Everyone is afraid of me, and so in an effort to appease them, I became Scary

when youre with me girl all analysis is psychoanalysis. I’m crazy about you

My internet friend Dasein recently wrote a very good introduction to Dasein, the concept he uses as his nom de plume, and the conceptual framework of Heidegger. I recommend reading that as a primer for what we’re going to talk about today if you find these things interesting. It was in no small part the primer of the revelation I had last night that I would like to tell you about here.

I am however not good with theory. I am not a good conspiracy theorist. I am a conspiracy psychologist.

The media phenomena of perpetual “reboots” of franchises, perpetual “origin stories” for “super heroes”, is a metaphor and representation of the sickness of our social and intellectual environment (post-modernity, late industrial society, hyper-communication society), in which things don’t progress and beget genuine personal change and transformation, but instead continually re-interprets itself while staying in stasis. It is a metaphor for how you don’t grow up and change and achieve Becoming, but continuously re-interpret yourself and your “childhood trauma”, and so on. I don’t know what to do about that.

I think insight is valuable insofar as it directs your will and causes change and action. The following insights have caused me to take actions and impose my will on the world, and yesterday I made my dad proud of me.

The following is the egg report origin story/reboot. This is how I became the Joker.

Everyone is afraid of me, and so in an effort to appease them, I became Scary

Or, how my parents stopped loving me because I made their life Too Serious, and in facing Death, they ultimately gave me up, they would rather stay innocent of death, stay unconscious, and they gave me up to do so, they gave up their own son. Having been face to face with Death, having Death come close, they did not achieve Dasein and authentic Being, but instead actively chose to sacrifice me to the Devil. And I have spent my whole life Making Excuses For Them to avoid accepting this. Expressing this idea causes my absolutely Insane Amounts of Pain. I’m a grown ass man. It’s extremely shameful and I catch my mind trying to make excuses, to deconstruct the proposition before I’ve even finished the thought. To articulate the idea at length, with every sentence part of my being is trying to prevent me from writing it, distracting myself with deconstruction. Hyper focusing on some small minutia or formality, some rhetoric or linguistic nuance, some digression, in order to postpone having to finish the thought. Because the thought is a moral judgement.

Hello I would like to talk to you about having a personal relationship with Mythology

I believe certain things about how the human mind functions. I believe certain things about sentience. I think there is a certain universal shape, or pattern, to the mind, that is pre-linguistic.

Previously in my life I considered myself a good reader of faces, and my internet writing for the last four years have been primarily a process of gradually transforming that skill into a reading of something else.

There is a universal human shape, a shape of the human mind. The question of whether it is preordained or ad-hoc, whether it is designed to be according to a platonic ideal, or whether is it a retroactively amalgamation of particular human beings as they just happened to be, by chance, across history - is nonsensical. It is simply the case that there is a universal human shape. To ask questions as to it’s “origin” like so, is a purposeful attempt to get lost, to avoid finishing the though. This is all positivism, and all academic philosophy. Philosophy is supposed so solve your problem, finish thinking, and move on with your life. Academic philosophy has an interest in never being solved - it’s busywork for it’s own sake. Masturbatory, at best. Evil at worst, because it purposefully prolongs suffering and actively prevents closure and change.

Did it again. Shit.

There is a universal shape to the human mind. It’s neither blank slate-ism or full blown biologism. I think the mind has a certain shape, but no two minds are alike. All minds have the same rough edges, but is “inked in”, uniquely. The shape is informed by your immediate family and early years of life. This is what Freud was right about. The shape is best represented in language as “narrative”, as mythology and fairy tales. This is what Jung was right about. Each particular sentience creates its own particular mythology.

The concept we know as mythology, is already meta-mythology, a cooperative social process of creating a “shared mythology”. The language is not clear and the terminology is confused. No particular pagan in history ever believed in the full expression of what we today consider “Norse mythology”. The collection of myths and legends we have today is a reconstruction of a full belief, that no actual real group of people ever actually shared. it is an “average” - an amalgamation. Germanic pagans in particular wouldn’t have a codified belief structure - Germanics like to have a personal relationship with the Gods. They’re individualists.

