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So I’m gonna pull the trigger on some good letters and it’s nice to finally be going pew pew. It’s so good to finally have a short and sweet synopsis along with something I polished and then worked to repolish.

 

(I think part of the anx of doing this is realizing that you might be really subjective, but what’s worth having or trying that doesn’t involve a little battling of anx?)

And on that note,

PoGo got a bit old.

Somehow got much better at hearthstone but honestly?

Not feeling like more 15 minutes of gaming these days. While hitting 6 miles a day on foot I’m wanting lots of rest still, too. Used to be a big coffee craver, but atm that’s just how it is.

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(This entry is gonna be based in sweeping generalizations about one of my favoritest topics.)

 

Narcissism is prevalent because narcissism is a personality trait. It’s not so much as “are you self-concerned” as much as “How purely self-concerned are you” ?

And that’s a very shitty, loose metric that’s shitty to obtain.

I’m deciding that a great way to measure if someone has this in overbearing amounts is: are they able to actually see you for who you are, when given the chance.  I’m thinking of three people I think, in my correct opinion, have a personality problem. One thing all three of these men have in common – besides having an above average amount of charisma and drive, yet a very poor social following (in rl….if I have to specify) to show for it, along with strings of broken relationships, along with strings of friends and former partners who have given up trying to understand.

Well, another main unifier of this group is their willingness to jump into other people’s shoes and accuse them of motives that, might not be very true. Heck, now I’m even thinking of the silly ex who accused me of only liking one type of girl, and very speciously too.  (I think anyone who thinks I have one type hasn’t been listening – hotness and beauty comes in all sorts.)

Not to say we’re all entitled to deep understanding and processing. But, when you try to reveal who you are, and when who you are doesn’t really cross the aisle….maybe that says something about the audience more than you, hmmmm?

Cause it’s occuring to me that someone who’s more timid about how they diagnose the thinking of another, is willing to admit that they don’t know something.  And, curiosity+timidness about diagnosing how another person ticks, this equates to a possessed theory of mind that’s much more advanced than those dumbasses who can’t see you outside of the lens of themselves (in fact, those people project a lot.)

When you’re self-assured and well socialized, your presentation of self shouldn’t be that murky. And yet, who among us, really, even the loudest, more open-booked — who among us feels fully understood by everyone given a chance to read us?

Doubtfully more than a tiny sliver of humanity.

 

Well, there are those of us who can read, interpret, and acknowledge iunno, maybe, and possibilities, and those of us who assume things based on little more than ourselves. It’s an extra task to acknowledge one’s individuality outside of our own.

….it’s as if the narcissus myth is based on a dumbass falling into his own reflection and drowning for a reason.

So while psychopaths don’t feel remorse and sociopaths have their shitty sides unhinged, narcissists are shrewd and selfish and motivated by one thing.  Pathological narcs are RARE, like really rare, plus it also takes a lot to function well as one. This means that most of ’em, you should be able to see them coming. Narcs usually bumble and get negative in special ways for interesting reasons — even if they address issues that are petty, I think the especially defunct narc’s reaction stands out especially.

So I think, the best defense against these twats? Listening.  Good listening.  Testing how one relates. Understanding patterns of analyzing and reacts.

Cause I’m thinking about it tonight and, considering the number of warning signs, if you’re not so bent on flocking to these individuals and assuming more good than they actually have, you should be fine if you keep your head on, pay attention, and maneuver.

For this reason I guess it’s good to not do most of the talking when introducing oneself and learning and growing within any industry.

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There ARE good movies out there.

(Transcendence is one of them – fine flick till the end.)

There are tons of shitty flicks too, but if you’re anchored in netflix, you’ll probably think it’s bogging.  Returning to manual selection days – and cyber and biopunk – and it’s just, more soulful.  Remember when plots resonated with real world relevance in a kooky parallel?

I’m back from chicahgo and was really a fan of the part of town I saw. An area that goes from something like brooklyn heights, to the village, to a park with a non-maltreating zoo and lakeside ALL WITHIN 10 BLOCKS?! Sis and her new husband are not doing bad.

