26 a little while longer

I've realised that my primary attribute is introversion. I think it is roughly 80% of me. But I've only recently considered what my secondary attribute is. This is interesting because introversion is more of a non-attribute. It's the absence of a personality, or a voice. In that sense, it could be said that my secondary attribute is my most significant one.

My theory is it is some form of comedy. I don't mean to say that I'm funny, it's just that I feel like more often than not when I am in a mood to talk, what I want to say is nonsense. It's to the point that I can't see how saying anything unfunny is worthwhile. I feel this vague sense of defeat when I've had to communicate something practical, like "hello". 

I've noticed that oftentimes my I'm too sad to be funny. When I get sad I also feel this need to be taken seriously. It's ridiculous because I feel pulled all the time between wanting to be a lighthearted, self deprecating presence. But at the same time I'm afraid of how people perceive me, and this makes me want to be feared and respected, which is an unattainable goal. It's like I have this Ideal, superego goal of not being taken seriously and this ingrained id like desire to be taken seriously. 

I've sort of been trying to fight back my desire for respect since... December? to allow myself to speak nonsense more. So far this effort has only taken the form of bi monthly twitter posts, which still in itself feels like a challenge. I try to make a conscious effort to post even if I'm sad or angry. Because I need be unbound by my current state of mind. I need to be able to present a dumb joke on the internet even if I feel small and worthless, even if it contradicts my current state of being. I need to be ok with that contradiction. 

There's a song called: I Bite Through It. I keep thinking this sentence. What I'm biting through though is nothing special, like injustice, or difficult situations. Just my own self pity and lack of confidence. I bite through it. This feeling of worthlessness and guilt. To force myself into a better state of mind even though I'm sad and don't have the momentum to get out of it. 

Strangely this very small but conscious effort, of writing on twitter in a state of perceived weakness and worthlessness has sortof worked. I didn't have high expectations for this extremely low effort practice, but in the moment I do feel this vague sense of changing. Not a complete metamorphosis but more so an amalgamation. The funny thing is all of this is completely in my own head because no matter how much sleep I get or how social I'm feeling or how good of a mood I'm in I'll still look like a tired and all too serious guy with furrowed brows who never talks to 99% of everyone who interacts with me. 

This small act of rebellion against my nature has caused what I consider (so far) the third worse thing to happen to me in 2019. I posted a meme relating to my failure at communicating my feelings to girl(s). My aunt, rping as a turtle, responded coldly: "you are almost 30 years old."  This is possibly the worst thing someone could say to me.

The implications were clear: you are old. you are not acting your age. I'm attempting some weird cathartic process of playful self deprecation. I mean, the post was intended as a recognition of my own faults. A processing of what I consider the worst thing to happen to me this year. To receive such a cold response has shaken me so much. Its the perfect insult. I guess because it's true. It's so patronizing. And there's nothing I can do about it. It's already too late. 

I'm supposed to have this eternal perspective and realise that life on earth is fleeting. But that just feels too big and inconceivable. I used to get really bad anxiety when I was younger thinking about eternity. It felt like this expanse where I would go insane, like someone floating through space. I found that the only way I could cope with it was to trust that God wouldn't let me go insane and to Never Think About It. So for the past 15(?) years I just Never Think About It. 

So I have to exist on this mortal scale. And I think that's reasonable, right? I'm a finite person. I should work with a finite context. Being this middle aged guy. 

But Children still intimidate me. Every one still intimidates me. 

I don't know what the word slacks means. 

I think it was last year that I discovered there are no more inches after 11. As in, you can't be 5'12.

I haven't substantially read a book since 2009. I think I finished the Grapes of Wrath around then. 

I continue to hang on to the handful of sentence structures I learned as a teenager. 

I can't even so much as talk to strangers on the internet without feeling anxious (the second worse thing to happen to me this year). 

I'm a terrible driver.

I've yet to prove that I could fend for myself and eat enough if left on my own for a long time. 

I've accumulated a not inconsequential amount of money and I have no idea what to do with it, just that there are things involving banks you're supposed to do.

I don't know what a credit score is. 

If someone gave me a job I wouldn't know if I was being paid well or not. And if I found out I wasn't, it would probably take me 15 years to find the courage to ask for a raise. 

I've never bothered looking into world problems.

I'm sitting here at work listing my faults like an idiot because I don't have the guts to speak up to my boss and say I've spent more days with nothing to do than not since I started here 2 years ago.

I'm still writing these blog posts because I don't have the wisdom or perspective to know that posting them publicly are a bad idea. 

I've never once applied for more than one school.

I've neglected to get my teeth and cholesterol levels checked.

I've neglected to so much as look into how to get a psychiatrist (if that's what they're even called)

I know next to nothing about medicine. 

If someone fell down near me I would panic, not know what to do or who to call.

I put these "," things all over my sentences, probably incorrectly. 

If someone says something remotely negative to me it ruins my day. Case in point: the 30 thing is the only negative thing anyone has said to me this year and I'm still upset about it. 

All I have is this lifetime experience of being immature and lost. You are almost 30. The terrifying thing about working with a human life timeframe is I have to cope with this very real timer. How do you accept it? How do you measure the quality of the time that has passed? Do you measure it through the amount of good things you've managed to experience, the level of maturity you've reached, or the amount of knowledge you've acquired? You are almost 30. However you measure it, you are almost 30, and whatever you were supposed to be doing with the time given to you so far, you've wasted it, and it's never coming back. 

If she said it lovingly, and that isn't a total impossibility, I can't tell. I can only feel tormented by this sentence. What does it mean to be mature? I don't really know but as long as I am intimidated by children I don't think I can call myself mature. And I can't even own my immaturity. I can't say: "well that's who I am". It's true. I am lacking. I don't talk enough. I don't communicate well. In fact I talk less and less. 

