you believe). 

I believe I’m fortunate beyond measure. Where there is love there is life – I have love: abundant, sweet, free, generous love. And it’s the love I have for myself that counts most and makes the rest possible. My heart is a magic kitchen; I am an alchemist; I turn shit into gold. I don’t even want to die anymore

Thirty-two is a very good year: there are no limosines but the perfumed hair comes undone and my heart beats for it. I am a man. No Christian. I am a man. A human, and I think humanness is something we must aspire to. 

But, in order to be human, we have to be whole – imperfect – and I am not talking about accepting flaws, but, rather, acknowledging our status as complex biological and psychological entities. This means listening to our bodies as much as our hearts, and – if we are brave enough – serving both without betraying one. 

That’s the thing about life: it isn’t so much important to be true to ourselves as it is to not betray ourselves. Sometimes, we make mistakes, and that’s a part of life, but I don’t want to live in the shade of the freeway, forever a pretender, trying to buy my own happiness till I die. That would be a betrayal of who I am, as would be a cookie cutter anything – or anything that resembled a normal life at all. I didn’t make it through what I’ve made it through to be bored and unhappy. Ha. 

Hell nah. To quote it for the billionth time, I would rather be whole than good (Jung). I would rather live a life  according to the dictates of my own soul than follow arbitrary mores. My own values are what count. There are many a moralist whom I would not dare break bread with. But this is life, and they fucking love Donald Trump. That’s just the world we live in. Sorry kids, but life is a macrocosm of high school. Most people still playing a game called “who’s coolest” – of course, in the adult world, we call these people boring, unimaginative, and unoriginal, which is precisely what most people are. I really do wish there were more humans I wanted to hug, but like the homie James Comey, I don’t play that. Me no conversate with the fakes

Water, however, finds its own level – as do persons. I refer here not to class, status, race or religion, but values. Unfortunately, however, xenophobia is very real in America. So is Fox News.  

But I promise you, the good outweighs the bad. Perhaps not in number – or even power – but, as far as the stuff that makes life worth living goes [love], there is plenty of it. And when you have those good people in your life, stick to them like glue – and when you meet other good people, stick to them too. 

If you are not the social type, I understand. My late twenties did a lot to incline me toward introversion, but still, sociometer theory is well and true, and being likable goes a long way toward being happy.  Being happy, of course, making you likable. 

Your life is a reflection of how you feel about yourself. I love Lawrence Black. I love my life. 

This same life, I made a hell of at times. That’s the thing about being an alchemist – that’s the thing about perspective – you can turn shit to gold but you can also turn gold to shit. Humans are lenses. Paradise and hell, and all between – you can experience it. This we call thought. Feeling. Being. 

But few of us question it. Only, when we do – and we do discover that – gah! – we don’t fully like ourselves – this is precisely when we outgrow it. Most ideas the unconscious mind holds, which hold us in turn, are absurdly illogical. How many times have you learned something about yourself that you let go of upon discovering? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to see the error of my ways – and just the coming to truth with myself about it was enough to resolve the matter – even if it had personally gripped me for years. Realizations, therapy, mistakes, life: it takes a long time to learn about yourself. But the more you do, oh how life gets better. 

I’d keep going, but I’d like to return a few messages before bed. And I think I’ll come back here soon. I’ve got more to say. That’s for fucksure. 

My unassailable, unimpeachable confidence is almost diametrically opposed to the fact that life is delicate and I will die, but why not be strong? Far better to trust life, to trust yourself. As I wrote long ago, society is a mirror no person finds themselves likable in. Be secure. That’s my advice. And the only way to be secure is to look within. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever change. If you’re not changing, you’re not growing. And if you’re not growing you’re not happy. 

Lastly, is like to say something about optimism. I brought a book from Urban Outfitters late last year called You Can Be an Optimist, and while the book taught me a lot (Specifically on optimism and locus of control) – what really hit me was a thought I had while driving the other day: optimism is nothing more than the genuine belief that things will work out – and that one belief changes everything. 

After all, whose side are you on? 

 Casting Spells

Thinking about the future; using goals as gamification (reward): asking myself exactly what it is I want out of life. 

My artistic goals are set in stone; however, I am a renaissance man: thus the breadth of my interests and desires begs more than artistic success. 

And regardless of my writing goals, it would be senseless of me to disregard the years of experience I have as a ux-designer, marketer, and front-end dev. I am humbly proud to say, I am fucking good at what I do. Besides, I am already working on three businesses that leverage those skills and it would be foolish not to see them to fruition – after all, monetary success is a beautiful thing: it both sanitizes and renews. 

But I do ask myself, how much is enough?

Ironically, I watched Scorcese’s Aviator tonight – that is, up until Howard Hughes’ character became a shell of a man and my interest waned; however, the movie was nonetheless a great muse for tonight’s writing – and for myself, as a man of ambition and potential. 

In the film, we watch as Hughes devolves from a powerful visionary – a man of youth and passion – into a hollow, paranoid agoraphobic. 

Clearly, the man had some mental health struggles, and, in later years, physical issues as well, both contributing in no small-part to his eventual deterioration; however, fortunate as I am at 31, I don’t expect a similar fate for myself; although, I have absolutely no moral conundrums amassing a fortune.

There’s certainly no rule in life that says, ‘You cannot be a wealthy businessman and a famous author‘.  

I used to think that art came first – that it was spiritually paramount to make art – as if somehow business endeavors were a barrier to that.