 

My take and recap of her badass wedding (what great, non-traditional, killer venues):

Places – Music Box movie theatre (where she and husband had their first date – very classic place) with a bunch of skulls and and organist and LOVE.  Lots of luv.   Mars Gallery art place was where reception was.  Chicago homes a lot of heart.

Well I did a slideshow that became a main feature of the wedding (I thought it would be cool as an after party kind of thing) that really became a third of the actual ceremony itself.  I’d love to link it but it’s got lots of PII and is really my sis’s at this point (folks, don’t like, take pictures using the wedding photographers angle’s, and don’t upload things to social media before the person who really should.)

But I spent 15+ hours on the sucker – getting every image I could from family, stalking, using OLD WEBSITES to sort through and take the best pics) and told a story with clips of great people who were in the audience in younger days and can really say it ended up going over as a great thing that was funny and grand! (Synced with music, made jokes, gave everyone a scope of bride and groom how they’ve grown up, how they grow together, how goddamn sweet it is, I indicated that my sister was born as a girl and is a great sis, I used stuff from led zeppellin to jem, etc) and there was a message at the end asking for people to join in applause and not only did they, groom made me stand up and give him a gaddamn hug.  Entire ceremony brought my special-brain of a father to tears (he was tres emotional – I think lots of parents feel that if their kids don’t procreate that they’ve failed) while mom and lucien were cool as fak and there was so many drinks and partying shared.

It’s funny when you re-meet people who knew you as a really dorky but unfulfilled and confused about it 12 year old and you’re definitely an assured man. It’s funny when you shmooze and mingle like a polite but enthusiastic adult how impressive that is to people, against that old standard. This was not a mainstay or main point of the wedding, but it was, definitely an upgrade.  I’ll be frank, when I was a kid I always sort of wanted to ask my older sis “if we weren’t related and met in school or something would you want to hang out?”  Today I know and feel the answer as yes, and we’re also definitely related.  My sis, like me is a pain in the ass, but she’s also insightful and a joy, so that makes me tres happy.

I have to give a special shout out to Jaidree, she was amazing. Helpful, honest, smart, polite, gorgeous.  She passed on a story one of my sis’s oldest friends created:

F:  “So you’re Jaidree!”

J: “Yep”

F: “I’ve got to say! So Jessica talks about you so much! She’s loves you! She’s all ‘So this girl jaidree is gorgeous and cool and beautiful and fun and smart and for some reason she loves my brother, wtf!’ which, btw, yes, hi! But now I’m all, “gurl! Your brother is FAHNE!”

(Friend is married btw.)

So let’s talk about this marriage club:

I’ve always figured I’d get married one day and start a family that way. I’ve also taken my time because life isn’t fair and I’m a male from Brooklyn, so I’ve always figured to take my time making my choice because the intent is to make that choice correctly.  My SO’s parents got married, I think, after they realized mom was preggers, and were PERFECTLY happy to live their lives as a wonderful couple together otherwise.  (They’re true adventurers with talent, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what would’ve happened.) We’re not gonna talk about why my folks happened for multiple reasons.  But my mom’s side, friends I meet through my mom actually, have pulled me and jaidree aside individually and together, to inquire when we will stop living in sin.

And I think it’s important to recognize that living in sin is a greater plunge than signing a marriage contract. I think the devotion and understanding and ENJOYMENT of life together there are more vital, than agreeing that you’re married and not disputing the paperwork set up that says so.  That’s my fuggin [correct] opinion.

And Jess explained that now that she’s in the club she’d love to see me there too.  I think that’s as pushy as she’s going to be about it because I’m sure she didn’t love that sort of goading when she and her husband were doing the same.  And I think that’s really it, it’s well intentioned, it’s kind of a way of saying how great J and I are.

But here’s the thing: because some people can be real pushy.

Like DARE pushy.

Like, “YOU’RE TRYING TO PEER PRESSURE ME AND I’M GONNA TELL ON YOO!”

When I am pulled aside and find this inquiry phrased in such a way as “So are you going to marry her?” (That’s a quote.)

Ok, first, you’re a chick.  No guy has asked me something like this yet.  Multiple women over 28 have.

And observation of sexism aside, here’s what you’re asking: have I created a plan of what I’m going to do with my gf yet.