One time I tweeted "I wish I could fall in love" and the turtle responded: "You need to love yourself first". She's right. I don't love myself enough. It's frustrating that whoever she thinks I am can only be fabricated given how little she knows about me because I never see her. But in spite of that, her critiques are still real. 

But everyone thinks they know me. That's just how humans make sense of other humans. We automatically give a narrative and motivation to events witnessed. Oftentimes it feels like even if further events contradict our narrative, it's easier to twist it to fit than to reject it altogether and start over.  Most people just have the discretion to not act on what they think they know. 

So why can't I just start talking? I think there was a world in which I developed the basic social skills to know how to stand in proximity to someone and say the ten sentences required to continue a conversation 

Sometimes people will tell me things like: I drove 20 kilometers today. My apartment is 70 square feet. I shot a real gun at a firing range. My kids went to a birthday party. I've installed 20 gb of ram in my computer. I'm going on vacation to Spain next month. I didn't sleep much last night. I bought a new motorcycle. 

And I just have to pretend that what they told me was meaningful.  And sometimes I'll reciprocate to avoid an awkward silence. I'm studying computer programming. I've lived in france since 2001. I live in V***. You havn't heard of it. I went hiking once but I didn't like it. I did construction work but I didn't like it. I visited Madrid once but I didn't like it. I went to film school but I didn't like it. Sand flowing out of my mouth.

Sometimes I'll see people aggregating and feel left out and wonder whether I'm the sadest person on earth for not doing this too or maybe I'm not even the same species. But then I'll climb the first wall towards conversations and be unsure what is so great about the field of words that can be found on the other side. 

And so getting back to the comedy thing, I've found that when I am in a mood to socialise what I'm most interested in saying is nonsense. The problem with this is that I can be funny around very few people. Mostly because I'm so intimidated around everyone.

And because the context isn't right. It's hard when their first impression of me is someone who's always quiet, for them months later to expect anything else from me as an individual. I'm pretty sure that I've even tried being funny and it doesn't even register for people. 

Impressions get solidified so quickly. Maybe my own impression of who I am around people gets solidified too quickly too. I remember all 3 of my room mates in the fall of 2014 inviting me to an event: 1. drink with the people upstairs, 2. go to their bible study, 3. go to their frat house. And when I declined each of them, they never invited me to anything again. They were right to do so, but's it's kindof curious, how those things work. I mean, I guess it makes sense. It's not like my answer would change if they ever asked me again. But in this sense, maybe introversion takes two. It is a link between a dead horse and the person who sees no point in beating it. Between a wall and the person who treats it as such. 

If i'm 80% quiet and 12% humorous, that's 92% of my personality that's erased for most people. I think if my secondary characteristic meshed better with my primary one, people would see it more often, because it would be more natural to transition between the two. It's alot easier to be something when there is an expectation for it. Like if I was really interested in deep conversations. Or discussing measurements. I sometimes wonder if people assume I spend all this time in silence thinking through things. The truth is I never think before I speak. Words are just automatically presented to me and I almost always choose to say them. 

So there's that. I'm especially quiet because it's hard to joke around people. So what even is the 8% that's left of me? Probably fear. 

26

Being alone makes me sad on a regular basis. I like people, but I don't like being around them. 

In fact I'm consistently surviving off of parasocial relationships. Hearing other people talk to each other. 

I am erased from the equation. I love this feeling. I love feeling present but not having a presence. I love being a disembodied spectator. 

People say that introversion is a matter of running out of energy. But for me its completely binary. I'm either ok around people or not ok.

I think it would be correct to say that my lack of investment in people makes me a bad person. 

But I like to think, at the very least, that I'm not manipulative.

A truly bad person would recognize their self centeredness and still try to use people. I don't like the idea of using people at all. 

It's partially because I know that I would make a bad boyfriend that I couldn't push myself to be one. If I by some miracle did find myself in a relationship, I can easily see a scenario where guilt pushes me to be kind and emotionally available once or twice. 

But quickly I will try to erase myself, tactically leave the rooms she is in. Never confront problems, but also have 0 energy to emote positively about anything. 

I don't think I could even be a creep if I wanted to. I just don't have the time or dedication to hang around someone's place of residency, or look up information about them.

The following statement might not be true, because I would have to experience it to really know. But I'm pretty certain that if I were to find myself by some wildly improbable circumstance, to be living with someone in an extra marital relationship, my relief from conforming to societal norms/values would be greater than my christian guilt. 

Conversely, I can certainly say, because I am living it, the guilt I feel right now about being single is greater than my pride in my chastity, which is really just a matter of doing absolutely nothing.

This year I've been sleeping less. Nothing dramatic, just by an hour or so. It's mainly because oftentimes when I'm falling asleep I get hit with this very topic, and a sense of urgency, of needing to act on what I should have taken care of six years ago. It makes my skin crawl and my body temperature rise slightly. 

The gears spin uselessly and I try to find a solution to this dilemma that is perpetually in the back of my mind but only affects me about 3 nights a week. But 3 nights a week is enough to ruin my previously perfect sleep schedule. 

How can I solve this. There is no way out, and hardly a way forward, because I only have new ideas every 5 years or so. 

And having new ideas doesn't change who I am as a person, anyways. 

It's more like a single, heavy gear, slowly turning by itself. 

I remember spending my 4 hour long shifts at a dorm cafeteria either thinking about nothing or thinking about marriage. It was a rare occasion where I was forced to be around people for a couple hours. If there ever was a time to find a solution, it was then. 

But a solution never came. All those hours making around 9 $ an hour without a hint of productivity, other than to quietly panic about this. 

I am in the exact same position, to this day. Quietly panicking. Somehow believing that a solution is possible.

I have to admit to myself that the time spent thinking about marriage is not cumulative. I'm not moving forward with an action plan. I'm not growing in wisdom or kindness.