Practical Applied Mythology ($$$)

You can use this knowledge of the universal structure of the human mind to your advantage, in the bedroom AND the boardroom.

The structure of a personal mythology is crystalized into a single image, through which the events of life is interpreted. You could imagine a visual metaphor as, an image painted on glass. Light passes through it and is interpreted as an image.

History repeats itself, and once you reach adulthood, for the most part, you are just living through the same events over and over again. So it seems to the actor, at least. In the distinction between linear and circular time, modernity is a return to pagan circular time. We repeat, creatures of habit, and do the same thing over and over again. My dad has been telling the same jokes for 30 years.

It is possible to reconstruct the inner worlds of others. What you need to do so, is a few ultimate principles. What do they want and what do they fear and what is the worst thing that has ever happened to them. From this, you can triangulate the rest of the pattern. Conveniently, everyone is always telling you all the time exactly what they are afraid of, and your hunter-predator brain is evolutionarily adapted to identify weakness. and human beings being social beings, we instinctively communicate our weaknesses to each other all of the time. Constantly. It happens pre-linguistically, pre-consciously. Instinct. A kind of basic universal human need for socialisation, a primal drive to connect. If you chose to view someone as prey - or as a danger - you can see use it against them. Sociopaths do this automatically because they don’t have access to socialisation, and go instantly to prey-predator mode. This can also be done mutually through gradual playful exchange, to establish a loving relationship. Trust is an exchange of vulnerability. You shouldn’t trust someone who trusts everyone. You shouldn’t trust me, because I make myself vulnerable on the internet, to an audience. That’s not healthy.

The origin of species

When I was 14 I almost died. I was riding my bike, didn’t pay attention in traffic, and ran out in front of a van. Took the entire impact with my head, both on the car then on the ground, instantly knocked out. I don’t remember a single thing of this, last thing I remember is driving along the road with my friend. I sometimes freak out when objects appear suddenly to my left, though.

It was in a residential area, the van was driving slowly. My friend, who was scarred for life and later became a paramedic to cope, called for help. My parents happened to be relatively close by, having dinner with some friends. Waiting for the ambulance, my father held me and watched blood run out of my eyes. He told me this many years later. This image was permanently imprinted in him; My son, in my arms, crying blood, dying. He didn’t say that it was “an image permanently imprinted in him”. He just told me about it. I’m saying it was, because his voice trembled when he did.

The next month I spent dreaming, about a great egg-shaped cave illuminated by millions of glowing butterflies flying to and fro, lying on a plateau in the middle in the embrace of a great beautiful and terrible queen butterfly, which was my Mother and all that is green and All-That-Sustains-From-The-Sun, which held me and cradled me while I slowly felt myself disintegrate and fade away into the base substance of reality. Slowly being torn apart by some unseen force, a sensation of being chewed by Great Fangs. Torn apart into tiny little pieces, and the little pieces filtered back into the great black void. At the point of critical mass, where I was more void than self, I found that I was the void, and I was the one doing the chewing - and panicked, spitting myself back out. I was also the great and terrible butterfly, and I re-birthed myself, again separating myself from it and becoming an identity separate from creation.

Then I woke up and couldn’t speak, and barely move, or remember who I was or people I knew, unless they were in the room with me, or my immediate family. I could remember my brother and parents and my grandparents. Everything else was just, gone.

Usually I brush over all this, brush off the next couple of years in a few words or a single paragraph. Trying to compartmentalise all of this into as small and compact an image as possible. Because I don’t want to waste your time. But there is a point in making a full representation of it. The point isn’t about me. It’s about my family.

Things were bad, could have been worse. I’m a walking talking medical miracle. returned to “normal” in record time, which is, about 2 years. Other people in my situation spend 50. Most never recover. I’ve always tried to be grateful.

Some common traits and long term effects of acquired brain damage:

• poor/lowered impulse control (substance abuse, binge drinking)

• mood swings and irrational/disproportional outburst of rage, aggression, violence

• “personality changes” :^)

• high IQ and a wicked sense of humor

Gigachad, do you really need an Ultimate Being to Punish You For Eternity, to prevent you from doing harm to your fellow man? - “Yes.”

