dear diary 5: literally a blogpost

my trials and tribulations with the Australian intelligence community

Last time I wrote, I talked about wanting to post every day, write every day. And yet I havent. The obvious narrative solution, if we were to analyse the available text, would be something like: ”he’s not writing because he’s focusing on his manual labor job to amass cash, to move out of town, because that’s what he said he was doing”. You read between the lines of it and that’s the obvious conclusion.

Not the case. I haven’t worked since sunday. I havent written anything in that time, simple because I am afraid of the computer. Every time I think about doing it I have a strong irrational fear response.

Wanted to take a day off for rest, then a day off for fasting and religious observances. I’m not particularly well. The obvious reading I mentioned above would be true, could have been true, if I just worked harder. I feel like it ought to be true, and that I am failing you by that not being the explanation.

We successfully kidnapped my uncle and got him into a hospital for now. He might die anyways. My dad is extremely grateful for my help, practically but also socially. I tell him ”look im no expert, so take it with a grain of salt”, and he says ”sure you are, you quit drinking and smoking pot and all that stuff”, and is just straight up acknowledging that all that stuff happened. Which he usually hasnt. Usually just put on boomer blinders and pretended that stuff never happened.

Fasted for a day. It wasn’t enough. Ever since quitting the smokes I’ve been overeating, by a lot. I went 24 hours and I didnt even get hungry, still had calories left to burn. I feel disgusting about it.

Played guitar in front of one of my friends girlfriend the other day and I feel guilty about it.

I’ve been writing a lot of piano music in the last couple of months. Lots of 5/4 tempo, lots of challenging my own technique/skill.

I want to record the music and post it online, but the same thing happens as with sitting down to write. I’m scared of the computer. I want to send it to that weirdo austrialian girl/ASIS agent who liked my piano posts.

I’m on to you nerd

Haven’t been working out. I did while I was working, “bad screen good screen” dichotomy, but for, lifting things. Maybe I overdid it. Maybe that’s why I needed days for rest and recuperation and fasting and prayer.

I’ve been overeating because it’s the only thing that “works”. Nothing else gives me dopamine. “watching” content, video content of any kind? nothing. Just anxiety, just buzzing and insects crawling on your skin. Reading, don Quixote? No more than a couple of minutes at a time. Listening to music, what do you think I am, stupid? Gay? Playing video games? Cumming? it’s like that part of my brain just died. I live only to work now. Work and work out. And then when I can’t do either, just, nothing. I sit around looking into a wall.

It’s kind of funny, in the nihilistic edgy early internet kind of funny, that everything on the internet is just retarded propaganda now. It’s like the perfect punchline to the mid 00’s 4chan era. “peculiar funny not haha funny”. or “kek”, if you are so inclined

I want to go back to twitter, but at the same time I have a strong sense that it wouldn’t be the same now.

My brother wants me to make “art” at his wedding. I have very complex emotions about it. I want to do everything I can for him. He is a dirty pagan and not having a religious wedding. He wants me to do “culture” to it, swing my magic culture wand and turn the ceremony into something that has “religious significance, without God”. Zizek without cream style. My artistic, deconstruction, ironic instinct is to accept and just read from the bible. But I don’t want to be deconstructive. I want to do everything I can for him.