November 24, 2020

I'm sitting at my desk, which means Caitlin is in bed working. We'll switch later, and I'll be sitting in bed. I ate a sugar free yoghurt this morning. It was fine, but the taste of the artificial sweetener is still lingering half-an-hour later. Lastly, I'm appropriately caffeinated, which is a nice change.

I started work yesterday. I spent the entire day doing HR mandated training—safety videos, how to efficiently load shipping containers, tips to prevent heat exhaustion, etc. I will be doing the same thing the entire week.

To be frank, I am disappointed. I joined the military, got a BA, moved to Seattle, and this is what I get? I get paid a bit more than minimum wage to do a job that anyone with a functioning body and reliable transportation can do?

I was earning nearly twice as much last year. Granted, I was miserable. I left that life because I was miserable. I needed to leave. I hoped for a bright future. And what was the future is now the present. And the present isn't bright. It feels pathetic.

I think I know what I have been doing wrong. It's an existential thing. I have Irvin D. Yalom's book Staring at the Sun to thank for this insight. I have lived my life in the expectation that it would resemble an ever-growing upwards spiral of increasing potential and opportunities. That is where I found my sense of safety. That is how I escaped my own personal fear of death. 

I thought I was brave because I joined the army. I thought I had a grip on my fear of death because I was able to read The Death of Ivan Ilyich and still be mostly-unbothered by thinking about slowly wasting away on my deathbed. I thought I was facing my mortality every time I rode a motorcycle.

But those are not the ways that I fear death. 

My safety bubble—what Jung would call the womb-tomb—is my hope in my merely-latent potential. 

The tragic thing about (my) latent potential is how much greatness and beauty it promises and how little substance it seems to generate when I actually try to access it. I've accused others of getting high on their dreams; now I see that I am doing the same thing.

I've said this all before in different words. This time it is a little bit more accurate. This time it is a little bit more real. This time it is a little more incarnate. 

...

Better to have true despair than false hope. 

...

Moving boxes for UPS is only temporary. It is humble. Many people look down on it; I know this because I look down on it. I know I shouldn't; and this would be less painful if I didn't. But I do, and I'm working on understanding the meaning and value this type of work can provide. 

I fucking hate the thought of working only to make someone else more wealthy. I just don't want to be—or feel—used.

Well, it's not like I have any other choice right now. I hate this. But at least I know I hate this. 

Hate is okay. I just shouldn't grow resentful. Hate may become fuel. But resentment is always poison. 

I will try to learn as much as I can. I will try to make this a valuable experience.

...

A ghost speaks: Every moment is a microcosm.

...

A dubious koan inspired by Nietzsche comes to mind:

How do you do it so that you can do it forever?

...

My writing here is not achieving anything. 

But my writing is doing something: I am transforming my thoughts.

November 22, 2020

It's early in the morning. I woke up at 5:00am from a mild nightmare. I read an internet comment where someone threatened to kill me, telling me that I would be choking on my own blood. I didn't wake up scared; I just woke up with no hope of going back to sleep. Then the following sentence immediately came to mind: 

“Our culture has formed a deep epistemic-schism that makes it appear is if there were two realities.”

Then I thought of mitosis. So I looked up a PBS CrashCourse video on the subject. The image that I had in mind was of the telophase of mitosis where a single cell forms two quasi-poles (centrosomes) that pull the cell into two parts. 

What is interesting about this metaphor is that DNA is like a zipper that splits in two, which fits into my intuition that despite the fact that both sides appear to be fundamentally different are actually mere inversions of the other side. Granted, I don't fully trust this intuition, but that is where my head is at.

...

I created a Twitter. 

I asked James about Q Anon because it seemed like Q related stuff was getting much more traction recently. Oh, am I late to the party. He pointed me to two interviews of Sarah Hightower. She's an Aum Shinrikyo expert and looks at Q conspiracy through the lens of cult-studies. I created my Twitter account so that I could follow her. 