I tell you these things because it is important to me that you “understand” me

In the following decade my family disintegrated. My parents were tested greater than most. I was difficult. The situation was difficult.

I had vague glimpses of memories of my childhood, but no personal emotional relation to it. You could tell me about things that had happened before, events I had experienced, and I would be able to recognize it as being factually, historically true, as a kind of factual knowledge, but I had no sense of identification with it. I knew it had happened, with certainty, but it didn’t feel like it had happened “to me”. Waking up in a dead boys body, and trying to please everyone he knew by pretending to be him.

It’s gotten better with age. But there is still a lingering “otherness” to everything in my childhood, the bits and pieces that I can recollect. I don’t like looking at pictures of it.

On my first day back to school, I met a classmate in the hallway who thought I had died, and his face turned completely white in fear when he saw me. He literally said the words “I thought you were dead.”

I didn’t talk to my dad for a long time. We barely spoke a word. He could only focus on practical things like the matter of insurance. He couldn’t deal with it. We didn’t have a real conversation until ten years later when I moved in with him to get sober. For the second time.

I moved out to a boarding school when I was 16. To get away from everything and start fresh. Didn’t pan out so well. it seemed like a good idea at the time.

My mother was very worried about being too coddling. Being “one of those parents”. She instantly identified her own very strong emotions, and overcorrected for them. Very worried about me getting angry with her, feeling displeased with her. no sense of “we know best” - I was a little genius, you know. So the most important thing of course was that this little deeply traumatised and scared kid was guaranteed full perfect autonomy and freedom from authority and anyone telling him what to do.

Finally, The point:

People are afraid of me. That’s not a brag. I make people uneasy. I make people uncomfortable. One way to account for this is because after having a very early encounter with my own mortality, I have always taken life “more seriously”, than most.

Even my own parents, who were right there in the same boat. But the years passed, and they returned to “normalcy”. They got divorced and remarried and bought second homes and went on vacations and speed boat rides. I lift weights in my bedroom and write blogposts about how I “want the fire”, and I bemoan the supposed metaphysical “death of my family”.

When I was in my mid-twenties and my parents told me they were getting divorced, my first thought was: Oh, that’s because of me. It was just instantly obvious to me: their marriage was wounded by the accident and their relationship was torn apart by it. I thought it was funny that I did the thing, the meme of children blaming themselves.

A couple of nights ago, the night Dasein (the poster) posted his primer on Dasein (the concept), I sat up late at night on the computer and had a similar experience. “My parents are afraid of me, and in a attempt to earn their recognition, to be “seen” by them, I willingly become someone it makes sense to be afraid of”. In an attempt to “meet their expectations” of me. To make them proud.

All this “weight” and burden I’m talking about not being able to shoulder. All this terrible failure that I feel guilty for, not being able to save myself - it’s not, “blaming them” - it’s, "they also felt this [about me]”, they also, failed in this task. It’s finding some common ground.

While I was coming out of the medical coma, I spent a long time semi-lucid, in which I was living in a nightmare world, while also interacting with my “real” environment. A nurse in the real world was tending to me, shifting a catheter. In my experience of it, she was a demon from hell and I was locked in this weird ghost-hell prison, and she was torturing me by pouring boiling plastic on me, boiling my skin, gleefully cowling and enjoying every minute of it. My father told me his version of events. He was visiting. He says, I was unresponsive and incoherent, until a sudden springing into action, in which I passionately reached out to him and said, “help me dad. Please. She’s crazy.”

I can imagine all sorts of empathy for a man put in that situation. A good hardworking woman taking care of your retarded, deluded, drugged up son, and your son claiming that’s she’s harming him. Lot of stuff going on there. Difficult emotionally. She was helping me, she’s innocent of the charges I brought against her. I still think that by not killing her on the spot my father failed me. And so does he. Tadaah. That’s the big reveal, that’s the big revelation. That’s why we didn’t talk for 10 years.

But Enough About me. How Are You Doing

Father, forgive me, for I have sinned