I don't like what I've written, but I need to get in the habit of posting things I don't like. Maybe I'll write about see-saws or the color yellow next time.
The Latin word genius refers to a personal or guardian spirit. It's likely related to the Arabic jinn, which has been anglicized as genie. No one was born a genius. They were possessed by one. A foreign presence taking over or guiding the actions of a person. English has lost this concept, even the Romans did to some extent, but the dual meaning of spirit and intelligent person still exists e.g., the French génie.
I'm banking on this happening in some way. I don't know how it will occur. I'm certainly waiting for some kind of possession. I'm not sure how else my life will get better. I'm desperate for a eureka moment, a stroke of genius, the guidance of a daimon, etc. I need to change somehow.
There was a reported risk that SAD light-therapy lamps could trigger mania. I bought it for seasonal depression, but I looked at that lamp every day, twenty-five minutes a day, for two years straight, hoping it would do more. It possibly helped with SAD, but I view it as unfortunate that I didn't develop any manic symptoms. Around that time, I used to have a morning walk routine where I would go to the water and back. I felt good about it at the time. I was leaving the house! But what was I even doing? What did I hope to change? I was walking down nearly empty streets, not interacting with a single person, and avoiding eye contact like the plague. I subconsciously covered my body with baggy clothing. I don't think people would have fallen in love with me at first sight when they can't even tell what I look like. I feel like an idiot for feeling good about my walks. I wonder how stupid I'll feel for making this blog.
I tried to be an alcoholic for three weeks at one point in my life. There wasn't much logic to it. I just wanted some kind of change. Maybe I would have turned into Ernest Hemingway or unleashed my inner genius. Maybe I needed the power of alcohol to change. I made sure I was at least tipsy at point in the day, every day, during this period. In the end, I slept poorly and got anxious when I didn't drink. I didn't do anything, even with liquid courage. Nothing changed. It is incredible what I am willing to do instead of making smart decisions.
What other options do I have? Doing what I can, one step at a time? Ridiculous. Idea dismissed. Some people become savants or change personalities after traumatic brain injuries. I don't know how much force I can generate with a frying pan, and I don't really want to risk getting a gash for nothing. Lauryn Hill attributes some of her creativity in The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill to her pregnancy. Her hormonal and emotional state led to the creation of her only studio album and the 10th greatest album of all time according to Rolling Stone. I don't plan on getting pregnant, but maybe I could change my hormones some other way. Taking vitamin D is probably the most effective way of doing this since I'm likely severely deficient, but that sounds boring.
I convince myself to do nothing every day and hope something changes. I'm not doing the best I can, nor am I taking steps towards progress. I'm rotting. At least I'll take my vitamin D today.
I'm not someone's dog. So I settle for points.
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I want to be a dog. I wish there were a way to ask for that. I think my best bet for making that happen is going to a BDSM club. There are at least a few near me. I very much do not want it to be a sexual arrangement, but I'll take what I can get. A significant amount of discomfort is worth it if it means I'll never have to make decisions again. I don't know how else I could become someone's dog. I don't socialize at all, so no one would know I'm here and willing. I don't want to think for myself anymore.
When I was very young, I showed a few people a sugary treat I was given. It was a bunny on a stick—probably made of marshmallow or something similar to a cake pop. I don't know what compelled me to show it to everyone. Maybe I was showing off that I owned such a wonderful treat. Perhaps I expected others to appreciate its existence as much as I did. I found it incredibly charming and received neutral to positive responses from people. No one reacted negatively. My childhood naiveté even led me to believe some people were genuinely impressed. I want to bash my head into my keyboard at the memory.
I don't know why I found it so important that I made others see it. I also don't know why I'm affected by the innocence idiocy of a small child. All I know is I regret it. If I didn't make that decision, if I were incapable of making decisions, I would be far happier. I wouldn't have anything to worry about. I would do what I was ordered to do.
I never know how to value my actions. I suffer from freedom. Am I ever doing the right thing? Will this help me or anyone at all? This concern is too difficult, so I often resort to a different way of thinking: Am I getting points right now?
I've had a variety of point systems. I've probably spent more time developing systems or ways to measure progress than improving my life over the last few years. Giving myself stats, giving activities ratings, basing a lot of it on JRPG and TTRPG systems. Exercise boosts STR. Brushing my teeth boosts Charm. Helping someone boosts Kindness. I've tried a variety of things. I use them often, but they've all failed eventually. I have far too many doubts about how I assign points in my systems. I also feel a bit pathetic, motivating myself to brush my teeth by playing pretend.
In case anyone is interested, I was most successful with a six-stat system. Either the night before or in the morning, I would assign a minimum of three tasks to each stat. I'm still a NEET, so it can't be considered successful, but my skin looks quite vibrant as I decay in isolation.
There aren't any points in real life. There are only my actions and their consequences. But the consequences of my actions or lack thereof don't dictate my current behavior. I'm far too mistrusting for that. I've been rewarded handsomely for doing nothing and punished for trying my best.
I didn't build this website expecting my life to improve—more of a shot in the dark and a way to waste time. Perhaps a wealthy person will become my patron after being charmed by my words. I should probably make the site more comedic if I want anybody to read this. I'm not exceptionally talented at anything, but I heard that's one of the things I'm better at. Maybe I shouldn't trust the people who told me that. Maybe it wouldn't matter if people found this site humorous. I don't know if anything will change, regardless of the effort I put into this.