 

Here’s my answer: If I had a binary yes or no question, wtf.  If the answer is yes, clearly I’m some sort of a cowardly puss and haven’t worked out how to propose yet.  If the answer is no, I’m clearly a jerk-off wasting everyone’s time unless that’s, for whatever reason, exactly what she wants.  But if the bottom line is if I have a binary answer, there’s either something you don’t know, or I’m not a very optimal man.
The optimal answer – I believe – if we’re together and loving it and will see how that goes.  Because that’s a private matter.  I also have the feeling that the same people might get all “SO ARE YOU GONNA MAKE BABEHS” immediately after I slapped a ring on it, so meh.

On that note, the groom pulled her aside (very different vibe) and revealed surprise that I’m J’s first bf.  Apparently people believe she’s that pure wholesome dater, but she’s never been that sort. She then in turn revealed how our philosophy of “we’re being together and seeing how it goes and so far it’s great and, we’ll see where it goes” which, was something we both arrived at independently, which, clearly has been working for multiple reasons that it should (erm, laws of nature combined with the temperance if not all out destruction of anything that isn’t a constructive, positive addition) which, happened to be both the bride and groom’s dating MO. Obviously, there’s something to it!

 

Anyway,

my sis and I are super related. Everything from the way she laughs to the things that make her laugh, to the creation of an MO have made me realize this.

Also she calls people with dayjobs “Daywalkers.”

Our biggest difference, aside from height and biology, might be that she likes antiques a shit-ton more than I.

Anyway, that’s a ramble-wrap

Cause YESTERDAY, I finished a major, major round of edits for disjuncture. I have some new connections to agents I’m going to attempt to make something work with it.  While I’m still sort of tempted to shave out certain scenes for brevity, it’s should read much more like something you can guzzle.  I think a lot of fiction that does well when commercialized reads like water – you can like I said, guzzle.    Before it read like really strong cocktails you’re meant to sip in many areas.  Anyway, that, plus replacing the wallet I accidently lost while jogging around lincoln park (oh yeah that happened – don’t every use basketball shorts to hold wallets, people — is dumb) is today so buhbye

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7apYcBfRQA – Got dat Mewtwo.

 

More awesomely, 19 pages of this current disjuncture edit left!  I’d be finished today in a second, but I have to put that on the backburner until at least tonight,

for I have to put a gaddamn slideshow together for my sister’s wedding and get ready for Chi-town.  That first part I volunteered for strange reasons, and the show (which ofc I’m doing as a video) would be like….9 minutes, but now I’m getting the request for 15 minutes. I’d love to go OD and make a silly music video but that’s also really, really time consuming, and I have to remember there’s going to be lots of friends and family just staring at a screen.  What we really want is a connection that blossoms into memory and hopefully laughter.  The whole goddamn wedding is going to be people going “awww” and “yay” so while a slideshow can be a good primer, I also wanna make people chucklol.

This want has lead to a hesitation in drive and motivation.

I caught the phrase “Creativity is intelligence at play” during American Vandal, and while I like that, I’m not sure.  Playing is a fun-directed behavior.  I think creativity is usually fun, but if you’re professionally creative, it’s not play, as much as playing out.

But the idea of play is a great start, and here’s why:

Honestly, I’ve done my most writing when a little unhinged. I’ve learned that for that reason that creativity, at least for me, is very stifled when mastery is expected.  It’s true – except for REALLY specific weird things that I can do quickly and to music – I kind of NEVER expect a mastery orientation from myself.  It’s all a performance thing – doing my best.  Even during that goddamn global agenda tournament, I never once expected to win, I only expected to try my best and see if that was enough.  I believe in dawrinism and that there’s ALWAYS someone out there better than or superior to you — the difference to me, really is in the intelligence to put yourself in a seat where your strengths matter. So …even with bartending, I never expected to implement a mastery orientation at anything (“I’m gonna own dis cause I’m da best”) as much as maybe learn, and perform, and improve.

So I’m rambling to my main point: I’m pretty sure giving yourself the PERMISSION to be imperfect, for lots of people, leads to closer perfections.  That permission enables you to ask yourself how you can improve, rather than compelling you to beat yourself up at a shortcoming. I don’t want to get too new agey and talk about how stifling your inner child is terrible for creativity, because IMO living as your inner child is stifling to good editing/self-editing.  As usual, balance, and trying optimally becomes our best answer for the best we can do.

