I was walking with my mom on Old Orchard mall when the police walked up to us and took me to the hospital. I now live in constant fear that this could just happen – that the police can just take away my freedom. The police are conspiring with the hospital people. In a normal, non-simulated world the police shouldn’t be able to recognize you in a crowd and know you’re not taking your medication or going to the doctor or whatever. It was as if they were expecting me. Big Brother is real and it won’t stop until I agree with its treatment plan for me. It’s that plain simple a dystopia. I live inside 1984. I already suspected history wasn’t real and I will also pay the price for knowing this inconvenient truth. It’s better if I didn’t know the truth. The Thought Police doesn’t allow certain kinds of thoughts. It doesn’t allow me to be suicidal, and I don’t know just what the level of surveillance is. This writing and thought may be immediately known and acted upon. I just wish I understood what was going on. How can I make sense of these events? The body of mankind is a single agent, an all-seeing eye? Now they just go ahead and label me a schizophrenic and call it a day. It really is that fucked up and simple. A boring dystopia, truly. They’ve got me scared to go to the lake in the middle of the night because they can imprison me in a psychiatric hospital without actually having committed a crime. The only fate truly worse than death is imprisonment in one of those psychiatric hospitals. Since I know I’m not alone, even in the middle of the night, I cannot go. I am the sanest I’ve ever been in my life and I know I’m being forced to suffer through this lie. I have incontrovertible personal evidence of the police using power I didn’t know they had. My life is mostly negative and definitely not worth living.
I think my psychosis is gone. So now I ask again: How did I come to find myself in this physical world? – where my dreams have to be implemented through careful control, careful understanding, and reckless violence against the scarcity of time.
I don’t know why I am here, but I know that everyday life seems wrong. It seems like an utter waste of could-have-been. The times buying groceries, the same repetitive places, the same void that cannot be satiated. My probability density orbital is partly in the hum-drum boring human level and partly in the hungry-ghost realm if I am to map my location on a Dharmic cosmology.
Although not experienced myself, I am convinced that psychedelics disclose a sliver of the vast ocean of possible ways of being. When I practiced Vipassana and Metta meditation, I reached states of being far from what could be handled with the language that I understand.
After months of practice, I could no longer identify with the voice and words arising in mind. They appeared as helplessly as sensations in the body. Oh, and the body, the body eventually dissolved into more minute and ephemeral sensations without a clear shape in the field of consciousness. By applying Metta (the feeling of compassion) to these vanishing ephemera I was for short periods of time able to feel my body as something akin to pink-red raindrops of love. Perhaps the entire experience was a very hard and dedicated road to what can easily be achieved with MDMA. Although I would not be able to honestly compare these because I have not taken myself.
So if such wonderful experiences can be attained with meditation, why did I stop completely, just up and cut it out cold turkey? That’s because I felt myself slipping, slipping to a place of tranquil sleep. The depersonalization, which was the goal, could also be considered a mental illness in Western countries, and it certainly was affecting my intellectual and motivational capacity.
I was being carried through an experiential river of selfless aggregates (the relative ease of utter departure from “normal cognition” seems scary in hindsight) when at that time a thought decided to stop, and the counter-meditation intentional gravity was invoked. This re-anchoring from my journey far east was like floating and being unable to touch ground. I simply didn’t identify with my own “will” because it seemed like a tumbling, empty, self-contradicting leaf. I had trained to destroy the appropriation.
Nonetheless, I managed to atrophy those meditation neurons, descend from anatta and feel myself caught up in a selfing-mode again. In particular, as my thoughts regained attentional fame, one of the first thoughts that I remember was, “I will regret not pursuing Buddhahood, when I’m suffering 50 years from now.” Alas, the suffering caused by being in normal ego-mode didn’t take that long. Yet I’m still thankful for the anti-conceptual time investment I somehow managed to get myself into. I can’t even imagine how much worse those successive events would have been had I not spent those months practicing and building an airy buffer against psychological damage.