But believe me, I’ve tried the starving artist thing, and even with a room of ones own, poverty is not conducive to writing in this day and age. 

For me, the life of the entrepreneur-writer-philosopher seems to fit best.

Lawrence Black is an American entrepreneur, writer, and philosopher. He is the author of ——– and ——– , and maintains ownership interests in several tech companies he has founded.

These are words I recite in front of the mirror, a kind of Stoic / Cognitive exercise I perform that allows me to zoom out on my story and see things from a grander, more elegant perspective. 

It is modeled on the idea of my future Wikipedia entry, serving as sort of cliff’s notes on who I am, and its purpose is to remind me of my destiny, my potential. 

I find it a fantastic method for bolstering my confidence and strengthening my identity; for I am most-certainly someone who believes in my own sense of destiny. This is why I write. 

And sure, there are novels unfinished – but this is my story. 

And I write it because it’s part of the magic, the alchemy I do – casting spells – spelling out my future – weaving the tapestry of my life with intention and purpose. 

And in doing so, I become more definite, more sure; becuase, if I didn’t meant it, I wouldn’t write it

And I, of all people, know the story can always be re-written. 

So follow your folly. Trust life. Cast spells. And don’t be afraid to think out-loud; for your desires are not false hopes, and life is but a game won by definiteness of purpose backed by definiteness of plans. 

With that, I bid you goodnight.

Sow well my friends. 

Get Thee Up

“I wake up every morning and check if I am in a state of grace,” a 31 year-old Leonard Cohen told an interviewer in 1965.

Every morning of your life, you choose whether your soul is in a state of grace or not. Now, whether or not this is a conscious choice is up to you.

For me, the grace of my soul requires no more than that I choose to live consciously: choosing to be happy – choosing to be excited about MY life – choosing to affirm the gratitude I have for the opportunities that are mine to seize TODAY.

In the words of a young Leonard Cohen: “There are dreams of glory whispering through the wires of my spine.”

I want this everyday. 

This is called “a can’t lose attitude”. 

Put simply: your wellbeing is your choice; you can have it everyday.

Happiness isn’t the result of a good life but the cause of one.

And while we live in a world of thermometers – people who reflect their environment – YOU CAN be a thermostat – controlling your own; for we are either kings or pawns in this life (Alexander Dumas).

As the ancient proverb reminds us: “The mind is a wonderful servant but a terrible master.”

Remember this; wrap your mind around it; marinate on it.

As I have reinterpreted it: happiness isn’t the result of a good life but the cause of one.

And whether I know all this stuff already or not – and no matter how much I have written it – I will never stop reminding myself of the core tenets that comprise the bedrock of my life and my wellbeing.

Choice.

Choice.

Choice.

If you don’t choose your beliefs about yourself – if you aren’t consciously choosing your beliefs about your relationship to today – they will exist independently of your own power.

And trust me, if you are relying on anything outside of yourself for your wellbeing, you are playing a risky game.

Last time I checked, this world was not exactly in a state of grace. And while that’s unfortunate, it is not in my power nor in my duty to control (Footnote 1/1). 

What I know is that I can choose to live in a state of grace REGARDLESS of what happens or has happened in my life; for I rely on that impenetrable thing Emerson referred to as “self-reliance”.

And while it requires a bit more courage, life is far better lived from the saddle than in the carriage.

So giddyup and exercise your will, for that is what you are here to do.

Giddyup Etymology:

From get up or get ye/thee up.


Footnote 1: There is absolutley nothing wrong with knowing in your heart of hearts that you are a bit better than this savage world you were born into: for it’s a Trump America and the inmates are officially running the asylum.

Meditations Session Ten: Trusting Life and Going Into Fulfilment Through the Care of Mind, Body, and Soul for Happiness and Love

Preface

This week was trying on account of two factors. Firstly, I turned thirty-one. And, for me, birthdays always cause me to step back and evaluate my life in a very objective, measured way, which is something I typically don’t do in my day-to-day life; however, when you reach a milestone, such as a birthday, you are forced to say: “This is my life at thirty-one”. In short, my birthday arrived with a sobering tinge of inner melancholy – because hey, I’m not a billionaire yet and nor do I have my Nobel. A terrible shame, I know.

Secondly, Sarah left town for a week-long work trip, so I was faced with our first real separation, which was not unbearable; although, it had its moments.

So, I’m not crying woe is me or anything, but like any human, I live my life according to my hopes and dreams and fears.

As I said, it was a trying week – but the time alone was good, as this entry evidences.

What follows is a series of notes I took after meditating last night and choking down a small but vile dose of an ancient, sacred plant medicine.

Like all my meditations, these are verbatim, with any added notes in italics.


Meditations Session Ten: Trusting Life and Going into Fulfilment Through the Care of Mind, Body, and Soul For Happiness and Love

Note: I am not objective around others.

Just ask your authentic-self: is this healthy?

Forgive your mistakes, learn from pain; do the alchemy when your soul is in pain.

You need to learn from your pain, your mistakes, your habits.

Levels = evolution. Level up. Get comfortable.

Write the rules for your life.

Return to principles.

Life: likes vs. dislikes. As an activity to become more familiar with the self.

Keep life simple [Only the necessities.] This was inspired by the teachings of Epicurus, who advised his students to live life according only to the necessities of their well-being.