So while this feels like a HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT, because I’m invested in this slideshow in a very specific way that isn’t all-in, I wanna procrastinate and procrastinate.  I’ve only got my ducks lined up and I’ve gotta figure out how to shoot them.  So that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

But honestly if it’s not the greatest slideshow ever, it’s still going to be full of love and far superior to no slideshow ever.

And that’s how I make a public favor feel not daunting, and just a matter of effort.

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So I got an ex raid pass for mewtwo.  This means that if I’m lucky I’ll get mewtwo.  When I played blue, I remember using my megaball to get mewtwo at the end of little league basketball practice, and it was amazing. My line-up ended up being zapdos, mewtwo, alakhazam, snorlax, gyarados and haunter.  As you can see, it’s nothing like that today. #Cardio #IStoppedPlayingAlotReally #ForceFlex

(And it’s nice to see where I was in this thilly game a square year ago)Army

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I wonder if 40% of people’s internet use is dominated by the compulsion to laugh.

 

There’s a shit-ton to say on that that I’m not gonna.

But I will point out that feelings of tranquility or that reward and satisfaction from deep processing seems more and more valuable over the giggle that can take over the top of our throats.

 

I’m coming up with a theory that I wonder would come into good practicality for how I seek to dishapwine.  You know that stereotype of artists who hate their own work?

I have a theory: it’s not that they hate their work, but that they’re sick of it. Here’s why I think it’d be good for me to get sick of my own thing, and maybe it’d explain why my addictive personality has a place.

I’ve met some artists (I’m thinking of a couple graphic designers) who are nearly egomaniac-status.  They’re very prone to interrupt anyone, talk over, even a little haughty.  IMO they’re not super dishapwined because one of them lacks a portfolio and the other one has a lacking portfolio and both of these are not representative of their capabilities, and these joes don’t finish projects. That’s just a part of their history and how I’ve known them as friends, and why I think they’re not more successful, really.  That makes them a pain to work with compared to the tons and tons of talent out there who’d jump at the chance and kill themselves over it.

The American market is saturated with creatives! When you’re dealing with saturations, only chance or special properties will help you rise to the top.

Anyway, when you get really dishapwined, i think it might get a little more than passion spurns you. I found an old blog recently and read 50 pages of it…..which was only like 6 entries.  The writing was ENGAGED.  I’m not going to say engaging, because it was more about being engaged.  It’s engaging if that’s what you’re into and if you have you’re motives or the patience to sift to some cool points.  A lot of people will want to giggle more, though.

So like, let’s take one of the more successful fiction dorks of our time: RA Salvatore.  He is sick of his main character that launched him into bestseller-if-his-name’s-on-the-book status. I’ll wager he’s poured over 10k hours into that idea/character/idea and playing with it, and then tweaking it.

The thing that made this main character so readable was it reads like water if you have a decent vocabulary.  It’s the same reason Harry Potter reads so well.  It’s also the same reason Rocky 1 watches so well.  It’s gone through so many edits and toys and obsessive processing that it’s a product of a lot of discipline more than self-indulgent “NARRRRRRRRRR!”

So, yeah, that demon voice that’s inside most of us and is a bit self-mocking – self-aware of how we make ourselves vulnerable to mocking – it’s picky.  It gets a say more than ego and passion. It makes me really critical when I evaluate my own stuff to the point that I almost feel like I dislike it.

Almost.

but I don’t.

I wonder if many parents feel like liking their kid is beside the point until their kid learns the discipline which will take them far as good productive people.

Something wonderful doesn’t have to be something pleasant even most of the time, so I could see that.

I don’t know.  Just wonderings.  Just blatherings that aren’t quite gibberings. Words for company I like better than most company.

I’m gonna go work out now and think about Chicago and my sister’s ceremony of choice.

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Consciousness

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When the train left Roosevelt – the second one – and picked up into midtown, the boy noticed the car’s population remained diverse, but grew younger, lighter and prettier.  More made up, more fashionably dressed, and more GQ.   People going to their work, no doubt, they’d pick up their look just as much as he did.