Witnessing certain things online and even in real life has led me to believe that this relationship question is a common struggle/obsession for lots of people. I hear that groups of people on the internet even believe the problem has to do with bone structure. 

I think for my case, considering how little experience I have with actually asking people out, my theory revolves naively and simply around the concept of kindness. Girls want someone who is nice to them.

The reason I believe this is because I fail at being kind. Reading tinder profiles (something I do almost on a daily basis) I have come to the conclusion that girls want someone who will engage with them. Talk to them. Listen to them. Go on trips. Watch tv shows. 

None of these things sound appealing to me. I'm just so uninterested in other people's lives. Even if I made the effort to focus on what people tell me about them I probably wouldn't retain the information. I'd rather spend time being self absorbed and self critical than give even a passing thought to someone else's problems or victories. 

Being kind to a girl. 

No amount of thought, no number of shifts working at a cafeteria will bring me closer to achieving this. 

Sometimes I look at one of my hands. It's empty. I close it into a fist, then open it again. Still empty. 

Whenever I match with someone on tinder I consider for a second the logistics of meeting a physical human,

and how much I don't want to waste my weekend taking a train into the city to banter uncomfortably with someone for a couple hours, no matter how gorgeous they are. Just thinking about passing through the urban sprawl up north makes me want get away.

When I went to a concert with her this summer it was the most date-like experience I've ever had, and I'm extremely sad that moment is gone forever and that I may never experience something like it again.

But the day prior and the day of I could hardly eat anything and I was half hoping that it could be called off the whole time. 

It was amazing. I want to use so many superlatives to describe that moment of looking into her eyes because she asked me if her eyelashes were still on. 

Phantasy has bled into a reality, now a memory. Memory is its own form of phantasy. 

Presently the window of her intentions has shifted in my mind. 

On the one end of the scale is the possibility of interest in a relationship. 

On the other she simply has a fascination with the fringe elements of humanity and she likes me like some people like large insects. 

Pessimist that I am, I'm resolutely convinced that her affection for me is in this second category. 

I guess the true reality of the situation is that she just casually likes me and wants to be my friend. 

But the events of this summer absolutely make the possibility of romantic interest not out of the question.

This is wild to me, because prior to this summer I've spent the last 7 years guarding myself from romantic interpretations of every glance or conversation.

But now the window has shifted.   

But the very idea of legitimate interest, instead of making me happy, is more distressing than anything, because that would mean I'm not capitalizing on it. 

Furthermore, and more importantly, if that was indeed the situation, I still don't know how I could have anything to offer as a boyfriend. 

In a way I feel like I am already failing as a pseudo-boyfriend for not sending messages and gifts.

If her intentions seem vague to me, I can only imagine how she must feel about mine. 

Anyway. There is no longer any thing else to worry about. Cars, visas, work, school, everything is in a state of stasis this year. 

This year has been especially anxiety free. But that anxiety has been replaced with sadness. 

Ever since I got back from vacation I've felt sad. So much so the word 'Sad' materializes into my mind. 

It's as if 26 marks a point where the sun has started to set instead of rise. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. 

I will say that being sad is way better than being anxious. 

These past nights I've fallen asleep thinking how cruelly time is moving. 

I desperately want the work day to be over. But then I catch myself. I turned 26 TWO MONTHS ago already. 

All I want is for time to move forward. At the same time, I don't want to age anymore. At all. I hate it. 26 already feels too old, like it's some embarrassment, especially since everyone in my class is so much younger than me. 

I'm having a hard time stopping myself in my tracks and thinking in any instance: isn't it great that this moment is here, I wish it could last a little longer.

Instead, this very moment, I'm looking at the clock on my monitor. It's 3:27. Wouldn't it be great if it was 5? Wouldn't it be great for the next hour and 33 minutes to just collapse, because of course nothing interesting or worthwhile is going to happen. 

The only major thing I have to look forward to is seeing my family next summer, and maybe Kat if I'm lucky. A whole year of nothing to look forward to, that could just collapse for all I care. 

A whole uneventful year in which a heavy useless gear quietly turns. 

In a way, this makes me already 27. 

To know yourself is to know your future. Then the future starts to fold, just like the past does, because you know the past. 

I know my fate.

In 2020 I will leave. When I'm 28 I will leave. The next two years fold and collapse so cleanly it's like they don't even exist. I'm already 28.

Its weird. I have no fondness for my first job, even though I was actually given work to do, as opposed to now. 

It's just that, the computer is nicer now. The chairs are more comfortable. It's not in a basement. There's a window next to me. I have better clothes. 

I'm more materialist than I thought. In maslow's hierarchy of needs, it seemed that material things were less important than a purposeful and interesting job. 

But weighing the two, I'd rather have nice accommodations than something to do. 

A funny thing that happened during my first job is that my boss was supposed to come to my school to meet with the teachers and discuss the program. 

He said he was too busy to go. He was the only one who didn't show up. Every other student's boss was there. 

They printed out everyone's grades along with other information about the apprenticeship. 

My average was two points above everyone else's. So I guess the story is: It's ironic that he wasn't there.

Something I've had to learn is that No One Cares. 

I keep getting slighted by common wisdom. 

Wisdom states that getting good grades pays off. 

Wisdom states that self actualization is more important than material comfort. 

Wisdom states that reaching out to others will improve your life. 

Sometimes I look at one of my hands. It's empty. I close it into a fist, then open it again. Still empty. 

It does feel good to see that I have relatively high grades. And in spite of panicking a little last year, it turns out that I had the same average I've always had: 15. 

Twice I've pursued a higher education. Twice I've felt the creeping feeling that 10% of the job is technical skills. 

90% is social skills.