I am afraid she might be too influenced by studying Aum. Or maybe I don't understand her finer points well enough. She seems to think that there is a massive cult forming in the US which is based around the Q Conspiracy. 

I won't call Q a cult because the problem is that Q does not have definitive leadership. However, there are certain cult-like qualities. But the cult-like qualities are not merely cult-like; they are quasi-religious and mythological in nature. I think we're dealing with something more broad than a cult. 

I would go as far as to say that this is more like the emergence of a culture. 

I think Q-Conspiracies are the folklore and mythology of this emerging culture, and they are (somehow) compatible with American Christian religious values. Q-Conspiracies are transmitting and communicating values—not facts. Values are transformed slowly over time; they are not reasoned with through logic. This is the world of dreams.

I'm not sure if this is the sign a culture that is in the process of emerging or if it is in its death throes. 

...

My ideal leftist movement? Pragmatic, patriotic but not bellicose, the kind of left that is pro-union, the kind that is distrusting of large corporations but not anti-business.

...

I didn't realize until recently that one of my closest friends in the army has become heavily influenced by Q. He used their language but never name dropped Q. He was convinced Trump was a genius. In 2016-2017 he tried to comfort me by saying to trust the plan.

One of my first exes, who is very conservative, is also up the Q hole, sharing "proof" of massive pedophile rings. I didn't realize that there was a common thread between my army friend and my ex because they're such different people.

...

Photography is a matter of perspective.

It's interesting to apply this to profile photos and uploads in a generalized way.

If a person only takes selfies, they're liable to be a mirror-gazing narcissist.

If a person only has photos taken of them by other people, especially by a photographer, they're liable to rely to heavily on the perceptions and perspectives of others. 

If a person has a diversity of pictures, that is a good sign.

If a person has over-curated photos, that is a bad sign; they're liable to hide the bad parts. (Which I am guilty of.)

...

I have a hard time framing things. —I think it's why I can't finish any stories.— When I go through my old sketchbooks, I draw in fragments. I never complete one picture. I would do best to draw a square and then fill it in with an entire picture even if it's simple bullshit. 

The Problem: disembodied, alienated, lacking context, ungrounded.

We frame things out of necessity.  

On psychedelics I learned that "all things are connected". But that truth took too much space in my head. I lost myself in that idea, that interconnectedness. 

The frame is Apollonian. The great unified mass is Dionysian. 

...

How would I go about drawing a Jungian Mandala? In a way it's a meta-frame (frame as referenced above).

Metaframe. Framing frames.

A mandala is a representation of a lens/paradigm more than it is of a frame. 

...

Went down a Random Rabbit Hole: Discovered the phrase Metamodernism. 

On the wikipedia page, there is a reference to a 2010 paper that refers to metamodernism as being derived from Plato's metaxy (middleness/moderation) rather than meta as "aboutness" or "abstraction." 

This is important. 

From wiki:

For the metamodern generation, according to Vermeulen, "grand narratives are as necessary as they are problematic, hope is not simply something to distrust, love not necessarily something to be ridiculed."

Vermeulen asserts that "metamodernism is not so much a philosophy—which implies a closed ontology—as it is an attempt at a vernacular, or…a sort of open source document, that might contextualise and explain what is going on around us, in political economy as much as in the arts."[11] The return of a Romantic sensibility has been posited as a key characteristic of metamodernism, observed by Vermeulen and van den Akker in the architecture of Herzog & de Meuron, 

...

My brain and/or heart has decided that it wants to listen to Billie Eilish. I don't want to want this. But I do, so I will, in this case at least.

...

The rabbit hole deepens: https://metamoderna.org/what-is-a-metameme/ 

Hanzi Freinacht seems to be saying that the metameme is the meme (idea/ideology) that unifies other memes (according to a particular process). It might be the caffeine talking, but holy fucking shit, this guy is interesting.

...