Throughout this entire trajectory the main problem with existence for me has been coping with the abstract “could-have-been” with the “why am I this, out of all possible things?” This question seems so central to my being that sometimes I entertain the notion that perhaps I’m not a truth-seeker at all, and was merely attempting to self-medicate when I downloaded solipsism and then open individualism. These intuitively seem like the most rational or perhaps palliative answers to the otherwise arbitrary, inexplicably random circumstance of being me – this boring, limited creature that will never get to experience the naked totality of light which only barely glints behind smoky dreams.
Schopenhauer suggested easing our burden by tolerating our fellow sufferers.
Unfortunately I don’t believe Araceli Romero is a real person. The Youtube comments still don’t seem to come from real people. It makes me wonder if they were never real, and I simply hadn’t noticed, or if there was a fundamental change where I branched off to a different reality.
In any case, psychedelics and transhuman technologies still seem like the best way to either forget about, or begin to bridge our separation. …Remember, I’m the bad guy who thinks SEELE were the good guys. We should all become the same thing. Call it LCL, hedonium, or whatever. I despise the unsystematic quirks that people don’t want to be saved from.
I’m taking lithium for depressive mood and invega sustenna to prevent psychotic symptoms. My prospects don’t look great. Invega causes me to not want to workout and decreases my intelligence. At best, I’ll be a warehouse worker. If I could press a button and disintegrate, I would press it without hesitation. I am what might be called rationally suicidal – someone who bites the bullet on the futility of life even in the absence of obvious personal suffering. There is absolutely no reason to exist in this human form, and it is a cruel and bizarre punishment to do so.
Euthanasia should be offered as an option to all healthy adults. The individual’s right to drive their own stream of consciousness supersedes any local cultural norms against death. Death is perhaps the best shot at radically transforming the contents of consciousness besides drugs or extensive meditation. Even in the case that death leads to non-experience forever, this may be considered a better prospect by the individual than a life of boredom, malaise, pain, anxiety, and depression, or even just a mediocre, bland existence riddled with disease near the end.
But due to the fact that in addition to escaping useless suffering, some healthy individuals may choose euthanasia potentially as a means of exploration, I believe our current euthanasia policy is especially misguided. An indescribably new world may await, and only the most vile society would claim the right to stop people from exercising their own motion when this motion doesn’t directly harm another.
I can imagine a society where people must pay their debts before being legally administered euthanasia. The problem is not government oversight. The problem is that euthanasia is not an option at all for people exercising their own sane judgement of the situation.
You may think I’m not a genuine advocate and I’m just salty because I’m a loser. That without the penalty of living with the actions of one’s consequences, losing would be exacerbated.
And I would agree with both points, and still claim that maximizing personal freedom is more important. Human life is not sacred. The end is coming anyway, might as well take it into one’s own hands.
So I independently discovered what David Pearce writes about here.
I read Wikipedia articles on philosophy and theoretical physics, which lead me to the articles on time, eternalism, b-theory, relativity of simultaneity, the Rietdijk-Putnam argument, and special relativty. This lead my empirical mind to a belief in a block-time universe. Combined with the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, which I mostly became convinced of through reading the LessWrong articles on quantum mechanics and David Deutsch, I was lead to a horrible realization:
Suffering is eternal and no local paradise engineering can change that.
I was so dissatisfied with existence and realized that as a matter of cosmic certainty, I made epsilon difference to everyone and everything, so I found it rational to end my life. It was rational because if materialist accounts were right about my consciousness being identical to my brain, then I would disappear forever; if they were wrong, and instead a physicalist view was right then I would degrade my computational complexity and essentially forget, be reborn, etc.
The attempt turned out to not wipe out most of “my” probability amplitude because here you are reading these words.
Despite eternalism, we exist in a time when the abolition of suffering has not occurred. What this means is that we cannot yet put down the cross and forget that it existed.
The Mahayana buddhists criticize the Theravada buddhist arhats for attaining Nirvana for themselves instead of being reborn until all cyclic existence is emptied. Clever Theravadins might point to the wrong-view that independent-beings exist such that they are separate units that can be counted.