It's nice that I can sort of focus a camera, understand the rule of thirds. Remember the Rashomon narrative technique. Be familiar with the Eisenstein dialectic. 

Comprehend linked lists. Grasp the basic concepts of assembly language. 

But the 90% weighs over me. 

As I grow older, I almost feel like my social skills are disappearing. 

I've been told that I'm basically guaranteed a job (at least in France) with my engineering degree. 

But I see now how essential it is to be able to talk. 

While I'm sitting here doing practically nothing I'm starting to suffocate on my own silence.

Maybe introversion isn't an identity. Maybe it's just a character flaw. 

Whenever I look to the future the only image that ever comes is of lying face down in a field. 

I do believe that you can get by only on technical skill. But for that you can't just be above average. You have to be exceptional. 

Sometimes people at work will recognize that I'm above average. It's never my actual manager. Especially the current one, who has twice given me tasks that he will promptly give to someone else to complete, completely invalidating my work. 

And these small recognitions from actual developers aren't enough. They don't make the commitment worth it. Nothing is worth it. 

I'm spiraling, very slowly. 

What am I supposed to do in two years? 

I have to fight against my desire for self harm in these instances. 

By self harm, I mean deciding to do something I don't actually want to do, but because I want to be respected. Working in construction that one summer was one instance of this. 

I need to celebrate every selfish moment of hedonism and talk myself down from doing something like working hard, because it doesn't matter, and no one will ever respect me either way. The truth is I will never be respected and it's pointless to even pursue it. Lying in a field , faced down, feels somewhat like an image of victory. 

To be honest, solving all of life's minor problems (work, relationships) by focusing on the relativism of everything is getting tiring. 

I wish I didn't have to think about the big picture every time these small points of sadness appear. I guess because I'm not proactive this is my only option. 

My pet theory is that what I really want deep down inside is a dark room and a game console

And all of my unhappiness comes from other people, how they perceive me or how I imagine I'm perceived.
At 24 I described myself as a goblin. At 25 I was trash. This year the new image, or word, is cryptid. It brings to mind, to me, something lurking in the darkness. Gaunt, sunken eyes. Something unknowable. It's the most inaccurate of the 3, but it is also to me the most reassuring. 

If I could be convinced that finding a Wife and socializing and taking a train into the city would not make me a better person, and that I'm fine, actually, then maybe I would find 

true happiness.

I wrote all of this before learning that Kat has a boyfriend now. 

The gear stops. 

Then it resumes. 

I've spent my life opening as few doors (conversations) as possible, to avoid as many consequences as possible. 

But now something that very much feels like a Consequence has befallen me. 

Kat is the only cute girl I've ever met that is nice to weird kids. 

Like, legitimately nice to them. She hangs out with weird kids. She's in their world. 

Who does that. 

Thats how I perceive her anyway. 

By weird I guess I mean unpredictable. 

It makes perfect sense for women to avoid people who aren't predictable. 

A door that I never had the guts to open is now (once again) locked. 

Maybe it's not my fault and this has nothing to do with me. 

I wish I had someone, some better person that I could go date too. 

But there's just her. 

Which seems dangerous. 

I've always thought this. Do I like her so much because she's the only one? 

I don't think yes is any likelier than no. 

Would I still like her if she wasn't nice? That's impossible to answer because then she would be a completely different person. 

Should I go to parties? I hate parties. 

Should I interact with people? I hate being around people. 

Should I talk to strangers on the metro? That just sounds creepy. 

Should I try to be predictable. 

I don't get it. I don't get it. 

I kind of wish I could put this gear away. Let it spin harmlessly in a corner and I can have my sleep back.

(I'm still getting like 7 hours of sleep it's not really that dramatic.)

25

Another year :)))))

Very different from last year in some ways but in others not so much.

Christmas passed two days ago. I just bought baths new album on itunes with a giftcard. It's good.

It's been weird. Whereas last year was characterized by a series of unpleasant events, nothing terribly bad has happened to me in a while. Most importantly, I've haven't been the cause of any unpleasantness.

The other day, while I was sleeping, a noise crept into my room, waking me up. It wasn't a single sound. It was continuous. At first I was angry. I felt like something was being taken away from me: my sleep, the quietness in my room. But the anger was replaced by a revelation.

It was the only revelation I've really had all year. In that moment, I felt worthless. The burning turned into a stillness. Nothing belonged to me. Not my time, or my ageing, or my accomplishments.

It's not beautiful, or good, or desirable. But it feels like an escape. It is even an escape from the Goblin image I was feeling last year, which is accompanied with a feeling of guilt. But the Trash image is different, there is no shame to it. There isn't anything.

It didn't matter that I had spent a summer two years ago making music, or 3d modeling and animating last summer, that any and every lazy attempt at "art" was worthless, that the time I've spent attempting to create are as void and purposeless as the ones I've spent staring into the void of the internet.

I feel like I'm clinging to this idealized version of myself whose worth is measured in creative output. I'm not sure why I'm like this. For some reason I feel like even this blog post, as sad and self deprecating as it is, is some weird attempt at reaching that goal.

I can't say for sure, but I have a feeling that this is a specifically male problem. To be so self absorbed, to want to be feared and admired, if not through merits, then at least through pity. Did you read that New Yorker story, cat person? Nothing is more disgusting to me than that image of masculinity, 30 something, stalkerish, clever.

Anyways, this trash revelation is not one that has stuck with me. I mean, it hasn't really changed me significantly. I do feel like I have grown a little wiser this year. I feel like I have become slightly better at internalizing negative feedback. But this has also made me quieter.

I still feel the disquieting sensation of my youth vanishing with nothing to really show for it. No contributions to society, no personal growth. I feel like I'm lying next to a conveyer belt and everything is passing by me. I'm in a constant state of anticipation for the next moment, but also beholding the object currently in front of me, wondering what I'm supposed to do with it, knowing that it will soon be lost forever. Most of these objects are boring and repetitive. Looking at computer screens, looking at code, looking at speed runs of super mario galaxy 2, a game I have already played but that I have chosen this hour to fill with.