  1. Coffee
  2. Walk
  3. Breakfast
  4. Meditation
  5. Planning
  6. Work
  7. Lunch / Read
  8. Walk or Gym
  9. Work
  10. Dinner
  11. Walk
  12. Journal
  13. Read
  14. Meditation / Sleep

Sundays: Coffee shop / plan and review

Note: Withholding approval = power over others.

Don’t hold any thought the divine self doesn’t.

Think about how harshly you judge yourself (ego / judgements).

Practice non-judgement and loving-kindness on yourself.

Love is our highest word and the archetype for Love is God.

What we all need is Love, and most all of our problems arise from going about getting it in the wrong ways.

We have to embody our own God: to be the dad we didn’t get, the best friend we never had.

We have to be able to look to ourselves and trust ourselves.

All you need to be right now is the best 31 year old you. The rest will follow accordingly and work out too.

You have to not only trust in the future, but the past as well – [Honor Your Past]

If you’re gonna trust the future to deliver you from your past, you need to trust the past to deliver you to your future.

No one else can love you but you. They [people] make flattering mirrors, but ultimately we see only ourselves, our perspectives in them.

Quit looking in others for the mirror. For you can only see what’s already inside of you.

Reflect on the energy you want to feel in return.

You’re worthy of feeling great about yourself all the time.

If depressed, return to principles (Read your meditation notes).

Rest your mind, remain calm inside yourself.

Be calm: pure consciousness. Hold a calm, relaxed gaze, then follow your body’s physiology.

A spiritual life gives you the faith that your intention will manifest.

Faith = power of the Will.

Faith can only ever be in the self.

Confront fear and dispel it moment by moment, as it arises.

Ego is not an enemy of God / Spirit.

Ego is not an enemy to faith, only to reason [Which absolute faith requires]

Don’t monitor the conversation in your head so much as stop having one.

If a man is to know himself, to live an intelligent life of reason, he must be willing to deduce from his feelings his beliefs, and from his beliefs pure reason, so that his habits and actions will follow.

To trust yourself is to live your own truth. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, — that is genius. – Emerson

To trust yourself is to trust the will of life.

To attune to your inner intuition is not just to know how you are feeling in a given moment, but why.

You’ve gotta like yourself in order to be happy.

But you’ve also gotta be happy in order to like yourself. Welcome to the paradox of life you have lived in. Now live happy.

Love is the key to happiness and happiness is the key to love.

So, self-esteem = Love? Self-esteem = trusting life. It has brought me this far, this close.

Trusting life = being fully in the present moment, without fear, without judgement.

Being in the present moment = being happy and grateful.

Happy and grateful come from living well. Think well. Be well.

As you sow, so shall you reap.

Think well and be well.

Beliefs.

Believe in yourself.

Pure rationality.

Believe

Believe in yourself.

If you don’t, life’s going to be very hard – as it was.

You don’t need a God to believe in yourself. You just need to trust life.

And to trust life you just need to believe in yourself.

Life’s very scary if you don’t believe in yourself, if you don’t trust yourself. It’s terrible.

You have free will. Trust yourself. Believe in yourself. Because a belief in a God won’t save you, but a belief in yourself will.

Trust you are here for a reason, and that you are perfect for the reason you are here.

Trust you haven’t suffered in vain.

Trust in Love.

Believe in Love; that is God; not the religion; not the creator – but the reason.

You’re here to Love.

This is what you are made of. Love.

You are not God. You are Love. God is perfect (Divine) Love.

You’re here to learn that. To live that. To be that. (Divine Love).

You’re day-to-day life should be designed to maximize the love you experience.

To have loved is to have lived.

And you are entirely worthy of abundant love.

Live it. Give it.

The Universe sends the Love you give back to you as happiness.

So too, the Love you withhold comes back as fear.

Choose to love rather than fear yourself – your existence, for they are one in the same.

“Since psyche and matter are contained in one and the same world, and moreover are in continuous contact with one another and ultimately rest on irreprehensible, transcendental factors, it is not only possible but fairly probable, even, that psyche and matter are two different aspects of one and the same thing. The synchronicity phenomena point, it seems to me, in this direction, for they show that the nonpsychic can behave like the psychic, and vice versa, without there being any causal connection between them. ~ Carl Jung, “On the Nature of the Psyche”

Also, this: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/07/your-thoughts-do-not-create-your-reality-stupid/

also, this: https://www.livealifeyoulove.com/buddha-knew-law-of-attraction/

Most people fear life because they don’t trust it, and we fear what we do not trust in.

Fear comes from not trusting in the eternity of the soul; fear comes from being attached, from the idea of loss.

And I don’t know what is next, but I know this life isn’t permanent, so there really is nothing to fear.

“I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose.” – Ayn Rand, Anthem

And it’s our thoughts that shape our experience of reality, our highs and lows.

So we should think the thoughts of the reality we desire to experience.

I am calm. I am comfortable. I am at peace.

Because all we ever have is now to experience it.

So match the thought to the feeling, the feeling to the action, and the action to the desired feeling.

There is a reason humans have thoughts.

So we can feel our experience with them.

And if you don’t believe that you control your thoughts and feelings, then you don’t trust yourself.

So trust yourself. Trust your experience of reality, but also understand that you are the creator.

For if you didn’t believe your thoughts had any influence, you would’t listen to them.

So why do we listen to our own thoughts?

Well, some of them actually feel really good.

It’s the thoughts that don’t, which make us unhappy, that trouble us.