I don't trust myself and the accuracy of my point system. I don't trust my environment. I'm forced to make my own decisions without grasping the consequences. Rather than risk doing something wrong, I sit in my bedroom.
Ungeziefer, tact, and the justification of a hikikomori - an unedited post
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There's an impossibility in some aspects of human relationships. I will never be able to understand others, and others will never be able to understand me. There is no LCL or primordial soup in the real world—no way to break the barrier between myself and others. I'm stuck being me.
I spend most of my time justifying my conditions, often by looking at others' writing. I miss the point on purpose. I bastardize it. I take bits and pieces of what I read to build an illogical fortress. It isn't a conscious decision, but I'm desperate to justify my conditions.
"Goethe, who was quite aware of the threatening impossibility of all human relationships in the dawning industrial society, sought to represent tact in the Wilhelm Meister novels as the providential information [rettende Auskunft: rescuing information, saving accommodation] between alienated human beings. This information seemed to him as one with relinquishment, with renunciation of undiminished closeness, passion and unbroken happiness. To him, what was humane consisted of a self-restriction..."
Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia, translation by Dennis Redmond.
"What was humane consisted of a self-restriction." What's more self-restricting than complete isolation? When Kafka's Gregor Samsa turned into Ungeziefer (vermin) like me, he did what I have been doing. He tried his best to remain unseen and let himself rot. He hid beneath a couch and blanket so his family wouldn't have to see his grotesque form. Isn't that tact? A renunciation of undiminished closeness, restricting himself for the benefit of others.
Well, I was going to write more about that, then maybe I'd bring up Sartre's The Look. Stuff like my existence puts pressure on others, how people perceive me, etc. Include a callback, add some humor, maybe make a connection between Neon Genesis Evangelion and Sartre since I already mentioned LCL. After that, I would read the post, rearrange a lot, and spend a few minutes revising it. I'm not going to. It's already clear to any reader that I think illogically and desperately try to keep it that way. I feel gross. Too disgusted to continue.
I'm going to make a gif and put it at the top of this post. I don't want to sit down and reflect. I don't want to edit this disordered and nonsensical post. I prefer to ignore my problems and view myself through others.
GenAI creators are unhuman
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unhuman (adj.): not resembling or having the qualities of a human being.
I like buffets. I mix and match dishes that other people make. I make sure the sauce from one dish seeps into the rice. I let the chaat and samosas touch. I curate my plate perfectly. I have never looked at it and thought I was a chef.
I don't think people who make generative AI media are inhuman—a word often associated with cruelty, sadism, or intense apathy. I resent them for making the em dash look bad, but that word is still far too harsh. They might be compassionate and caring people. But they lack something that makes them human.
I understand the avaricious motivations. I struggle with the rest. They spend twelve seconds typing a prompt, and within a minute, they have twenty images. Which part gives them joy? When do they feel good? Do they treat it like a slot machine and feel rewarded when they get an image that doesn't look like pure slop? At least at a buffet, I get to appreciate the work of others. I understand the chef's intentions, even if there's some bastardization on my end.
Knowing that people use generative AI for concept art makes me queasy. I'd much rather have them use it for rendering. Larian Studios is using genAI at least "the same as they would use photos." I want them to go to a museum. A park. A library. Look at the sunset. Swing on the swings for a bit. Use Oblique Strategies. Shake a Magic 8 Ball. Relying on AI for concepts is as unhuman as it gets.
"I'm not 100% sure you're actually seeing speed-ups... I don't actually think it accelerates things."
Swen Vincke, founder of Larian Studios and advocate for genAI, on genAI.
Generative AI will degrade the quality of the next Divinity game. I don't know if anyone will notice, including myself. It might be small. An employee who works with ChatGPT placeholder text instead of lorem ipsum will have their writing process affected. I assume something in the brain breaks if a person were to look at AI distortions of Magic: The Gathering cards for hours every day. I wouldn't be surprised if Larian is rewarded for their honesty when they own up to letting 'placeholder' AI assets slip in.
I don't fully grasp my own feelings on the topic. Maybe I have these beliefs because they make me feel good about myself. I can't be the worst person possible because they exist. I care about the environment more, appreciate art more, and am more human than they are.
I ate most of a drawing when I was nine years old.
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I ate most of a drawing when I was nine years old. It was of a girl holding a skateboard. She likely had cool accessories, because she was intended to be the coolest girl possible. She wasn't. She was the drawing of a nine-year-old. So I ate most of her.
I needed her gone. My parents could have dug through my trash for the first time ever. Maybe it would be seen on a conveyor belt at a recycling plant. Someone could pick it up in a landfill. Good kids wouldn't set things on fire, which left me with only one option. I ripped her apart and ate her.
She didn't taste particularly bad. While physically unpleasant, I felt good about eating her. That piece of paper was a scourge, something that necessitated that I consume it. It was a heroic act to eat her. I spared my parents, honestly, the whole world, the pain of seeing that drawing. The nausea wore away with every shred I swallowed. Chewing the pieces alleviated the guilt of having been involved in her creation.
I've always felt alienated from what I've created and done. This feeling already extends to some sentences I've written. This was intended to be better. This was intended to be different. It never felt like I ate my own drawing. It was an entity separate from me. I was involved, sure, but I intended to draw the coolest girl possible. Not her.
I'd feel guilty if I opened a door and a bird flew inside. It wouldn't be mine, but it would be my fault. I see sparrows in airport terminals and sometimes in a big-box store. They probably don't have owners, but someone is responsible for letting them in. Eating her was my way of taking responsibility.