In fact, I wonder if I am not regressing in some ways. In spite of this year being without all the catastrophes of the last one, my anxiety feels through the roof. Social anxiety of course is at the forefront. I've found myself walking into crowded rooms and then leaving immediately. Knots and other unpleasant sensations form in my stomach daily. I can now say that to some extent my anxiety is crippling. And it is not just exclusive to social situations.

You probably haven't seen the anime Re:Zero, where every time the main character attempts to explain he is cursed by a Witch her claw like hand tightens its grip on his heart. That's kind of the feeling I have when I make these vague attempts at social interaction. I can almost feel the hand playing with my insides every time I enter a room of people, pulling me back.

So that is a kind of strange development this year; social situations are making me more often than not feel physically sick. I've gone to parties and left in the span of ten minutes. I've walked into various rooms of people and felt hostility from them saying things like "hi" and, "who are you?"

The good parts of my life have always involved circumstances/people blessing me with good things. But I feel like every time I reach out and attempt to seize a dream, a goal, I am left feeling worse than disappointed  and wishing I had just continued on the path that had been laid out for me.

Something I've been doing now is joining my colleagues for lunch. Last year, I would go sit on a park bench. In fact, this is the first time since middle school that I've had lunch with other people. (except for two years in community college, where the only place I ate was communal). But I keep losing the thread of the conversations. I can't focus on what people are saying. 

Working makes me feel like a slave.

Its easy work. But I don't want to be there. So now that I'm sitting here idly watching the conveyer belt steal my fleeting worthless life away I consider with the smallest sense of panic (because two and a half years is still far away) how I'm supposed to do something, anything that can make me happy.

The sad thing is, I don't have a lust for life. I feel desperation, as if something is slipping between my fingers like sand. I find myself wishing I was a more passionate person. Wishing I desired more. 

A funny thing that's happened is I got the dating app tinder a few months back. And every time I "match" with someone I'm too terrified to initiate a conversation with them. 

So there's just these two people on there that I've matched with and will never talk to. I'll see some random thing I like on their profile, like that they are getting a degree in media or that they like the song Take Me Somewhere Nice by Mogwai and so I'll swipe right.

But then when I match with them I'll have this low key panic attack and try to come up with something to say.

Ultimately the safest solution always seems to be to just say nothing. Too late I realize that nothing could be said in 300 words to make me want to text someone on a dating app, no matter how many common interests we share.

I think I'm in love with Kat. There's no question that I've had a crush on her since I've met her. I imagine everyone has a crush on her. She's perfect. At this point I feel less reticent to just admit that if I ever loved someone it would probably be her. Just because I still keep thinking about her, feeling my heart race. I wonder if she knows this. I would never tell her, of course. If I were her, I would use deductive reasoning to just assume that everyone has a crush on me. 

The problem is, I don't know anything about her. I don't feel like I could just exist in her presence. I don't feel like I could just walk through a wal greens with her. Or any store

It would be cool if we could get matching tattoos. But what would they be of? Everything is terrible and all signifiers have negative connotations. What I'm saying is, if she asked me if I wanted to get matching tattoos, I would say yes, whether we were together or not. There's something appealing about participating in a constructed act of romance without the organic and human parts that I find so awkward.

Ritual and artifice are the only things keeping me tied to relationships. Work and school are mandatory, so I am there. I can't just exist in the presence of others, like I see happening around me so often. That dream of existing with another person, platonically, romantically, or otherwise can only be a dream, because I can't simultaneously be around someone and not have some sort of agenda or task justifying our coexistence.

In FFX Auron tells Titus:

Your story isn't over.

For some reason the way he says it, as an authority figure, kind of makes me want to cry. Why don't mentors ever say that to people?

Here is something I wrote once, while hiking:

I beheld heaven and felt nothing.

I'm referring to a mountain. One time last year I hadn't left the house for a while. When I finally did, just to walk around a little, it was the worst. I just felt this terrible sense of going backwards...

Once in Kansas my roommate was talking to me about his Rasberry Pi. Its like a small computer. The subject interested me, but I found myself standing awkwardly in his room, not knowing what to do or say. He was really nice, and let me borrow his spare laptop when my charger broke. But the more I lived with him, the more I avoided him, crawling deeper into myself and into my room. Some of my best memories from college are being all alone in that room, wrapped in covers, watching videos, letting thoughts and sentences about The Legend of Zelda percolate through my brain.

It might seem weird that all I can talk about is being an introvert but from my perspective, it continues to surprise me. It doesn't feel like layers of antisocial behavior that you can visualize clearly. It feels more like an elaborate mansion entirely designed to distance myself from people as much as possible.  Like the fact that I can't focus on what people are saying. Or that I get quiet when I am sad, or quiet when I am happy. Or that I strategically ghost friends and acquaintances. It's like my introversion doesn't come from a central place that permeates the rest of my brain. It's more like every section of my being just so happens, by some weird coincidence, to have its own version of anti social behavior. Interlocking like clockwork. 

Another funny aspect of this is that it's the only thing that's "wrong" with me. I'm one of the most privileged humans alive. White, male, no handicaps, symmetrical features, not living in poverty, and getting, as far as I know, one of the better educations. No diagnosed health problems. No insomnia. No trauma. So if I had literally anything else to write/complain about I guess I would. And if I wasn't an antisocial shut in, then I guess I would write/complain about other people, instead of myself. But the chances of that are pretty low.

Here is a quote from C.S. Lewis, maybe:

The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That's the deal.

Here is something from the Bible:

Do not give what is holy to dogs, and do not throw your pearls before swine, or they will trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.