From https://metamoderna.org/what-is-a-metameme/ 

...memes are developmentally determined, and that goes for all memes from the pure technical to the more ideological. That means that not any kind of meme can emerge, or take root, at a given time and place, but that the possible memes that can emerge and prosper are limited by which other memes currently exist. More specifically, the kinds of memes that may emerge in a given context depend on the overall developmental level of that cultural context’s other memes.

This reminds me of CG Jung's quote where he says he treats the contents of the unconscious like animals in the garden, they come up and visit him, but they have a life of their own. 

A metameme is thus a non-randomly ordered collection of memes in which the memes that don’t fit in with the other memes simple cannot emerge or co-exist without breaking the very logic of what holds the metameme together. Each metameme builds on its predecessor, but it is by definition not merely a further development of it. Not only is a metameme the overall context in which all other memes are ordered, non-randomly, but also the basis of which they are rejected if they don’t fit the overall logic and structure. So what differentiates one metameme from another is that they are always in direct opposition to one another. Just like modernity was in direct opposition to the ancien régime that came before, the postmodern metameme is in direct opposition to modernity. And with that opposition follows the threat of replacing its predecessor. Scary stuff. This dynamic explains much more of history than what it’s usually given credit to.

Hmm. This is like a more sophisticated version of the Hegelian/Marxist dialectic .

Further reading his work he seems to overlap the two words ideology and meta-meme. 

Meta-ideology, there's a word I could use.

Today we are living in a particular multi-centered time where the gravitational shredding of society is particular noticeable. Somehow the old conflict between left and right (in economic terms) has diminished in importance compared to the rifts felt by the conflict between the pre-modern, modern and postmodern metamemes—something that has been amplified by today’s globalized and multicultural society.

This type of cleaving is somewhat loosely related to what I described earlier as mitosis. 

Modern > Post Modern > Metamodernism (as an attempt at unifying the Modern with the Post Modern)

Hanzi seems to believe that there is a clear path of development—that Postmodernism is more sophisticated than Modernism and that Metamodernism is more sophisticated than Postmodernism. This is in agreement with Kuhn's theory of paradigms, which Hanzi directly mentions.

...

Oscillation between ideas/things is apparently something important to metamodernism. I relate to this very deeply.

...

An old blogpost of mine bears a significant resemblance to an article linked to an article linked to an article (3 deg. separation) written about metamodernism.  Not sure what that means, but it is interesting.

...

I need to look up the following two metamodern authors: Quentin Meillassoux and Karen Barad.

November 17, 2020

It occurred to me that I am mad at reality. 

Or rather, I am mad at my real—material—circumstances.

I'm not sure what to make of it, but it's true.

...

Strange question. Maybe an obvious question.—

Do I have power over myself?

If I can exercise power over myself, then I am not powerless. 

That makes me feel better. But it sounds stoic. I don't like stoicism. Stoicism is problematic in that it can be life-denying and life-suppressing—self-imprisonment.

It makes more sense to say that myself is my source of power. I have the power to change things. So what if my accomplishments are ephemeral and relatively trivial?

Lastly, I have the power to transform my attitude. I don't have to remain beholden to despair—looking up at titans. I can take pride in my own excellences. I can take pride in myself.

November 16, 2020

 Rant:

I am in a bad mood because of the new COVID restrictions, namely the fact that the gym is closing again tomorrow for at least one month.

I understand the reason why. I am fully, rationally aware of why it's happening.

But, right now, the rational reason—the facts—do not make me feel any better. I don't care how fucking reasonable these restrictions are or how many lives are going to be saved, I am pissed. That's human nature. That's my nature.

I don't think the restrictions are objectively ethical. However, they were put into place by people who were voted into power, so they're, as far as I'm concerned, an extension of the collective public will; I'll respect that. But it's hard to respect Inslee's smug face. He's not suffering. He, among others, is gaining power through this. I can feel it in my churning gut.

November 5, 2020

It's nearly midnight. I'm sitting at the living room table, which is messy, typing on a cold keyboard that is starting to warm up. I just finished playing Diablo III for nearly six hours straight. Caitlin is asleep. Dani is in her room watching something. Grr is wandering the house; she slept all day curled up in our bed. Carolyn is texting me. Across the street, in a lit the third floor window, there's a skinny guy in his 20's wearing a maroon tank top looking like he's washing dishes.

