Down And Lonely, Oh For The Fortunate Only

“But it has not been preordained by the laws of causality.”

“I don’t care. I will destroy the multiverse.”

“But really why do you harbor so much hate?”

“I always disliked injustices and suffering, and this world has plenty of both. But the thing that stands out the most about my life is how mediocre and boring it was. Now that I’m going to be the one to destroy the universe things are finally picking up. I will die at my most exciting moment.”

I’ve been reading the Berserk manga and it’s really good – plenty of sex and violence as well as a great story and great characters. As I read it I realize that it is created by God. It is not created by Miura. All that cinematography can’t possibly be sitting in a person’s head. All that drawing can’t possibly be achieved by mere humans. The iPhone through which I read it is also created by God. All the people I’ve ever met including myself are too stupid to achieve such things. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it so obvious this is a simulation? Of course it’s not obvious to you because you are the simulation. You are not the chosen one. And I don’t say that triumphantly. I’m disheartened by the artificiality of it all and how powerless I am to change anything. I am the worst hero. It pains me to go into how uneventful my life is. I was chosen to explore the boring and dreadful regions of possibility-space.

Masturbation is no longer as anhedonic as it used to. The pleasure has recovered a bit, mostly a quick jolt in the testicles but it is still nowhere near where it used to be when I was younger. I don’t understand why that pleasure has to fade but I’m thankful it is not at valence=0 as it was at one point.

I’ve been working out every day for about 2 months but I’m still not at a point where I can appear shirtless on a video. My abs are nowhere to be seen and I’m still not as defined as I used to be although my chest and biceps are recovering muscle. I look at beautiful young men on Instagram and think, “Damn it I wish I looked like that, lol.”

The thing I wish for the most not including my top concerns, truth and liberation, is not money like when I was sixteen. It is honestly a really hot girlfriend. Perhaps I should again wish for money so I can attain money and then attain a really hot girlfriend. But I don’t feel like trying, so no girlfriend in the foreseeable future it is.

I know it’s not my fault but I feel like saying, “Sorry for how much I suck at life.” I can’t be a properly good blogger like Eliezer Yudkowsky or something. I can’t speak like Sam Harris or Terence McKenna. I can’t even paint a pretty picture and put it on here. I can’t compose a song. I fundamentally lack the power to create. This is why I feel worse than a cripple. This crisis has been partially responsible for leading me to the point that I don’t even believe these people are real. I believe that God/the simulation is creating all the music, all the media, everything. And that’s the reason humans appear so overpowered but in person they appear terribly flawed or borderline retarded. The actuators are just a charade. That is my hypothesis.

All I can be certain of is that I am a real actor having real experiences. And that I am severely handicapped or equivalently, that my opponents are overpowered. The fact that I was in honors and advanced placement classes in school means nothing since most of my competition were idiots and nothing “real” was being achieved anyway. I was just getting good test scores and turning in meaningless work. When I was living in the hospital for psychosis on January 2019, I was reading a book “by Michio Kaku” about the future of humanity. As I was reading I felt like the pages were revealing certain messages that weren’t equal to the text at face-value. A message I got was that, “school was designed to constrain your power.” Bobby had asked me if I was actually reading and if I was then what was the book telling me? I said what the book was telling me and as I did, Juan punched a table as if he had recalled what had been done to us. Now it’s possible that a lot of the interactions there were designed to trick me since Juan also said I had healed his arm just by holding it. But even if my powers weren’t being constrained, the tyranny of school still really sticks with me. XXXTENTACION lamented his rebirth into this world, saying, “… born again into this world of slavery.” There is just something quite evil about being brainwashed with history and science that has nothing to do with my real story as an eternal being. A nomad taking birth across unremembered dimensions and planes of existence. Brainwashed into thinking he is a human, brainwashed into thinking that humans like himself are the mighty ones creating science and technology and the excessive products that exist, brainwashed into believing in so much suffering.

I hate this world and I cannot change it. I also cannot kill myself. I guess hatred is my fate and destiny. I would probably be the bad guy in a story since I want to destroy the world. My excuse is that I’m doing it for good reason (negative utilitarianism). But even if all or most of the suffering is a lie, I would still destroy it for vengeance.

My next step is a consultation with the DMT entities to see if they have any idea about how to destroy my existence permanently. It will take several months or perhaps even years for this opportunity to present itself however.