My clothes are drying above the room heater my aunt gave me. Someone opened the dryer they were in and left it open, for some reason.

Today I am listening to the Hype Machine's curated playlist. Dumbo Gets Mad is the name of a band. I like that.

That is another thing I am thinking about: that I am 23. Time used to feel like dropped framerates but now it feels more like sand through my fingers which I can't complain about because the sensation is nice, but it's kind of hurts.

The other day, someone I didn't know very well, but who I worked on an oral presentation with, said I was weird. And I was like, I know. It was strangely validating. But in retrospect, I'm kind of sad about it.

The presentation was for Cinemas of the Southern Cone. The films we watched always made me sad to be a human being. Slacker films, films about silent people, failures.

Another walk home. I walk home a lot.

Tonight, I attended an awards ceremony for my major. These things are bittersweet for me, but mostly bitter. Thinking about the past is almost worse than thinking about the future, and as the other students, who I never bothered getting to know, walk on stage for their achievements as film makers, I wonder with regret whether I should have been more active, either in socialising or in doing film work.
But this week, I got all the praise I need. Someone on facebook complemented my latest film. It took me a year to make, but that is because I hardly ever worked on it. Its an animation. The person who complemented it is someone who I really look up to. They are the kind of person I aspire to be like but know I never will. So it was great to hear kind, albeit confusing words. I didn't respond to them, but I liked their post.

24

It's the day after Christmas. Things have quieted down somewhat from the extended period of small torments I've subjected myself to in the past couple months. Getting sick from days at the prefecture to renew my visa, dropping every electronic device that I own on one occasion or another, dropping my keys on my cat while opening the front door, getting two speeding tickets in somewhat rapid succession, missing a month of work for no reason ("You're wasting time", a certain someone reminded me), shattering my rearview mirror while driving, losing my credit card to an a.t.m. (I haven't bothered getting a new one yet), accidentally paying for a speeding ticket with credit from my empty bank account, and finally, hydroplaning on the highway, totalling my (technically my parent's) car last october.

But for now, in these past two months of using public transport, my woes have been lesser. I assume there is a correlation between this and not having a car anymore. In any case, it has given me a small window of time during which I can reflect on all of my shortcomings. Of course, I am in no way taking advantage of this window. Like I ever had in the past. But I guess it is still a good thing that further embarrassments have ceased, at least for a time.

The primary sensation of these events gives me the mental image of being quietly and softly pushed inside of a box. More often then not, the pushing is my own doing, or my own fault. It is done with all the comfort my current financial situation allows, that is to say, quite softly. But the image is unpleasant nonetheless. My body folds in into an unnatural and undignified form, as I continuously prove to myself and to the universe in general that I am in no way shape or form an adult or responsible enough to perform the most basic tasks such as opening my front door.

But now that I am not publicly embarrassing myself with my own stupidity, I can reflect on the ways in which I am an embarrassment in a more general sense. 24. The number is big, solid  and heavy inside of my mind, just like 23 was last year, and just like I am sure 25 will be the next. This thought still lingers: Am I too late? Can I possibly recover from my failures and maybe have a put-together, good adult life by some devine blessing, that is to say, married, settled, financially successful? We can all forget about the two years during which I was a goblin, that darkens the corners of the minds of those who have the misfortune of sparing a thought for me on occasion.

For all of it's anxiety-ridden misery, college at the very least felt like I was on the same track every one else was on, even though my major was unconventional and pointless. But now I'm starting over. Some of the children in my class are 17. Even though numbers are ultimately irrelevant, they are still heavy in my mind. "You're wasting your time"...

It has been written about a lot, but early adulthood is often criticised for a great deal of egocentrism, when one must learn to take care of themselves and learn what makes them happy. I am sure that the criticisms are valid, as are the ones about millennials and their especially high levels of self-centeredness. But at the same time, it makes sense, to spend a great deal of time at the beginning of one's adult life to carefully consider what path will make them the most happy, thus sparing themselves from wasteful suffering.

In my current quest for hedonism, I have cast feelers in a handful of directions, trying to figure out what I want from my ever shortening life and what will make me happy. Unfortunately, my life experiences are few, and the times that I can peer into the lives of others are even more rare. But when they do happen, they more often than not are things I do not want than things that I do. So I have at my disposition a handful of negative experiences or paths I can follow, and one or two positive ones. Clean, white ownership, groups of friends, lite discussions, having a drink around a round glass table, polishing trophies or other forms of memorabilia, keeping a guest room, paintings of flowers, couches, eating utensils... Walls of artwork,  cds, newspapers, wireframe chairs, mugs with silly messages, having friends, multiple rooms, framed pictures, sound system, flat screen  tv, stacks of shoes, clothes, cardboard boxes, queen sized beds, everything seems wrong. The only place I want to be is inside my mind. The only time I've really been happy in these past months is that moment right before falling asleep, when everything is dark and nonexistent.

That, and that one time I had an afternoon to myself two weeks ago. It felt like the only time I've been alone. Otherwise, I never completely am. I had forgotten how good it felt. Amidst the painless and pointless work days, the long commutes where I struggle to focus on anything, and the drivel of school hours where I am beginning to seriously wonder if programming is for me, that single afternoon of silence made me think "I could live for moments like these".

Thoughts About Animal Collective

I used to listen to a good deal of Animal Collective. Their music avoids the complexity of, say, Amon Tobin electronica, so I could still get something out of it in a noisy school bus at  8 a.m. through ipod earbuds, but it also avoided the predictability of its alt rock predecessors who more than anything at that point in my life felt like rifling through seas of plastic wrapped and discounted Sam's Town CDs at a multimedia store. Hearing Animal Collective felt like entering a shady forest and ending up somewhere warm and inviting, which was something I would have described as a hobby of mine back in 2008.