So why do we continue listening to the thoughts that trouble us?

Because the mind – the unconscious – where thought is processed and translated into feeling, this mind does not distinguish between good and bad thoughts, happy and sad feeling. It just feeds the thought into the unconscious to be processed.

The filter is the conscious mind. It’s where we have the ability to say yes or no.

And this filter follows the dictums of the soul, where the will resides.

However, we lose touch with our souls, our wills, and we become slaves living unconscious lives.

We must endeavor to live consciously, healthily.

We must care for our bodies and our souls if we are to have happy and healthy minds.

And that choice is ours.

So go to that yoga class together.

And if you don’t have someone, go alone, and you may meet someone.

That’s why we’re here after all: Love.

So why don’t we love our own minds, bodies, and souls more?

I suppose we don’t always make that a priority.

We don’t understand the mind, body, soul connection as the ancients did, that and or we don’t value our minds, bodies, and souls more.

Why? We value other shit.

Why? Because society has told us that feeling cool is more important than feeling good.

Why? Money. Pleasure, unlike fulfillment, is marketable. Because pleasure is instant, whereas fulfillment actually takes time.

But pain is here for many. And humans would rather feel good than bad.

So they make unhealthy decisions, whether it’s eating or drinking, and these things ultimately cost us our wellbeing.

So what must we do?

Love ourselves more. Care about other shit less. Or at least realize how important lifestyle is to happiness.

Because if we aren’t choosing to live a healthy lifestyle, we are screwing our happiness.

Which no rational person would do – were they not living in a society that places other things above happiness.

Because in the modern world we live in, you can buy pleasure but you cannot buy happiness, because happiness comes from the fulfillment of our thoughts (Into their physical reality).

And you can pay for some guru or life coach to tell you this OR you can just know it to be true in your heart.

But maybe your heart has been silenced by a mind and body too tired, too out of tune to connect to the soul and listen.

So RAISE YOUR VIBRATIONS !!

Maybe it’s surfing. Maybe it’s Yoga. Diet, water, exercise. Basically being a healthy human that gets into flow, that lives an actualized life.

Which, you haven’t been entirely… (Or much at all)

So step your game up.

Quit limiting yourself like a fucking retard idiot.

So choose to love yourself in your thoughts and resultant lifestyle choices.

Choose to trust that you’ll make it through not only without those unhealthy crutches, but because you went without, because you choose to nourish your mind, body, and soul out of love rather than fear.


Post Script

It’s only by the providence of synchronicity by which I have become the man I am today, and I have no doubt that at thirty one these lessons are precisely what I need to take my life to the next level.

Looking back, I see that when I lived in a manner that followed the habits of happy, healthy people, I too was happy and healthy. But, of course, our vices are a great comfort to us, whether it be junk food or junk substances, and, as I have outlined above, I think these things cause us to numb ourselves, and consequently numb our connection to our souls, our inner will, where the directng voice of consciousness resides.

It’s not by coincidence that spiritually actualized people live healthy lives and value their minds, bodies, and souls. Lord knows that someone who is relying on the comfort of their vices is by no means happy. They’re just afraid of losing that comforting crutch because they are in pain and they want a solution now, but it only makes it worse and actually perpetuates as addiction.

As the ancient maxim goes, the mind is a terrible master but an excellent slave; however, we must remain conscious in order to have mastery of our minds. We must be able to direct ourselves from that inner voice of the will.

I know after this experience that I absolutely must take care of my mind, body, and soul in a manner that allows me to remain connected to my inner voice.

And I know modern life doesn’t revolve around these things, but it’s your fucking life. Start living it rationally, for nothing is more important than your health and happiness.

As the ancient Stoics believed: virtue alone was sufficient for happiness. I finally understand this at a deep level. Lord knows, I already knew that vice alone was sufficient for misery.

In short, trust life. Trust yourself. Love yourself. And care for your soul. That means physical practices. You don’t want to live life like a lab rat, addicted to fats and other chemicals. That’s not wellbeing. That’s comforting your fear with pleasure, rather than trusting life and going into fulfillment.

Moving up The Layer Cake, Climbing Mountains, and Starting a Junto

Emerson once wrote:

“A man’s growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends.”

What he meant was that, life is a layer cake son.

There’s levels to this shit

As one of my mentors taught me, a man is the average of his five closest friends. 

No offense to some of the friends I grew up with but you are who you hang with, and I’m not interested in selling or doing drugs.

At thirty, I am excited about life, I’ve awoken to my potential, and I understand what Ayn Rand meant about being motivated by the desire to achieve:

“A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others.”

And it is this desire to achieve that has prompted me to seek a chorus of friends with whom I can do it.

Some men are islands, but I want to be a mountain.

And it has only been by standing on the shoulders of giants that I have come this far. Now I want to take my place in the river of time, and trust in myself and in the universe; myself via my own potential, and the universe via the infallible law of cause and effect.

Emerson Cause and Effect

Or, as Vince Lombardi put it: “The man on the top of the mountain didn’t fall there.”

And – unlike the men standing on actual mountains in hip stock photos – when I look to the men on the proverbial mountains they stand on, I see men who have followed the law of averages; however – unlike other men – they choose their own average.

I can admit today that I have sometimes made the wrong kind of friends  – those interested in pleasure rather than fulfillment; however, I’ve also been the wrong kind of friend – short-sighted, selfish, and immature in my own ways.

That’s not who I am today.