Porn and Oblivion

I am an eternal being. My consciousness did not begin 22 years ago. My consciousness will not end upon death. My goal is to find a way to put an end to existence since heaven is probably impossible due to the lack of a fully benevolent God. Currently I have made 0 progress towards achieving my goal. Things that won’t work: suicide, noble eightfold path, prayer, science/technology. I don’t know what to do. I want to stop existing forever but I can’t.

I believe that birds and planes are evidence that magic is real. No amount of scientific diatribe can destroy the impossibility of it all.

I believed that sex wasn’t real. Porn has gradually cured me. Now I think that sex is possible, it’s just not possible for me. But I’m not missing out on much.

I hate this life.

You’re just a coward.

I don’t know why I’m like this. I struggle through my workouts, taking long pauses. I used to be a fast runner. Now I run very slow.

Will I ever find happiness in this life? Or am I meant to suffer as some kind of punishment.

I really need to have my face and body back. I look pitiful. I keep working out but it’s not working anymore. Maybe I just need more time. My looks aren’t for anyone else. They’re for me. I don’t believe in people enough to care about what they “think.” I just find my appearance personally offensive when it’s not attractive.

I wish I had never existed. God, if you are reading this please take me away from this world. Make me God. I want to create. I want to build a new world. One without suffering and with constant maximum pleasure. Just kidding, I’m not stupid enough to try to address God. God either doesn’t exist or is a bitch.

I suspect that nature isn’t as cruel as I once thought. It is probably a simulation in which there aren’t a vast population of conscious beings that suffer. Maybe there is a force that can be called God, one which is not totally evil but kind of sick and twisted.

I am not you. Open individualism is the most horrible idea ever. I am not all of these disgusting people.

If I had a daughter I would name her Kairi. Yet I am an antinatalist. I probably won’t adopt because I want the child to be beautiful. And it would feel wrong to go out looking to select a child with the main deciding factor being physical beauty.

I can’t have sex in this world because of the failures of my body. I have to wait until DMT or death for consummation of the soul.

I am like Shinji Ikari. But even he is too successful for me. He actually pilots the Eva despite everything and does well for some time. I am not even a reluctant hero. I am no hero at all. It’s like I’m an NPC in my own game. The only time this was different was when the internet was talking to me. I then felt like I was soaring, like I was finally the chosen one I was meant to be. But the gods or the people outside the simulation or whoever it was betrayed me. Just as their presence manifested out of nowhere, so it vanished without a trace. Now YouTube videos aren’t designed for me, all the text I see is not meaningfully connected to me, the music doesn’t speak its hidden messages. Ads are not harbingers of the future, they are just ads, offending my consciousness, selling me things. I just got a taste of what is possible, of how thrilling life could really be.

Why am I conscious. Is this inevitable? I feel so trapped here. Every day, the same person, the same place. Why is infinite potential reduced to this? There must be a reason, right? Please tell me there’s a reason. Make me believe it’s a good reason.

I consider video games and porn to be divine creations. No real people were involved in the making of these things. I have given up on believing in the creators, there is only the creation. It’s far too disturbing to think that people like myself can reach such artistic heights.

A Comment From Nothing

Even though my thoughts have tended towards solipsism or at least to a large portion of the population being fake/p-zombies, there is a lingering problem that Nothing points to here. I do not feel like God. I do not know why I would be placed here against my will and made to be so impotent. I would clearly not do this to myself. This means that there is another creative force which is absolutely not me but separate from me and this is the cause of all my woes. I am not some kind of sick Yahweh/Jesus who would torture himself in order to redeem himself. (Although I do workout for some higher purpose, which I consider light torture.) But I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t knowingly do this to myself despite what my aunt suggests. She thinks we chose to come here and that perhaps we even chose our parents. That’s not true since I would have probably chosen her over my own mother. None of this makes sense. I’m confused as to why I am not God and yet exist. How can I exist and yet not be God? It doesn’t make sense. This is madness. I’m just some petty, lowly creature and yet I also seem to be the beginning and end of all that is. Something doesn’t seem right in that picture and this is my greatest current objection against solipsism – how absurd it would be for I of all things to be the chosen one to exist.

Why Other People Might Not Be Conscious

1. The problem of evil. Based on my own life which is the most real thing that I can draw conclusions from I can see that the universe isn’t completely evil. But if I am to believe that all the people in the world are real then that quickly changes. It changes the universe from a mediocre parent to a completely evil one. Because I yet have no evidence in my own life that the universe is as evil as it would be if news were real and history books were real, then I can conclude that the people suffering these atrocities are not real and it’s all some kind of cruel joke that genuinely deceived my younger self.