The collective has three main members: Avey Tare, Geologist, and Panda Bear. The name "Avey Tare" always kind of sounded like Tex Avery to me, and evokes images of wacky cartoons. Tearing is what Avey does a lot with his voice, because he screams quite often. He has the most extravagant sonic presence. Geologist doesn't sing as far as I know, and in live performances is hunched over a sound board, wearing a headlamp. He is often at the center of the stage, but because he is just fiddling with buttons, it almost seems like he isn't participating in creating the music. He feels distant, creating a landscape and looking at frogs. This is a good thing. I think all bands should feature a member whose presence doesn't make sense, but that you are happy for anyway. Finally, Panda Bear has the softer voice of the two lead singers, and his solo career work has always been the most commercially successful. Like a panda bear, he is accessible and universally appreciated but also somewhat rare, inhabiting a space just outside of pop culture's spotlight, such as on track 12 of Daft Punk's Random Access Memories.

To me, the push and pull between Panda Bear's accessibility and Avey Tare's extravagance is what defines their sound and makes it so good. An example of this dichotomy is apparent in their album art, such as Strawberry Jam, which features a colourful splash of berries mashed together. It looks tasty, but it also looks like a mess. The imagery that surrounds the band is, I think, one of the things that separates them from other psychedelic musicians and made them more commercially successful than some of their peers. I feel that iconography goes a long way in selling a band and can really give an air of cohesion to music created under various hallucinogenics.

Like most psychedelia, travel is an important part of the experience. When Avey Tare sings "It's not my words that you should follow it's your insides...insides...insides..." on Wishbone, the echo evokes a feeling of travel through the mind (or maybe organs).  In The Flowers evokes a separation from it: "If I could just leave my body for a while". The the lyrics are mirrored by an ensuing polyrhythmic section where an arpeggiator and the percussion move at different time signatures. Beautiful, but also kind of a mess.

At it's best, AC music (and music I like in general) feels like an out of body experience. It is transporting. The first song I heard from them, Fireworks, took me from my school bus to an exploding and colourful night sky what with it's clashing symbols and sporadic shouts.

Their lyrics are almost always playful, such as the call and response of "kitty" / "meow" that closes their song Leaf House. They also tend to lay out their emotions in the simplest form possible such as on Guys Eyes where Panda Bear sings: "I really want to do just what my body needs to" / "I want to show to my girl that I need her", or on their 53 second song College where is sung, in a harmony: "You don't have to go to college".

The problem with constructing a mental image of a band is that is there is no way for them to cater to this image in future releases, and things will stray from the ideal. And even if Animal Collective saw themselves the way I did in 2008, it is clear from their interviews that catering to fans is the last thing they're interested in.

After a self-titled and melodic solo album in 2010 (that I really enjoyed), the return of Panda Bear to the collective felt like a desire for him to have fun again, letting Avey Tare's insanity take full reign, which he literally does in the music video for their next album's single as he rides a dune buggy through a desert wearing clown makeup and a giant monster head for good measure. Like Panda Bear, I too was looking forward to hearing the beautiful and the zany mesh together again. Tare is almost always the lead singer for the band, but with Centipede Hertz (2012) it felt like they were putting him front and center. Even Geologist's nature soundscapes seemed drowned out by the Tare train.

Painting With (2016) continued this trend, but embraced in a much more literal fashion the band's relationship with the art world. The collective always had an association with art houses and it feels like their only performances occur in museums. But calling their album Painting With and the single FloriDada was a clear statement that Art was what the band was all about now.

These days I don't have the focus to appreciate art. I still think about it though, like that one time that guy took his clothes off in Silvia Plath's The Bell Jar. These days I just listen to video game music, letting the dulcet tones of Yoko Shimomura's Kingdom Hearts soundtracks caress my fragile ego.
I originally wanted this post to be about giving the two latest AC records a chance, and providing my thoughts on them. But I just don't have the patience. It has become a real 'it's not you it's me' situation with alt rock for me these days. I haven't even listened to A Moon Shaped Pool yet.

There is a fine line between being "fringe" and being "artsy". You have to understand, when I discovered Animal Collective, I was indeed amazed at how different and daring their sound was. I really felt like they were the most original and innovative artists out there. Since their last album was made over days of confinement in a room walled with dinosaur shadow puppets, it is not fair to say the band isn't creative anymore. But when watching a Panda Bear performance at the MoMA and being uncertain whether he is giving a performance or a keynote, I just can't shake the feeling that my beautiful and messy animal children have been domesticated.

Christian Nihilism

Nihilism is one of those big, pretty words that commoners have no right to use or understand, and as such, I do not really understand what it means. To me it has something to do with "nothing", except that it also has to do with "the big picture". So in the big picture, the big christian picture, I have this feeling, this sensation, that there is a whole lot of nothing.
Continuing to butcher philosophical notions, there is one I think Blaise Pascal describes as mans' position between the infinitely big and the infinitely small. In between microcosmic and macrocosmic entities I exist, along with my perception of the world and my broken understanding of nihilism, and my disjointed attempts at employing the most basic of logical bricks to make conclusions. As such, I hope that whoever reads this does not think of it as my immutable position on the subject but an ongoing discussion about nothing more than a sensation, a thought, a reflection.