I’ve grown and I need the kinds of friends whom I can continue to grow with.

In pragmatic terms, I cannot get to where I am going alone, and nor do I desire to be there by myself, so I am making a big push to invest in the right friendships. And tonight as I had dinner at a girlfriend’s, I talked to her about how I am going to do this.

In short, to borrow the words of Ben Franklin, I want to bring “…most of my ingenious acquaintance into a club of mutual improvement.”

Ben Franklin called his club the The Junto, and they met on Fridays to discuss the things that were important to them; for after all, what is friendship built on but shared values. And the things I value are the things the guys I want to surround myself with value: happiness, growth, success, wealth – all the stuff that dreams are made of.

Today, some of the most successful and powerful men in the world are members of private clubs – from old-guard private gentleman’s clubs, to the Bohemian Club – they have been welcomed to the layer cake.

And I’m not looking to end up at a Bilderberg group conference in 15 years, but I am looking to live my wildest fucking dreams. And to do this, I know I cannot be an island.

I need friends as hungry and excited about life as I am. As serious as I am about gettin it.

So if I’ve sent this to you then chances are we had coffee recently  – or I invited you to grab coffee soon – and I already told you about this, but I wrote this because I wanted to explain the impetus for this group a bit more candidly.

At thirty, I tend to find myself working, hanging out with pretty women, and sleeping (In pretty much that exact order); however, every time I talk to a cool guy, I remember that I am missing out on what Cicero described in his essay, On Friendship:

“Friendships improves our happiness and abates our misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief.”

You see, I believe you can eat your layer cake and have it too. And in Twenty Sixteen, I’ll only be in San Diego once or twice a month, but when I am there visiting friends and family, I want to meet with this group, and I want it to be fucking awesome.

I believe in my intuition, and my intuition told me this is the next step – and to invite you.

To be clear, I’m not just looking to form some fucking lame ass mastermind group or something you have to pay some coach in order to “get motivated”. This group is for people who already are motivated. And it’s not something you will ever get a Facebook invite for.

I’m talking about a private group of the coolest, most driven, hungry, smartest motherfuckers I know.

A group of men who want to climb their own mountains.

Because, as Kerouac wrote in Dharma Bums, “In the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.”

Note: All further club business, including club mission, charter, guidelines, and monthly meeting notes – plus the requisite pictures of naked girls (jk) will be confidential, maintained on a club website (Live 12/15), behind a private encrypted login.


Just for fun, I created a poll of potential names for the Junto.

Anyone reading this is welcome to vote:

On Consciously Becoming

Goals, but as a means to what end?

Happiness.

For I know no other that lasts; all other ends that we may pursue: sex, pride, gratification, self-satisfaction, approval, status, image, respect – these are mere vanities.

Vanities chiefly fed by insecurity, which leads to that slow, creeping death of the soul we call conformity.

No man was born to live another man’s life.

Yet still, we do.

We covet other men’s things, we envy other men’s lives; appraising ourselves without ever taking our own lot into account.

Envy, insecurities, vanities – these things all breed jealousy: that poisonous seed of loathing, which causes us to privately repudiate ourselves to no end – never knowing that we have sown the seeds of our own discontent.

Thus our happiness never has a chance of living up to our standards, which, in reality, do not belong to us but have been handed down to us by society: a mirror no man finds himself likable in; for there will always be that unfortunate mass of persons projecting their own perceived insecurities back upon us.

In this way, society is like a two-way mirror in which each man measures himself in others, and others in himself.

Silly as it is, it is so, human foibles being the invisible cages they are.

If we only realized all the faults in our thinking that limit our perceptions and diminish our hopes!

It’s the quiet desperation, which most men resign themselves to, as Thoreau wrote:

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. – Walden

We have it all wrong yet it serves society and those who benefit from exerting their wills upon our own, weaker images of self.

Writing this and outlining my beliefs, I feel a stranger to my past, my memories distant feelings I no longer wish to recapture – as I have previously sought so desperately (And sadly) to.

As a wise person once said: Comparison is the great thief of joy.

Nonetheless we compare, constantly looking in vain into that two-way mirror.

And who do we look to as a society, whom do we most admire?

Originals.

Those who had the confidence to look not to society, asking who am I, but to themselves, asking: who might I be?

And being intrepid travelers, venturing into their own minds and seeing themselves clearly, they consciously choose to become, while the rest of us unconsciously became.

Hacking an Open Source Cognitive Model for Goal Prioritization and Attainment

Update: 3-16-19

I’ve published a new entry: Introduction to LEVELS, which compliments this quite well for anyone looking to level-up in life.

Introduction and Preface

On the heels of my previous entry my father emailed me a link to a piece from Wait But Why, titled, The Cook and The Chef: Musk’s Secret Sauce. Today I  am writing this in order to understand, interpret, and apply the ideas presented there to my own life and desires. The source material is a long form piece, containing over 21,000 words, easily a three hour read for some. That said, for anyone looking to truly understand it – read the original source. The key word here for me is interpret – I am interpreting something in a manner I feel will best allow me to apply the ideas the author presents to my own life.

Also, this is essentially just for me, but given that I am trying to look ahead 1 through 10 years into the future, coupled with the idea that this blog will likely eventually experience significant readership, I want to be as transparent as possible; after all, everything I write here, beyond being fitted for my own benefit and purpose, is also for the potential benefit of posterity and progeny [1].