I feel too-awake. I finished an energy drink at noon. That might still be in my system. 

The gym has been going well. My bench is relatively weak. And I still suck at wide-grip pullups. But I've been making steady progress. I'm up nearly ten pounds. And I comfortably squatted 215 lbs for 5-reps over 8-sets. I'm hoping to be repping 315 in two months. And I would be really proud of myself if I could one-rep-max 405.

I'm going to need to find work soon.  COVID unemployment ends in a little over a month.

On a related note, my neurotic persistence paid off; alternatively, I was lucky in the sense that luck is when preparation meets opportunity. I've submitted multiple applications to become an apprentice electrician: one in Seattle, one near Salem/Covalis, and one in Spokane. The way it goes is that I am going to take a test, then I will attend an interview. If I am accepted, I will become an apprentice. 

Well, I called the Seattle branch and the person on the phone said that I was tentatively scheduled to test in February. However, I managed to snag the last open spot only two weeks; the catch is that it's 300 miles away in Redmond, Oregon. —Worth it. And the funny part is that I don't need to pass. I get a free pass to interview because I am a veteran. To quote the lady on the phone, "the test is for tutoring purposes; we need to know where you're at." So, once I test, I'll be on the list to interview. 

This is good news.

...

Grr is sitting on the corner of the bed in our room facing the door. She has her feet tucked in, and it's the cutest thing. That cat has really stolen our heart. I would take a photo, but the lighting doesn't allow for it. 

...

Caitlin and I rearranged our bedroom. It completely transformed the way our room feels. I mean that in a practical way but also in a more metaphysical way. The vibe, or maybe the texture, is different somehow. 

She has a box of her old dog's stuff that she needs to go through. She tears up when she mentions it. But it's time for her to move on. She has been hanging onto it for two years and hasn't opened it.

...

I have a classic case of insomnia on my hands. Let's see if I can write in a flow until I get tired. No. I doubt I have the ability to sustain focus like that. 

...

I briefly spoke with my uncle Pawel before he received a letter I sent him. I told him that I was going to pursue an inside wireman apprenticeship. He said, "The work is hard, and it can be very tedious, but it pays well—six figures, easily." I could almost swear he sounded proud of me. Almost. —At the least we'll be able to relate to each other better. Common ground.

...

I wonder what I'm getting myself into.

When I started at Amazon, I had high hopes. I was overflowing with energy and enthusiasm. It was excessive, and, apparently, it was unstable. I didn't have a goal. I just wanted to be successful. But I never defined what success meant; and that was a big mistake. I had money that I didn't know what to do with. 

I still remember how excruciatingly painful it felt to even begin thinking about saving for a house. I didn't even have the fortitude to even think about it. So, instead I spent all my money on misc. I wanted the-ill-defined-everything, so I ended up with nothing. Well, I did get some good clothes out of my excess spending and camping gear.

Things are much different now. I'll be starting at a much lower wage. If I'm in the Puget Sound region, I'll be starting at ~$20 an hour plus benefits, which is fantastic, actually. I was technically earning over $35 an hour at AWS. But that came at a price: risk of stagnation and immobility.

The work will be physically demanding. I am physically equipped for that.

I will have a lot to learn. I'm looking forward to that. I want a skill that will make me valuable. And then I want to use that skill to make money. And I want to use that money to buy a house. And I want a small farm.

I didn't realize that I wanted a farm. It took me a while to realize that what I had been describing to multiple people was in fact a farm—dogs, chickens, a large vegetable garden, etc—a farm.

Holy shit, this could be beautiful. 

A motorcycle farm, perhaps? 

Hmm. 

Anyway, going into this apprenticeship, I'm a good candidate. But I'm going to need to stay humble.

My god, I've been unemployed for over seven months now. I am looking forward to getting back on track with a career. 