And he rode the rest of the train is good spirit.   The few exceptions to the fashionably dressed seemed tired or older, or were begging.  Two beggers he had known, had the exact speech and sometimes came into his car more than once a day.   This one was newer, and hurt.  She could walk through the train but she had less charisma, her pitch sounded more higher strung and whiney.   Surely, she was not a perfect companion through her life of misfortune.

He mulled it over as she paced all the way down the car, watched her not possibly know that just two stops before her that another begger had made a much more successful round.  After she reached the end she turned:
“I’ve got to say.  You know, I don’t have any expectations for help or hand-outs from anyone-“

He pursed his lips.  He did feel bad, but he wasn’t sure he entirely agreed with her statement either.

“-but I have to say, I just walked up and down the subway and, not only did not one give me not a penny, but only one person could bothered to say ‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything.’   You know, I didn’t ask to be homeless, I lost my job and my husband-“
He stopped listening and just felt bad.   Sure she had a sad story, although at least she had a husband.   That was worth something, right?
No, he just felt bad.  But he barely had enough to support his lifestyle of serving and occasional smoke and hanging out at home.    He had already given a dollar away to the man missing 4 front teeth who very gently said hi and bye to everyone in that mentally disabled voice whether or not they actually gave.    It was nice out, and if the man had a cup of coffee, well it was more valuable to live in a world where a stranger occasionally would buy you a cup of coffee without your being a pushy asshole.   And now, he was all tapped out.

So he continued to check out the rest of the car or read the advertisements and notices.  And he kept his thoughts beneath a stony expression when she walked past again and got off the train.  (He knew she would make another round, and he wished her better luck.)

When he got out in midtown, he stepped on the street, and saw the incoming crowd of people bustling with very disturbed expressions.  One blonde woman obviously had the guilt look on her face, but there was also a cringe.   This was not the look of enjoyment, there was something about an unhappy decision in that look.
Probably an intense homeless man up, the boy could feel it.

And he wasn’t wrong.   Squirming, something was wrong in the nervous system, aggressively and desperately shaking his cup at anyone able to walk by on two feet.
“Please mista!” The hooded, beared beggar waved the cup at the boy. So pleading.   “You have to buy me something to eat!”
And sure, he didn’t have to do anything, and the boy just looked sad, he wondered how could he express compassion but he only had a 20 dollar bill in his wallet.  He had already given the first homeless man by his perch in the subway that last dollar.
“I’m so sorry.”
But the beggar’s coup de grace wasn’t spoken or argued.   When the boy considered his apology and looked down, he saw on the beggars dark legs bright red pustering blisters.  Open sores, recently drying, and the boy couldn’t at all blame the beggar for not rolling his pants down.  It must have hurt.   It must have hurt to even walk.  Diabetes does that sometimes, if you’re unlucky and have to get an amputation especially.  He knew because of his more fortunate family which he now thought of, or his less fortunate late uncle who too, endured an absurdly failing lower limb circulation.   That was probably it.

The boy wanted to turn around, ask the beggar if he knew about Medicaid™., or tell him listen, he really had to get medical help. That, maybe if the people of midtown manhattan had to buy him food to live the week, he wouldn’t get what he needed to live the year.   But he was late for work, and he had his own job.

He arrived just two minutes late, late enough that his manager wouldn’t care, and with much more than enough time to set up tables.  The bartender wasn’t in yet, which wasn’t a surprise.  Everyone knew the bartender was a tired vet.

Caramel colored hand by candle light, the boy set many wicks on fire and set down many tea candles on many table surfaces.  He input his code into the POS, ordered himself a water, squeezed some of the fluid from a maraschino cherry from his garnish.

And at 5pm, a man came in.  Bald, 300 dollar peacoat which looked very much like the server’s.  Handlebar mustache, hard, this man waxed it.

Skeptical look came across the lad, something assessing as he slowly went to the bar and lay his coat over it.   The server came over and greeted him with a smile, feeling that they had already gotten off on the wrong foot but ready to charm the man off balance anyway.  Perhaps the man was angry that his server wasn’t female.  Perhaps the man was skeptical that his server knew how to speak politely, and with curtesy dignifying a man of his station.

He ordered a Glenlivet, 18 year, and as the server himself made the 40 dollar pour he looked up again to smile past the man’s scowl.