Again, please keep in mind, I decided to publish this publicly in the hopes it might benefit others, particularly those who end up here on their own search for answers. That said, I am not editing this or even revising it. So please do not judge my writing on something I started at 4am, for me personally. I wrote this to interpret and understand something I knew would be an asset to me, and I hope it is to you as well.  


Prefaces aside, I want to dive into this model, which the author refers to as Elon’s Software [2].

The Want Box

Elon’s Software begins with what the author calls the Want box, which is just what it sounds like: a box list of things we want but do not currently posses.

Software - Want Box
Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk’s Secret Sauce

As a fairly arbitrary yet logical example of things that might go in a person’s want box, the author provides the following graphic:

Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk's Secret Sauce
Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk’s Secret Sauce

This is, of course, a clear example – but these wants must also respect things such as the laws of physics and other constraints, which fit into the next box: the Reality box.

The Reality Box

Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk's Secret Sauce
Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk’s Secret Sauce

The Reality box contains, as the image says, Things That Are Possible.

To quote the source, “pretty straightforward” – only, there is one caveat that may not be obvious to some, and it’s the idea that, while we all live in the same underlying reality (If you remove perception from the equation [3]), no two Reality boxes will be the same; for what is possible for me, is different from what is possible for you, and while the author expounds on this later on, I think this is an important concept to digest at this point – at least in my own putting this into practice.

The author then posits that between our Elon’s Want box and Reality box, exists a Goal Pool.

The Goal Pool

“The overlap of the Want and Reality boxes is the Goal Pool, where your goal options live.”

Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk's Secret Sauce
Image from Wait But Why, The Cook and The Chef: Musk’s Secret Sauce

Looking at the Goal Pool image above, we see these symbols, which if we view the source document at this point, we’ll see a small annotation in which the author explains as follows:

Those goals ended up looking a whole lot like the male symbol, which is annoying of them. The goals are circles and I put the arrow on each of them because each goal points your powers in a certain direction—i.e. choosing a goal is choosing which direction to point your powers.

This is a key concept because, as the author explains at Wait But Why, ‘we change something by directing our power towards it‘, and power, as he writes:

“…can come in various forms: your time, your energy (mental and physical), your resources, your persuasive ability, your connection to others, etc.

The concept of employment is just Person A using their resources power (a paycheck) to direct Person B’s time and/or energy power toward Person A’s goal. When Oprah publicly recommends a book, that’s combining her abundant power of connection (she has a huge reach) and her abundant power of persuasion (people trust her) and directing them towards the goal of getting the book into the hands of thousands of people who would have otherwise never known about it.”

As the aforementioned annotation explains, “…choosing a goal is choosing which direction to point your powers.” 

Powers Our Potential

I want to make a distinction here, and – for myself – an alteration; instead of simply calling these ambiguous things powers, I think it is prudent to view and understand them as things that lie within our potential; for we must understand our fully in order to have a clear understanding of our Reality box, i.e., ‘the things that are possible’ [3, 3.1].

Our Potential and Goal Selection

And here too, on the topic of our Goal box and making the alteration from “powers” to our potential, I want to note that I found myself wanting for more clarification on goal selection. Later in the document, the author writes about how Elon uses “first principles thinking” and a feedback loop, which I will get to, to alter the things in the Goal Pool, but where we are presented with the goal pool, we are merely instructed to “pick a goal from the pool—the thing you’re going to try to move from Point A to Point B”; however, I think that by defining our potential within the Reality box, we can use this as a tool for goal selection; for if we have an understanding of our potential, we can direct our most potent potential towards the things from our Want box, which are in our current Goal Pool.

As the author says of Elon, he focused his early goals not around achieving his Wants, but expanding the Reality box and its list of “things that are possible.”

For Elon (Although he had birthed the desire to effect change in aerospace and transport as early as college) this meant dropping out and founding online advertising and publishing startup Zip2 in 1995 (During the dotcom boom), which would net him $22M when it sold in 1999. From there he founded X.com in 1999, which would go onto become paypal, and when Paypal sold to Ebay in 2002, Musk owned $165M in stock – the rest as they say, is history. Of course, for Elon, given that he had used his software to expand his reality box and had selected goals intended to do so, this meant that he had the capacity to found SpaceX, directly following Ebay’s acquisition of Paypal.

I think we are looking at a man who connected the dots looking forward via some very strong hypothesis, which we begin to formulate in the next section, Strategy; however before I get there, I want to return to the concept of goal selection and our potential.

As the author transitions from Goal Pool to Strategy, he says:

Once a goal has been selected, you know the direction in which to point your power. Now it’s time to figure out the most effective way to use that power to generate the outcome you want—that’s your strategy.

The key thing here is, “Once a goal has been selected, you know the direction in which to point your power.” Worded as I have interpreted and revised this open source cognitive model for goal attainment, we get: “Once a goal has been selected, you know the direction in which to point your potential.” And returning to the above anecdote on Elon ‘focusing his early goals not around achieving his Wants, but expanding his Reality box and its list of “things that are possible”‘, we might be smart to select goals that leverage our own potential so that we expand our reality box, rather than select our early goals around our biggest wants. Seen in this way, we might find it prudent to create a hierarchy of wants in our Want box, along with a matrix of potentials in our Reality box, so that we can meet the two in the middle in our Goal Pool.