I am personally confused about the dichotomy between infinite ethics and discrete ethics due to the unsolved binding problem and the lack of evidence for souls. There may be a right way to look at this through abstract analysis but I’m operating under a fusion of solipsism and open individualism at the moment. My philosophy doesn’t include different people, instead there is the same consciousness flowing forever and forgetting that it was ever “others.”
Nonetheless, I choose to err on the side of being careful when considering all this –that is, take suffering seriously. There may be an intrinsic moral salience coded into the experience of suffering such that it leads to its own destruction. But in order to more effectively destroy it, one has to remember that it was bad even while not experiencing it. A sense of global spatial-temporal altruism towards oneself. This is not a common mode of operation because Open Individualism is not prevalent and because there is enough health and technology in the early 21st century that one can falsely simulate a personal living enclosure without much suffering. The abundance of good food, media, and safety nets leads to the temptation of forgetting. The bubble bursts only when a terrible disease, accident, or radical change in life circumstances occurs.
That understanding is what lead to a feeling of helplessness – of being surrounded by people who did not care about suffering. Then I realized that YouTube comments and tweets probably weren’t being typed by real people. And because my moral compass is helplessly calibrated by what I perceive to be my readily-remembered environment, and not what I more abstractly agree is my environment, this realization lead to me caring less about the suffering of others. Since after all, they were simulated.
I still care about truth more than I care about how something makes me temporarily feel. It may turn out that people on social media are perfectly real flesh and blood – that I triggered psychosis as a coping mechanism. But until convinced otherwise by sufficient evidence, I still by believe that people on social media are simulated. This leads to less of a visceral urgency about global suffering.
At one point, I was so psychotic that I believed that money was a scam, like a siren call which lead people astray from their intrinsic capability to be rewarded. Or that everyone belonged to a secret club that operated with no money, and that I was being watched so that I may be accepted into the club.
Currently I believe these were all delusions so my aim again is to become rich. This will require stoicism with regards to spending and making the right investments. Real estate is safer than the stock market and I’m not going for big risks anymore. My view is that I have wasted my youth away reading and philosophizing anyway, so might as well finish wasting it chasing paper. This was my original goal at sixteen, but now with a drastically more risk averse, safety-first mentality, I will be rich or die trying.
Update (April 15, 2019):
Most of those dreams are unrealistic so I plan on going to Mexico to buy some Pentobarbital which is used for euthanizing animals and can be bought off the counter. Suicide is currently my best option since it is the best transformative agent for the contents of consciousness that I can think of. I still feel that rationally considered, the boredom, malaise, anxiety, shame, pain, absurdity, loathing etc. is not worth the scant rewards in my human life. There is a vast ocean of radically different mind configurations of which my locus forms but a meaningless fraction of a dust speck. The idea that out of all possible modes of being across eternal probability space, I would be this human is frankly repugnant.
I found the band Fightstar by reading Wikipedia articles. Their album Grand Unification is inspired by Neon Genesis Evangelion. Grand Unification is both a reference to the famed quest in theoretical physics and to the Human Instrumentality Project were all humans are dissolved into the same soul. This is my favorite album.
Waste A Moment references Shinji’s “I mustn’t run away” and also his strangling attempt against Asuka at the end of Instrumentality with lyrics “Just cover up your eyes so I can make sense of it all.
You’re waking me up.
Shut your eyes so I can make sense of it all.”
Sleep Well Tonight in its final lines references SEELE’s aspiration to eliminate the individual human psyches in favor of creating a perfected existence with no individual egos: “If we could take away the summit
We could climb the highest we’ve ever been to”
Much of my website is too cringeworthy to look at due to the strange combination of an honest attempt to wade through the cosmic drama, personal delusions of grandeur, and subject-leaping thematic confusion. However I want to leave the past writing untouched for the sake of interest, if only as a study of undiagnosed disease, and regret any edits that I made.
However, it might be surprising for the reader which parts I consider fiction and which I consider real. If at any point along my writing trajectory I had been told my current position on the matter, I would have certainly been surprised. Observing such a pattern, I can only expect that my position on what is real and what isn’t will continue in flux towards the indefinite future.