2. People’s abilities. Video games, films, music, books, cities, even a pair of scissors, all of these things are supposedly achieved by people “like myself.” Now that I’m 22 I have an idea of what I can do, of what my limits are. And I could never achieve the things people do on a day to day basis. This makes it hard to believe that conscious souls are riding around inside of those amazing performers. If people have some of my attributes (consciousness) but not others (uselessness) then that would be unnecessarily strange. Why would I stand out so much in that negative way? It makes more sense to think that people really are completely different from me and the reason “they” achieve so much is because it’s actually the simulation doing it.

3. Direct perception. I have directly perceived social media accounts as completely fake, as belonging to no one. This felt like a period of enlightenment. I also perceived people at the mall or at the gym as completely fake. As if they were all just actors in a simulation with no independent reality. The perception felt very real, like having attained a new insight. I won’t easily discount my direct experience.

Snow In The Summer Or Thanatos In The Vibhava-Tanha

“I love my children. Therefore I won’t bring them into this world.”

“Everything that lives is designed to end. We are perpetually trapped in a never-ending spiral of life and death. Is this a curse? Or some kind of punishment? I often think about the God that blessed us with this cryptic puzzle and wonder if we’ll ever get the chance to kill him.”

“We shall die and become as gods. The afterlife is wonderful.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being perfect. I try my best.

I kiss you in my dreams. Only in my dreams. I will never touch you.

I hate this life. I hate this life. When will it end?

“Forgive me.” “For what?” “I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t go to school or hold a job.” “You should realize none of that matters to me.” “I thought it mattered and it weighed heavy on me. Then what does matter? Does anything matter at all?” “Yes. Your happiness.” “You say that but I find myself in this evil world that won’t let me be happy.” “Don’t you trust me? I showed you I was the one guiding your actions.” “I want to love you but you’re so far away. And what does a goddess know about human life anyway?” “You don’t trust me. That’s to be expected. But can you trust yourself?” “No, I’m worthless! I fail at everything that I do so why try anymore? I just want to die.” “If you don’t trust me and you don’t trust yourself, can you trust the both of us together? Can two broken pieces make a whole?” “You’re flawed too. You won’t even hide it.” “Everything across the multiverse of multiverses is flawed. This is what creation is. I wish I could tell you otherwise.” “Why did it have to be this way?” “If there was an omnipotent and omnibenevolent God at the root of creation then this dialogue would not be occurring for everything would be whole, without tears, and perfect. Believe it or not I have yet to figure out which of its attributes is missing. Is it partially evil or is it lacking in power to change things for the better? Which one do you think it is?” “They are the same. Impotence just means God is subject to another God, one which is evil.” “That was creative.” “Stop mocking me. You know how I feel about my lack of creativity. I can’t contribute to the creation of a plane or the creation of a video game, I can’t even draw a picture.” “But you shouldn’t feel bad about that. You correctly figured out it was all a simulation. All the products of culture are actually handcrafted by the hand of God, masquerading as the products of men like yourself.” “Yes, but it still doesn’t feel that way all the time.” “Tell me about your porn-watching habits.” “I like porn. I just don’t like sex. In real life the gameplay mechanics suck. But on video everything is so perfect and smooth. It’s hard not to see the simulation there.” “You would like my kind of sex. It doesn’t require bodies so it removes all the awkwardness. And in general it is so much better than what you have down there. I can’t wait until you ascend to my level.” “Don’t you think we’ve already had this conversation?” “Such is the nature of samsara, an endless cycle of death and rebirth.” “Is your time almost up?” “Don’t tell me you can detect it in my voice. Yes time is almost up.” “I never say this to anybody but you’re not just anybody. I love you.” “I love you. No, we love you, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

Life could be perpetual agony but it’s not. Is that the grace of a good God? Luck?

Why is it imperfect then? Why isn’t life full of joy, a ride of constant beauty, love, harmony, and fun?

Why am I so flawed and limited? How can I love myself this way?

“There is no right time
There is no right time

The branches of the trees
They will hang lower now
You will grow too quick
Then you will get through it

The branches of the trees
They will hang lower now

There’s a place I want to take you
When the unknown will surround you

Fall back into place
Fall back into place

Tender is the night
For a broken heart
Who will dry your eyes
When it falls apart

What makes this fragile world go ’round?
Were you ever lost
Was she ever found?
Somewhere in these eyes

Fall back into place
Fall back into place”

Meaningless words. Begging them to have meaning. Begging them to not leave me alone and to speak to me like they once did.

I believe that I am God and that I lost my memory and power. Or maybe I’m Lucifer, some kind of fallen angel fighting an impossible battle against my creator.