Of course we should note that when Elon choose to ‘focus his early goals not around achieving his Wants, but expanding his Reality box and its list of things that are possible’, he was not ignoring things in his goal pool, but merely focusing his early goals around the things in his goal pool; for the larger wants (SpaceX and Tesla) did not exist within his early Reality box, and thus did not make it into his goal pool [4].

Returning to the idea of matching our powers current potential with our Want box as a tool for goal selection, the diagram becomes – actually, scratch that, a diagram will no longer do. We need a spreadsheet.

After about 15 minutes, I came up with the following:

Example Elon’s Software Matrix from 1995

If you look at the sheet I created, it’s pretty straightforward; however, you will see I made a few changes, which I will address.

In the Want box, I added Tesla and Space X. Then, in the Reality box, I addressed the fact that Elon lacked the capital, so I cycled that want into the want box, which became Zip2 and then Paypal…

Again, this is just my interpretation of Elon’s Software as I might apply it to my own goals. Keep in mind, the source document said nothing about a spreadsheet, so this is just pure conjecture, which I am adding into this section as a means of interpreting this model, with a focus on goal selection and prioritization.

After the Goal Pool, the author goes on to address strategy.

Strategy

From here on through the rest of the source material, I find it pretty straightforward. As far as strategy, there is not a lot but what is there is substantial. Basically it’s the idea that strategy should be founded on first principles rather than analogies, which the article expounds upon using Elon’s on words, also providing a wonderful (cook vs. chef) analogy for it [first principles] as well.

First principles in Elon’s words:

I think generally people’s thinking process is too bound by convention or analogy to prior experiences. It’s rare that people try to think of something on a first principles basis. They’ll say, “We’ll do that because it’s always been done that way.” Or they’ll not do it because “Well, nobody’s ever done that, so it must not be good.” But that’s just a ridiculous way to think. You have to build up the reasoning from the ground up—“from the first principles” is the phrase that’s used in physics. You look at the fundamentals and construct your reasoning from that, and then you see if you have a conclusion that works or doesn’t work, and it may or may not be different from what people have done in the past.

The diagrams that follow the strategy section go into detail on a pretty iterative model, which I find to be intuitive given my business experience / knowledge / understanding.

As my preface said, this is primarily for my benefit, so I’m not going to include all of that content here, but it is available on WBW.

I’m fairly excited to have discovered this (Thanks Dad), and I have already begun using this as a decisioning matrix for prioritizing my own wants.

Originally, I was going to title this entry Hacking an Open Source Cognitive Model for Goal Attainment; although, I have opted instead to change it so that it reflects the value of this model as a tool for prioritization as will, given the path Elon has taken, as well as my own intended path, as it is very logical that some goals necessitate the attainment of others prior.

For some this may all seem moot, but for me I needed this to direct my energy into a laser-like focus – also the Reality box has already allowed me not only to see what is possible but what is lacking, which I then cycle into my want box.

Of course, in the end, it all comes down to strategy, which through using first principles I hope to formulate strong hypothesis via, and – as I always say: time will tell.

For anyone reading this, I hope that in your own path this model serves to better help you define, prioritize, and attain your goals.

Godspeed.

P.S. The source material contains SO MUCH MORE. Do give it a read – the PDF is available for $3.00 from Wait But Why as well.

Footnotes

1. I originally intended to privately publish this; however, as someone who grew up reading and has grown as much through the intellectual gifts of others as I have through experience, I feel it is my duty (And privilege) to carry the lessons I have learned forward, interpreting them and translating them as I see fit, just as my deceased benefactors have. In short: a lot of formerly living people dedicated their time, and even their life’s work to creating information, which has greatly benefited me – a stranger – and I, as a future dead person, feel compelled and inspired to do the same – small as my gifts may be [1.1].

1.1 The true impact of my work remains to be seen, and it is for this reason I am up at 4:14 am on a Saturday morning writing this: so that I may move toward a future in which my life has been one of greater creation than consumption [1.2].

1.2 I do not pretend to be inherently selfless and most certainly posses desires aimed at serving my own ego, but I do have what may be seen as altruistic aims; although, many of my role models exist simply insofar in that they serve to remind me that fulfilling one’s goals is possible – no matter what the goals may be. In a word: leading by example does not necessarily mean setting one for others.

2. Elon’s Software is a hypothesized model for thinking based on the mind of Elon Musk, and I find this model very intriguing, given that it is a hypothesis derived from someone (Tim at Wait But Why) who has researched, spent time with, and written extensively on Musk – a man whom I have little in common with other than the fact that his cognitive philosophies agree with my own, namely in that humans are akin to computers and that we may upgrade our software by downloading information, chiefly in the form of reading books (One of my great passions). Also, keep in mind that in 1995 Musk was sleeping on a couch in his office and showering at the Y [2.1], which demonstrates another thing I admire, and like to think I share in common: an indomitable will. In short, Elon is a man who I feel has connected his dots looking forward – something I am attempting to do in my own life – and I believe this model can help me. It simply follows logic.

2.1 Also, keep in mind that Elon has accomplished things that, when compared to my own desires, seem gargantuan; hence, why he is one of my most prominent current role models – of course, also consider that his Reality box is defined by both his perception and the sum of his ever expanding actions, which, it may be said, leads me to the conclusion that one’s reality box and perception are essentially the same – provided that one has a realistic perception [3].

3. A realistic perception, as I see it, is simply no more than a grounded understanding of what we can realistically expect from ourselves, given a true understanding of our potential, which ought be ever expanding, in a kind of chicken and the egg scenario where one facilitates the rise of the other, providing a symbiosis of causality wherein as our understanding of our potential expands, so too does our reality, provided we have a realistic perception of both [3.1].