Still scowling.  About him? Maybe not.  Maybe something about himself.   Who knows?  But a 20% tip on a 40 dollar cocktail is more than a couple subway rides, so perhaps the man can scowl a whole lot if he’d like, and the server would withhold the fact that a nice whole bottle of this stuff was just 23 dollars only a half mile down, or that if you went 3 bars down, outside of this lounge, that the regulated pour was actually a whole half ounce more and still 35% cheaper.
People like this would not care about such little things.

“Two ice cubes only.” The man corrected.

“Absolutely sir, no problem.” The boy smiled again.

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I’ve set 20 pages a day of edits and I’ve been making it EVERY DAY (sometimes more)

I wake up and drink coffee and don’t do anything else until it’s done.

I’m not even rushing. It’s just getting easier every day and I wanted to share.

Will be reviewed with this current project after 5 more days.

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Man-titled

I hate to say it, but in my growing older-fart ways of the world;

I kinda have a stereotype for a man-sprout.  It’s between 25-35. It’s had a parent who acted more of an emotional assassin than a parent.  It cuts people off because it hasn’t learned to listen last.  It BS’s more than uses real reason, because the man-sprout has learned that authority and being a bigger kahuna > actual reason. It’s self-aggrandizing.  It’s unsure, uncertain, overcompensating, and always looking for others to see value within. It doesn’t know how to lead anything but minions.

Basically, good dads raise great men. Dumbass ones who are good at only a few things and use their children to elevate the status of their own tradition, create man-sprouts.

I think the thing with gals traditionally – and I’m sure many wouldn’t love this belief – is that they traditionally are allowed to take a quieter, second, less leading-role. It’s even expected, often. So they don’t have this drive as frequently compelling them to fake lead all the time. That just maybe they’re not a responsible member of their own gender unless they’re alpha, like pa-pa was.  The thing is, when you teach how to be alpha by bitching a human out….well that bitch might just get confused, and RATCHET in trying to be big kahuna.

There’s a sort of person who has to be the big fish.  They can’t even realize how tiny the soup they swim in, really is.

I’ve had some resentment over a couple fellows I used to tightly ally with, who won’t expand beyond being this way. You make a suggestion on how to improve something, and they see it as a threat towards their exercised standing. They cut people off. They BS. They DONT FINISH THINGS THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO.  I’m thinking of a couple of guys I’ve given at least 30 chances too (never give someone more chances than you have years on the planet) before deciding “Ah fuck’m.” and moving on to do my thing. And it makes me realize that these are EXTREMELY different fellows with these same commonalities. And honestly, yes, their parents seemed to suck.  And now that we’ve all hit 30, I can see the ways they haven’t grown up is similar.  I don’t know how I’m not supposed to realize these thoughts. I think the best I can do is get cold about these feels, NOT get reactive (these are things that make me want to unfacebook. [OMGERD, UNFACEBOOKING!]) I think the best I can do is allow myself to realize these feels cause, seriously, said man-sprouts have had equal trouble with the law, lost close friends for similar reasons, or failed at maintaining a solid gf, and again I think it’s for similar reasons.

In the end, I think my mind does classify people into class – like most of us.  I don’t get elitist about it because good company is preferred over classy company. And the way I consider class is, how capable do you allow yourself to be, and what kind of people can you work with. I think one of the strengths of someone like Bill Gates is, he can work with people who are MUCH, MUCH smarter than him. Someone who’s nearly autistic but has such a specialty that Gates will work in smart ways to allow that value to shine through – the way he considers things if you listen to his interviews, it’s not hero worship to realize, Bill Gates is much classier than a LOT of people who get high amounts of air-time today.  And for me, what I just pointed out is exactly why. You’ll notice Mr. Gates doesn’t have to cut people off, and that his patience is actually more of an act of temperance, then merely waiting for his turn.

So I’m gonna get back to my plot, but I think the thought of this morning is I’m unfortunately, as usual, gonna allow myself to realize and think. I think it’s not a sin to do this about one’s friends if you’re doing it coldly and not to hurt folks.  Especially if you are looking out for yourself in the end (it’s good to realize traits to avoid or work around in work groups, yo.)