It's important to make the most of this time, of course (i.e. not playing Diablo III for six hours straight too often.) There is a very real trap of potentially getting too involved with work. But really, why even work? Money is good. But money isn't an end. Money is a means. And it's important for me to stay grounded in my ends, my goals and values. 

Reminder: when you have a really important dream, it's important not to blab too much about it. It must be, to some degree, a secret. You can't go bragging to everyone everyday that you're going to buy a yacht or whatever; the process devolves into mere spectacle. 

...

You know, the funny thing I've learned about writing is that sitting around, gritting your teeth and puckering your butt doesn't do any good. (Unless you're editing.) Writing has to flow. 

It's almost as if you gotta keep looking at the thing that you're writing about. You can't focus on the keyboard or the pen or your grammar or your fans. You need to keep your eyes on the thing itself, the idea that's there, latent in your mind, behind a thin veil, just under that quicksilver glimmer on the surface of a pond; you can't quite see it, but it's there, and it calls to you; and you know it's full of life, so you sit and you stare because it's important. It's magic. That's the magic I find in my dreams. And that's the magic of "writing as an act of revelation and creation." 

You can't force it. It comes from who you are. And, for the self aware and the initiated, such a reflection is absolutely terrifying.

...

I'm becoming increasingly tired of social media, namely people sharing political posts. I just want to shake everyone by their shirts and say, "YOU'RE NOT SPREADING AWARENESS; YOU'RE BRINGING IN AD REVENUE." 

Is that too cynical? Calling out that behavior is ironic because I would be doing the same thing by posting more noise on the same platform.

November 3, 2020

 I realized that I fell in love with Seattle last year. And it really was just that—love. It was the kind of love that comes with a lot of blindness. 

I had a lot of hope for this city. 

When I would visit from Bellingham during my college days, I would read deep into every storefront and every interestingly-dressed person. I tried to read too deeply into every single detail They felt to me as if they were full [trächtig] with stories and potential, like dark cloud promising a long-needed rain. But those clouds grayed out. And not much came out of it. It was a flat gray sky with a steady mist. 

It's hard for me to love Seattle right now. I feel like I got spit out. It's mostly my fault, and COVID has complicated everything. 

Wherever I am, I need to make the most of it. And I'm in Seattle right now. It isn't the promised land. It's home just like Horizon City was home.

...

I tired to draw, but the lines never really came together on the page well enough. I never learned to feel the depth of objects. I never even attempted to learn to manage color and value. 

Writing never brought me much in the real world; it only shaped my internal world. It has always been too fragmented. Separate characters never fully developed any sort of meaningful depth.

My academics were always weak. I never learned how to juggle my individual thoughts with telling professors what they needed to hear. I never felt the need to strive for perfect scores. 

I had my hands in too many baskets. It hurt too much to stay stuck with one thing. It always felt like too much of a sacrifice.

A ghost (and I'm not sure which one) says, "Blow its fucking brains out." 

It means for me to kill my stillborn dreams of being a writer/philosophy/artist-type.

My half-desire (my day dream) to be a writer was probably never a true desire. I think it was founded on the wrong ground—to egotistical or rooted in emotional infantilism, needing to feel special.

...

—Not Navel Gazing. Not Solipsism.—Not Working for Them. Not Doing it for Them—

Suppose a man is put into solitary confinement. Then suppose that he has a wonderful time in his cell because he sees a tremendous inner cosmos: dramas unfold before his eyes, great beauty visits him, and the sweetest music plays.

When he leaves his cell, he is totally unable to describe the pleasurable and profound experience. Moreover, he wishes to go back to his lonely cell. 

That is sad solipsism. It is madness. It is not good; I take this last fact gratis.

Next, imagine a movie star that is known across the world and has brought joy to many people. Wherever they go, their charisma brightens people's days. They create value in others. But now suppose the movie star is sad and broken inside. 

It is not good; it is alienation and lacking in integrity.

Profoundness-in-obscurity and Hollowness-in-prominence.