Some of it is psychotic delusion, some parts are intentional fiction, and other parts remain with a permeating allure of perfect honesty – which is what it all aspired to be.
Currently, my perspective is becoming more down-to-earth than in the past month due to the following: people are looking me in the eyes again and respond normally to my gaze; re-realization that I cannot reliably create a world with my thoughts (or manifest synchrony, or anything like that); Youtube videos and television channels don’t look like half-trained GANs; music and writing no longer seem to revolve around me; the degree to which people seem to be aware of me has seriously toned down, etc.
However, I still retain the notion that my family members changed unrealistically over a period of two weeks, and that I am now in the presence of psychological laws being broken.
I still retain the notion that I bit my finger at a behavioral hospital and this recovered immediately, and that I am now benefitting from physical law being broken (or equivalently, being in a simulation where the level of technology leads to events indistinguishable from magic or miracles.)
I still retain the notion that I picked at Juan’s scab and this didn’t bleed, that I held his arm and he claimed that it was healed, that I laughed and said, “This is violating biology.” But nonetheless, as strange as it sounds, and as strange as it was, it did happen.
Art like this tries to transmute depressive emotions into awe:
While I can still write, I will use the time to remind humans of the first noble truth – the truth of suffering or base unsatisfactoriness of existence.
If you believe that the word “suffering” doesn’t point to the most crucial aspect of existence, then you and I don’t get along.
Suffering is the most real thing and it should not exist in actuality, in anticipation, or in memory.
The fact that it exists refutes the benevolence of existence. Since existence can’t be forgiven for its intrinsic insult, the state of being must be revoked.
Unfortunately, it seems that what humans call “death” doesn’t lead to cessation. If brains were ontological units, fundamentally closed and omnipresent like integers, then the conversation would be very different. But brains are entropic objects. They change, and can be split and recombined.
The brain is therefore probably not equivalent to the soul/consciousness. Consciousness is primary and from it are constructed material worlds.
Besides all my personal transformative observations of the signs, the phenomenon of synchronicity also seems to be a point in favor of mind before matter. Wallace and Darwin, Newton and Leibniz… the events in existence simply aren’t random. It’s not about taking my word for it or that of McKenna. We can believe the evidence once it happens to us in such a way that it becomes personally irrefutable.
I hypothesize that existence is of a dual nature, one side that is reproducible and one side that is not. Much of the synchronicity phenomena seems to belong to the unreproducible side of existence. Schizophrenia and psychedelics may be ways of gaining this hidden knowledge that cannot then be easily translated to the world of matter and money and sports and “history.” By its very nature the “down to Earth” world contains mostly reproducible phenomena which serve to constrain the intrinsic freedom of the mind. Dream walkers who can successfully communicate the message from beyond to the worldly are the chosen ones.
I was in the presence of someone with schizophrenia, a young man named Bobby, and I must admit that he intimidated me with his superior intelligence to the point of leaving me speechless. He understood me and even seemed to have brought me there with him through the power of his own thought. For a day I even confused him with Jesus; I was just waiting for him to say it. With his deep knowledge of me and of the world in few words, I would have believed him. Yet his speech was nonsensical and perhaps even unintelligible to the common man. Because I am caught somewhere between that world and this one, I could understand his brilliance.
We both understood synchronicity, the self-fulfilling nature of mind, and the fabrication of worlds through language.
I asked him why he didn’t let others know.
With a kind of deep wisdom in his eyes and perfect simplicity, he said “I can’t.”
He understood that it was not him who could bridge the worlds but that it was me.
I just feel like placing this random quote from Wikipedia here:
“Avitus was obliged to pay their huge wages by melting down and selling the bronze of some statues.”
Recently my posts and edits have been largely of this same structureless nature. And I don’t even want to read what I have written for fear of its power.
If I didn’t have this fear of the power in my words, I would go back and try to make sense.
