Tfw no gf

a blogpost for no-one

At previous points in my life I have said, and I thought it was very clever at the time: I’m not suicidal at all, but, I look around at other people, and I am constantly overwhelmed with the feeling that “if I was you, I would kill myself””.

Recently I have had the thought, concerning my own situation in life and how abandoned and overlooked I feel, even among my family: “if any of You were in my place, You would kill yourselves” - as illustrating how far apart our worlds are, that I am inconceivable. But combining the two thoughts, it is a sign of providence that Only I happen to be me, and not anyone else. And vice versa. Otherwise we’d have a bloodbath on our hands.

If you think I’m any kind of cool, which I have heard rumours that some people do, then you are in a heap of trouble. You are in a bad situation.

Someone asked me the other day, what if I cant find a good woman to marry, and I end up in a horrible marriage with one of the bad ones. To this I say, it’s better to have a problem with a woman, than to have a problem with every woman, which is your current situation. Maybe its cutting-your-loses time. Maybe you fucked up and the ship sailed on getting a good one. Maybe that's not an option for you. Maybe it never was. What then?

The overall philosophical problem with everything is strictly, clinically speaking, overthinking. Everything is being over-thought. The comment I made in a recent blogpost about how the re-evalution of all values, trans-valuation whatever, is not a “coming out of the waters” and reaching a new state, but just being disoriented and having lost your balance, is key here. So is my constant yammering about “scale”. The problem is: can human beings organize themselves productively at the scale of millions and billions? The answer is the 19^th and 20^th centuries. Or, “it’s a bit rough. We are having a bit of trouble with the situation.”

All major theoretical schools that have arisen in response to industrialization have been attempts at re-inventing the wheel: the wheel here is: sub-dunbar’s number communities of extended family and tribes, organized around a common ranching and farming operation, to keep everyone fed, housed and clothed. Small scale self sufficiency, communal organization. The wheel was destroyed by the industrial revolution, and now, every attempt to reinvent the wheel have been attempts to improve the wheel, to make something with the exact same attributes, but refusing to make it round.

One attempt is making the Greatest Possible Wheel of All Time, a National wheel, or even a global Wheel. The simple problem you run into is dunbar’s number, and you run into it over and over, banging yourself over the head until you die.

I cancelled plans with my family this week to be offline and lift weights, and, I was hoping, organically start doing other stuff simply by virtue of not having any computers active to distract me. Which worked like a charm, I’m getting tons of errands done. Instead of sitting around for hours, there’s like 5-10 seconds of staring into the void, and then you just start doing stuff. Its great. Anyways.

I reached a breaking point, I think. I had a very rough night a couple days ago. I don't have the brainpower I used to to really calculate stuff, but the probability trance revealed some harsh news. Its over for me. Even if I never make a mistake again, right now, and everything works out 100% from now on, and I optimize literally every second of my life, it’s not going to be good. Its a losing battle and its gotta be fought, but I’m not gonna make it. I fucked up too many chances.

My only chance of ever meeting a compatible woman is to become a famous blogger. And I have barely written an essay a month. It’s a slim chance in the first place, and I should be doing everything I can, putting everything I have, towards this end, because it is ultimately the only thing that matters to me. And yet I don’t. I just sort of sit around, staring with a dull cow face at the screen.

I cancelled plans with my family, because I finally decided – felt – knew, I finally had certainty behind the kind of thoughts I have had my whole life, but always considered abstract, meaningless, or psychological and denigrated: You only say this, because x y z character flaw, you are just lazy and ungrateful and selfish. But I finally felt something foundational, something robust. I cant waste my time pretending to be a middle class tv watching normie, who’s biggest problem is killing time. Even if it does make my mom happy. Even if it does make my sister in law happy, and so by proxy, my brother. I do want them to be happy – even if I am right and they are delusional, deranged. I care about them and want them to just generally have a nice go of it. And I don’t believe that I have the strength to make them better, snap them out of it. But I can’t waste my time, because I don’t have any more time left. I am already in time debt. Soon I will be time bankrupt. Soon the time goons are gonna come and foreclose on me.

Even if it is a single day. I can’t do it. I can’t stomach it. I cant attend their church, and act out the secular-pagan-nihilist rituals of polite behaviour, of repeating the same conversations for the 1200^th time, to afford the women in my family the pleasure of playing house. I would if I could. I love them. I can’t.

Several people have said or insinuated that I “seem cool”. I apologize for misleading you. I just had sex 10 years ago and I’m good at telling a story about it.

I live in a prison cell. It’s of my own making, sure, but it’s a prison cell. I have a humiliating day job, which I don't care about even the slightest, and where I am disrespected and talked down to every day, surrounded by people to whom I might as well be an alien or an animal. Then I go home to my prison cell in total isolation, and if its a good day, I write and exercise. That's it. That's all. Nothing happens.

I’m poor, I never do anything, and all the bread and circuses that you’re supposed to be bribed into compliance with the system with, means nothing to me. It tastes like dirt. I’m a reverse Cypher from the matrix. I would sell out in a second, if I could. I just cant.

Sometimes that’s it, and sometimes I have months long periods of paranoid delusions and think I’m about to die, because some part of my body aches. Coming out of a couple of months of that now.

The last exciting thing that happened in my life breaking this pattern was going home early from a party, in January.

I’m not saying I deserve a medal for it, but I saved a strangers life in December, and there’s just something very strange and uncanny about how even I completely forget about it myself. No one knows this about me. The people who were there were all strangers, and the only people I’ve told about it, my parents, probably couldn't remember the story unless you prompted them. It doesn't track with their story of who I am, so it just didn't happen.

The real trouble with the system is it tries to make you feel crazy for caring. The difference between an academic or a paranoid schizophrenic is whether you say “the system” or the polite academic term that's currently in vogue, capital, etc.

I believe I have one pretty unique human experience. I have had at least a hundred, but maybe hundreds plural at this point, of strangers writing me to tell me that I have helped them with something important. Some of them so particular and unique that I feel it would be sacrilege to tell anyone else about it. With emotions, family, life, of course nothing practical. With girl stuff. You would not believe how many people write me asking about girl stuff. I would estimate its: above average. But also with real problems, life and death problems.

And I feel bad for complaining, and I don’t mean to make light of this. I realize that is an incredibly unique human experience to have. A unique situation to be in. I try to be grateful. But it hurts that dozens of people credit me for their getting married, and that I’m not. I’m envious of the people that come to me in gratitude, and it makes me disgusted with myself. If I had the choice between being me, and being you, I would be you.

Recently I had the idea that I spent a long part of my life being a temporary part of peoples lives, and leaving them much worse off, destroying their lives, then moving on. It makes sense to me that my karmic debt for that would be to have to wander around being a temporary part of peoples lives, helping them, and leaving them better off. Its a fitting punishment. And it is a punishment because I crave permanence. There’s no buying your way back in, by doing good deeds. You cant just start being nice and then everything works out, and you get all the rewards.

I have a Labor. No one ever said purpose was going to be pleasant.