Anyway, my "thesis", or point I am trying to make, since I haven't made it clear yet, is this: Christian Nihilism is greater, deeper, stronger than Atheistic Nihilism. Jesus went up into the sky and now the world feels lonelier than if he had never existed at all. If God did not exist, then maybe infinity wouldn't exist. Maybe the macrocosmic wall against which he resides would not exist, and then the closest thing to "meaning" would be here, in a human-centered universe. Nihilism does not believe that there is any meaning to anything, but at least there isn't a meaning to everything that is infinitely far from us.
As for sin, nihilism simply says that it does not exist, and thus, I guess, looks to other, more morally ambiguous ideals like beauty, or self-determination. Christian Nihilism, on the other hand, has a strong array of ideals and distinctions between what is wrong and what is right. But, unlike atheist nihilism, it is "ok" (technically not) to break the rules, because of God's grace. And so whereas an atheist might pursue fully his ideals for the sake of his own happiness and well being, a christian will half-heartedly pursue the ideals of God, knowing that it is "ok" if he falters. Thus a pattern can develop, a way of existing can form, built around the idea that there are certain values that must be pursued, but that they don't really have to be pursued all the time, that the christian can have times, weeks, years, of self-indulgence, all the while conceding that the end goal lies elsewhere, that he can begin on the path of righteousness all over again, and again, and still reach the kingdom of God.

Another quality of christian nihilism is concession. Humans are flawed, and it is inevitable that even christians have to concede to certain things from time to time, because of the way that society or science changes. (Of course, things like love and generosity are never gone.) The first example that comes to mind is dancing, which was widely forbidden in christian circles for a while, at least in America I think, but which is now generally accepted. It is a weak example (David danced, after all), but I begin to anticipate trends of the future, living in fear of being backward and behind the times, ready to concede that, say, polygamy or drawing pentagons is not a sin. And so the moral ground I walk on in a purely idealistic sense (as in - these are the values I proclaim to be true) is faulty almost to the point of nonexistence. There are a myriad of hills I am not ready to stake my flag or die on.
And so I tread softly over the surface, waiting for the world to occupy whatever territory they want. And I, for the most part, give it to them gladly: science and progress and kindness are the flags they carry.
I remember hearing someone talk on a podcast about how they broke up with their husband because she realised she wasn't sexually satisfied, and so now she is sleeping around. Within myself, I am silently cheering for her, for pursuing that beautiful nihilistic dream of self happiness, for her courage and self-honesty. At the same time, I take a step back from myself, acknowledging  that my reaction is wrong, divorce is wrong, and I am wrong for feeling sympathetic.
I remember a dramatic and years long tale of love and loss, that, as far as I am concerned, started when I told a friend that grace covered his sins, and that he didn't have to feel bad for dating someone new, someone who, as far as I could tell, crashed and burned their relationship that had taken so much work and grace to build in the first place. It is one of those tales that I look back on and still wonder what the moral of the story was. I was a spectator, so for sure maybe the moral isn't mine to behold. But I still think about it, maybe because I've never been in a relationship myself. Should they have tried harder? Should they have never dated in the first place? I guess it doesn't matter anymore.

What if aids are cured? What if taking certain drugs turns out to be healthy? What if it is discovered that the earth is not at the center of the universe? What if the water levels get too high and we have to relocate to a new planet? Didn't Jesus say something like "I will come back?" So will christians stay on earth, floating on the surface? Or will they make another concession and relocate, bibles in hand?

Every Moment is an Opportunity to Regret the Last

The other day I looked at some diary entries I wrote when I was 16 or so. It was sickeningly imprecise and unappealing and, to my horror, exactly the kind of stuff I write to this day. It shows that my life has been a series of self-imposed problems which I have made no progress whatsoever in resolving. So I guess this is just another documentation of my failures in the sense that I will look back at it a year from now and feel really uncomfortable for having written it.

I had an epiphany today. Whenever I talk to people I feel terrible. But whenever I say nothing, or avoid people, I feel terrible too. ("Terrible" is just a little bit too strong in this instance but for some reason it feels like the right word to use.) Time is like a series of regret doors that I walk to, each leading to a hallway of regret.
Today I got a call from an employer and he sounded really serious and rushed and my heart was beating really fast during the call. Afterwords all I could do was stare at my wall for a while. I was surprised that I was taking a phone conversation with a stranger so poorly and also surprised that I still get surprised at my reaction to human contact.
My introversion is possibly the only thing I am certain of. But my social anxiety seems just as strong, making the rare contacts I have with humans a consistant trial. It is in moments like this interview that I realise how terribly fragile I am, that a stern voice is all it takes to cut me down, make me fold into a spiral of self pity and write blogposts about it. This realisation or affirmation gives me a sensation of regression, that whatever confidence or growth I may have experienced throughout my life was for nothing and that the only way I can get by is to weasel my way though life with as few psychological lashes from other humans as possible.
It has become a very real and serious realisation for me since that interview, that in spite of what everyone else says about leaving your comfort zone and striving for brave new horizons, avoiding unhappiness just might be a viable and wise course of action for my life.

Then during dinner I started thinking about telling my dad about it the conversation. As I sat there in silence I imagined a door between us that was slowly closing, that is to say, that the opportunity to attempt to tell him about the event was slowly vanishing. Several questions presented themselves. Is the event really worth recounting? It's really not that interesting. What felt like a lashing to me could only feel like an unfortunate half hour to him. Would I feel a sense of defeat or regret for holding my tongue? Would talking about it feel better than not talking about it? Would the words come out in a natural way or would I sound foolish? I ended up telling him about it, but I don't know, I don't think I expressed myself very well and it probably didn't make much sense. In the end I kind of regretted telling him, because I didn't really convey my sense of panic and anxiety. He said in response to my story "well that's how those things go".

But then a week later he brought up events in his past, where strangers treated him just as poorly if not worse. This time I was the one who did not know how to respond. Ultimately, I had successfully conveyed an unpleasant experience to someone else, and they managed, somehow, to understand. Yes, it is incredible how high the exchange rate is for a small conversation at dinner time, that I, had I not heard this following conversation, would have considered the opening of that door to be a loss, a failure, whereas, I imagine, most people would tell someone about their day as a natural course of action, not expecting necessarily anything in return. In fact, it is incredibly unfair to other people that I need such affirmation when I never give any to others.