I dunno, blah blah blah, that’s it for me and back to plot-plot.

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You can’t spell ethanol without eth and anol

I’ve got a buddy who is worried they are dying on the inside every day, because they’re less fearful every day.  I’ve interpreted them as getting less passionate.

And we’re gonna ignore for a second, the fact that he’s a near-autistic satanist with social skills.  We’re not going to ignore that he’s got a drinking problem. He’s the type of guy who as soon as he’s around a bottle of liquor, he’s gonna get his lips around it until that bottle’s on empty. Then he gets blacked-out and starts playing “fight or fuck” with everyone.

I don’t think the last part’s funny. (I’m a fuck! My cousin’s a fight.)

I don’t think the satanism part is relevant.

I do think alcoholism scrunches up your brain and make it look more like a rat’s. I think smarter people smoke pot, more than get drunk. (I also think the smartest people are screwy when sober.)

But I mean that — look at images of an alcoholic’s brain on google, and compare it to a rats.  Tell me that looks like your good ole wide-forebrained simian counterpart. Go ahead, lie to yourself and tell me.  This is America, and that means you can if you wanna.

But I think it’s an oversimplification to say alcohol = less feeling.  (But I think it’s correct — that’s what alcohol does.)  It numbs you to certain brain inhibitions you’d normally experience. It allows you to feel latent feelings more strongly by not inhibiting them, but otherwise, it’s a poison.

I’ve been having to temper my own drinking lately because Jaidree like, brings home booze after work cause I’ll cook and that’s nice, and apparently I can drink like a fish, if that fish were very big, and had a lot of muscle tissue (did you know that muscle tissue = much more blood concentrates and plasma = much harder to reach a higher BAC? Now factor in height and practice and a still-healthy liver.)  I’ve noticed that my ability to give a shit and live in my own little world is definitely lessened during a hangover (which, I never used to get in the days where I barely drank) it’s lessened while I’m tipsy, it’s just generally lessened by alcohol. Clearly.

So back to the point. I’ve got an acquaintance who’s increasingly afraid he’s becoming more psychotic, less especially himself, because the concept of fear is becoming more and more elusive.  Again, I think he’s becoming less passionate. I think alcohol definitely tempers your passion. Makes you more uni-minded and unlatently emotional about your passions.

And I’ve got some distracting stories about having seen him drunk and acting like a major ass. Propositioning things that are dangerous and risky (and not thought out.)  Challenging fights which should not be challenged.

But those are still essentially drunk-ass antics, that distract from the point. I’ve got an acquaintance who is dying on the inside– some neuronal connections that made him excite, are getting less excitatory.

And I still think it’s an oversimplification to say you can blame ze booze.

There are reasons people drink. You have to learn to drink a lot, I think. You CAN learn temperance at an early age, I believe in that still, but subconsciously you also have to learn to binge, and I’m not sure that’s a thing people really teach themselves. I think the inhibited emotion bit comes into play there. I think we all have our reasons for drinking deeply, or we don’t. We focus on something better if we can. At least I think so.

I think one of the scariest parts of growing older is realizing, you may be less alive. You can fear, and fear your lack of fear, but I think the passion and excitement gets worn and wearied out. I think there’s a reason action movies and fiction appeals most to kids.

For me it’s not alcohol I’m worried about, but stupid contentious shit, compounded by the tranquility of giggling at stupid not-contentious shit has in conjunction. I’m saying if you go on facebook and see a bunch of people mad about the latest protests – which maybe, I dunno, maybe they should be, especially if one side did have permits (you stupid, stupid president fuck) – if you have issues with how your family manages itself and lack the sovereignty to correct it decently, if you have contentions from work and feel underappreciated and see that your life’s management is shit, and instead of trying to take control you drink a lot and do anything that makes you feel giggly, and feel those endogenous opiods release and go “shhhhh, it’s ok each breath does not bring you stress relaaaaax”

well I think that’s how you learn to let your forebrain die, and all the childhood fun and wee that goes with it.  I’ll bet dimes to dollars there’re a lot of dopaminergic and serotinergic connections within that sucker that’re well missed.

I’m saying, when they’re not exercised and drank and overthought into apoptosis, people remember those connections.  They miss them.  Then they lament the absence of their own youth.

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