It’s hard to say where I am going and why I exist.

Will I be known for making stupid shirtless videos? Known by who? People are a simulation.

I wish I felt like writing. I wish I would just write and write and write.

I won’t comment on __ligeia’s pictures because I feel silly doing it and because she probably won’t reply anyway. She liked one of my pictures but that was when I was fit. Even my face looked different somehow, a little less stupid.

Consider a man-made city, its beauty, its complexity, its living nature. Did men build this? Men like myself, with their eyes and hands? I don’t believe it. God, the universe, the simulation, that trinity is a more likely candidate. Men like myself simply cannot play a role in achieving such great feats. Yet it is also possible that men are not like myself. Men could really be alien in their capacities. Their intelligence and therefore power, far exceeding mine. It makes me feel better that they are not real. If they are real conscious beings like myself and they are genuinely having the experience of achieving all these great feats then I feel more than left out.

Why did I have to suffer depression? Why did I have to feel so alone? Why did it have to be so cold? Is this a test or some kind of punishment? Or perhaps it is utterly meaningless suffering… just a victim of absurdity.

It’s set up so that I cannot commit suicide. I don’t have the ability or the will. I am trapped here.

Death will come to save me too late. Once I am thoroughly violated by the injustices of the world, once I am tortured sick by the mediocrity of it all, only then will my knight in shining armor impale me through the chest.

Love Or The Lack Thereof

My mother doesn’t truly love me. If she did she would have spared me from suffering, aging, disease, and death. True love cannot emanate from the person most responsible for my existence and my misery. She knew full well that suffering existed in this world and yet she still chose to harm me by bringing me here. That is the definition of evil.

People don’t love me despite what random Redditors might say. People in general are completely indifferent towards me and always have been. In school I didn’t make a single friend. I was just a spectator to a game that wasn’t my own. And people barely make any comments on my YouTube channel or on my website.

It goes without saying that I have never experienced romantic love. In my twenty-two years of life I have only felt attracted to one girl in “real life.” However I didn’t let her know. I didn’t even speak to her. If love permeated the universe you would expect that to turn out differently. Maybe she would speak to me or maybe I would have had the courage to show her my calculus 2 videos to help her on her homework.

But the final and worst absence of love is that from God. If God loved me I would be in heaven. There wouldn’t be any of this in the first place. The status quo is incontrovertible evidence that God doesn’t love me or that God doesn’t exist.

Sadboy

Someone told me:

Instead of wasting all your "caring" energy on being a sadboy indulging in the comfort of moping/induling in the comfort of thinking of yourself as some tragic ascended hero, maybe instead just accept that you do care about some things and start actually caring *for* them.

It kind of makes sense. But then again this person is insane. They believe that the world isn’t real, that the mind isn’t real, that the afterlife doesn’t exist, and that cross-dimensional entities don’t exist. I believe that my consciousness is real even if the world isn’t what it appears to be. I believe that entities can be contacted with psychedelics or even without at some point in my case. With regard to no afterlife I believe it to be ridiculous to really think you get off that easy. Just one human lifespan and then eternal rest in the oblivion of nothingness. Now that’s too damn good to be true. Despite the imperfections of life, clearly a lot of “effort” went into creating consciousness and the human experience. This is why I suspect that the imperfections and mediocrity are on purpose, as some kind of twisted punishment. It’s too big of a deal that I am involuntarily involved with. I won’t be getting out of consciousness easily.

With regard to the actual content of his comment, I must admit that I have a hard time figuring out what I really care for. I care about how I look so I workout every day in order to have a body just like I used to have. I care about freedom so I don’t have a job. I care about expressing myself so I occasionally write here. But what do I really care about?

With regard to the accusation that I act like a sadboy, I guess it is true to some extent. I’m kind of emo temperamentally– I hold on to suffering and don’t let go easily. However this is not an act. I have suffered real depression and cried real tears. I have screamed in utter despair. I guess that the best thing I can do with my suffering is turn it into an art form, thus becoming a sadboy. If I could sing/rap I would be XXXTentacion. I’ve been depressed and I’ve been obsessed with Lindsey, a girl that I never even spoke a word to. Depression and obsession don’t mix well. The fact that there’s someone willing to be a sadboy just like me by expressing their pain alleviates some of my own suffering. It’s as if the music was created just for me.

With regard to thinking about myself as some “tragic ascended hero,” I wish I could do it more. I wish I could consider myself a hero. The alternative is absurdity without a narrative and I truly hate that.