3.1 Potential is our reality = our reality is our potential.  The concepts are founded upon one another, but for most people their reality defines their potential, whereas for the more objective, more scientifically minded party, their potential defines their reality; however, if you have a limited understanding of reality, whether by dogma, bias, ignorance, or personal insecurity, you will never be able to maximize your understanding of your potential, and consequently your potential, and reality, will never reach their upper limits, which, really, physics and morals should be the only limiting factors of.

4. It is important to note that both SpaceX and Tesla had to be personally funded by Elon in the beginning, and at one point he was all in.

Happiness, and Two Kinds of Selfishness: Having The Courage to Be Happy

If we could take our days, from today out, and write a fairy tale of our lives, what course might we chart? What destiny might we find to occupy our time before our days run out?

My heart beats in me, ticking, reminding me that one day, it will give up the ghost. My shortness of breath, a symptom of what seems to be walking pneumonia, too reminds me that I am but mortal.

And so, at thirty, I am conducting myself like one who knows he will die.

This, of course, means that I today am regarding myself and my time with an appropriate degree of reverence – particularly when it comes to others who do not.

There are, in fact – and unfortunately so – few who possess the shining disposition, joie de vivre, and omnipotent idealism I have so fiercely fought to cultivate within myself. Qualities that lead me towards happy solitude rather than resigned contentment; for happiness is everything.

Happiness is everything.

Happiness is the key to success, the cornerstone of love, and the linchpin of inner peace. Only, we chase our tails, placing the cart before the horse, pushing an impossible stone up a hill with no summit in sight; in short: we make life a very hard battle in our fight to be happy – in our belief that success, love, and inner peace will bring us happiness.

What we forget, what people who are old and dying remember, is that happiness is a choice.

What they don’t tell you, however, is that while happiness is a choice, it can very often be a hard choice. And, as I have long said, the easy thing and the right thing are seldom the same. Our happiness is no different; we must choose between making the hard choice or facing the toughest of consequences. When viewed in this light, some of the hardest choices you will ever have to make become very easy.

Yes, happiness sometimes means leaving that person who says they love you (But won’t stop communicating with other people behind your back and lying to you about it). Happiness also sometimes means going against what other people think you ought do and become. Happiness can also sometimes mean not listening to others, who often have their very own selfish motives for trying to chart your life course to suit their aims. But all of these choices have one commonality, and that’s the thread that each is a decision between what others want and what you want; for happiness always means listening to your own heart and intuition, which, in borrowing the words of Steve Jobs, somehow already know what you want to become.

courageHappiness requires courage.

Happiness requires that you be the hero of your story – not the victim. Happiness requires you to exercise the latent traits that exist in each of us: courage, faith in ourselves, a belief in our desires, and the ability to face our fears. We can all do these things. Only, most of us are too afraid to let others down. We are too afraid to exercise the healthy selfishness that happiness demands of us.

I spent my entire life living this way. And not only did my happiness suffer as I made myself a martyr of other’s happiness, but I also made myself incredibly easy to manipulate. In essence: I was walked on like a doormat time and time again, because some people are savages. Some people take advantage of others. Some people lack the things that most make us human, things like empathy and compassion.

There are two kinds of selfishness: the first is wielded by those who let others down and never take responsibility for it, instead, often blaming the very people they hurt. Whereas the latter, is a kind of selfishness exercised only as a means to preserve happiness, rather than selfishness that serves as a tool for happiness at the expense of others, as the former does.

The first results from lacking empathy and compassion for others, which is, in effect, a kind of ignorant malice. The second kind of selfishness, that which preserves happiness, is simply when you put your own happiness and inner peace before those who would do repeated harm to it.

Unfortunately, the very people who would exercise their own ignorant selfishness at your expense will have you believe that you are doing the same to them, when you are simply saying, I’m sorry, but the sanctity of my self-respect, the security of my inner-child, and the inner peace of my being – the very things my happiness requires – are more important to me than any relationship.

Because if you spend your life afraid to speak up for your inner voice, too scared to stand up for your values, and too concerned with pleasing those who do not have the depth of empathy and compassion to care for you in the manner you do them, then you will suffer. And the acid of your suffering will eat away at your soul, often until you find a greater pain with which to bury it. Addictions, self-harm, destructive behavior – these things are often all manifestations of a soul in pain. And what a soul in pain needs, what your inner child needs, is a hero. Someone to stand up for you, someone who will speak up for the sanctity of your self-respect and the security of your inner peace. And the only person who can do this is You.

You are either the hero of your story or the victim. Any victim can be miserable. But it takes a hero to be happy.

And yes, you will have to let others down. But there are always two people to let down: yourself or others. And you have to choose whom, in a given situation, you will let down. You have to ask yourself, which choice will let you sleep better at night. Because betraying yourself is the worst kind of betrayal there is. And it will eat away at your soul. It will eat at your soul until you are a shell of the person you once were. And then, after you have tried to fill that shell with whatever hurts more than the pain or your own self-betrayal, and that pain becomes too much for you, then and only then will you learn. And maybe this time, you will let down those who deserve it, by virtue of – or lack of it in – their own actions.

So, from here, where do I go? Well, I begin to reward myself; for the hard choices I must make, I decide that I will make a fairy tale of my life. And no one will stop me.