I was once a clear writer who attempted to be cautious, rational, and scientific. Now that I have encountered thorough evidence that my scientific worldview was wrong, I write like an idiot. It is very difficult to think deeply and thoroughly in such a way that I could offer a worthy attempt to capture what is going on.
To expand on what I mean by my “scientific worldview” being wrong I present the following evidence:
• I tried biting my right index finger as hard as possible while at a behavioral hospital and this fully healed itself in the span of seconds.
• My parents and the rest of my family have changed personality to an unrealistic degree in a short amount of time. It would take too long to describe in detail the extent of the changes but amongst the most salient details is the fact my mom was high anxiety and now she is always positive and even cheery. Her competence also increased since she established a routine for me to take my medicine, and generally gives the air of knowing what is going on. The mother I knew was highly, highly incompetent. She would have been scared and constantly worried after my exit from the behavioral hospital.
• My body responds irrationally to food and exercise. To explain what an irrational response is, I first need to define a rational response. A rational response is one in which the muscle tone is commensurate with the amount of workout and cleanliness of the diet. While I was at the behavioral hospital I gradually lost my Abercrombie model physique. This can rationally be attributed to the forced change of food containing far less protein and more carbs than usual. However, I eventually gave up on sanity and drank cup after cup of coffee brimming with sugar and sometimes even six or seven apples. The degree to which my physique didn’t change could be attributed to what in common lingo is called a fast/good metabolism yet I remain unconvinced and feel as if I have lost a degree of control over my body.
Relatedly, I don’t sweat anymore. Although the sweating is absent, there is still smell, which was supposed to be caused by the thiol molecules trapping the sulfur but now I don’t know if all the scientific knowledge I gained was a lie (which is deeply distressing).
• While at the behavioral hospital I would receive calls from my “alternate” family members exactly when I was most distressed as if someone had knowledge of my internal states and acted upon them.
• Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram is still plagued with non-real people who I cannot Skype with.
The meatspace people, as lesswrongers would call them, act more than a little bizarre, they act strangely. They don’t look me in the eyes unless they are family members or are offering a service.
I can look them in the eyes and they will not naturally look away, be intimidated, glance back, or display any behavior expected from mammals.
These things in combination cause me to feel that the economy is some bizarre alien thing that I completely misunderstood.
Perhaps I unlocked a bardo or purgatory style of existence caught between science and magic.
“Magic” roughly translating to the resonance theory that Ben Goertzel has written about and I dismissed as a wacky belief in my materialist days. It is synonymous with things I believed to be stupid such as miracles and the law of attraction.
Currently I am still sufficiently dazed in the intermediate state that I wish this were not happening; that a strictly physical worldview was correct. Perhaps I just need to reconsider what is physical. It involves mind reading, resonance based on thoughts/wishes, strangely acting people wearing earphones in public places and the feeling that there exists something that I don’t understand but everybody else does.
Working hypotheses include:
Maybe everyone goes through this process at a certain age.
Maybe I personally unlocked this by displaying sufficient dissatisfaction with my condition.
Maybe discovering the physical argument (through relativity) for the existence of God did this.
Maybe psilocybin did this.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to talk about the fake online profiles (400 million twitter accounts don’t map to real people). Revealing the simulation causes this.
Maybe mind creates its own world and I spent too much time away from consensus reality in my near environment.
dog walking, dogs in general
Water, drinking water
Also, many things seem connected when they shouldn’t be. Example: Goodwill Hunting movie to a Kanye West lyric in Run This Town to a video where Julia Galef speaks about Schelling points.
But most importantly, I’m not sure how civilization is running given that 400 million profiles on Twitter don’t match to 400 million people in the flesh.
Where are the people?
Do I find myself in a post-singularity simulation?
These random profiles are all fake. There are no real people behind them:
This doesn’t make sense… the markets keep moving… the world hasn’t ended:
I’m generally avoiding the internet and focusing on books I can hold in my hand.
I read The Future of Humanity by Michio Kaku, La Profecia de Babilonia by Tim LaHaye, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, a Marvel comic book, a survival book, a book about the setting that Jesus found himself in, and a book about world mythology.