A place for a


The ultimate victim’s dilemma

Nobody cares about me. The ultimate justification to blame everyone for not caring. But what point is there in blaming anyone if nobody cares? Thus, if somebody actually happened to come along and agree with me, I would need to angrily reject them. Else my notion that nobody cares would have been refuted and thus rendered pointless – actually leaving nothing that the other person could agree with me on.


Is shaming of weakness useful?

Some years ago, in a time where I was quite confident, I had a debate with some guys at my school about animation. I did not pretend to know much, but I saw some clip they showed me and I did not find much fault in it. So I said it looks fine to me. They said well, man, definitely no, you must be blind or a liar. They showed me another clip and I did see a very noticeable improvement. I said yeah, this looks better, but the other one was fine, too. They proceeded to tell me that the first clip was unacceptable. Why? Because it did not follow the rules of animation. I implored and wanted to know about the rules and why they treat them as absolutes. I do not remember the exact words, but they treated me like an idiot and ridiculed me for not finding the first clip horrible and for not knowing about those rules and refused to engage in a respectful conversation.

What did I do wrong? Being unskilled in their territory? Asking questions? Surely there would have been a lot I could have learned from them, but their response just made me angry to the point that I wanted nothing to do with them. One aspect of this that made me angry was that we were both teachers at that school, just in different subjects. I was pretty much the most skilled staff member in all things regarding web development. So what the hell is the point in making me feel bad about not being a skilled animator? To motivate me to not be lazy and do shit? Well, I was doing shit and I was pretty good at it; I just wasn’t an animator, for fucks sake.

In 2014, I made my motorcycle license. My teacher was an extremely insecure and meek person; but when I took lessons from him, he was a condescending asshole.

It is a kind of noob-culture thing. Perhaps it is even perfectly human, because I have noticed this countless of times. In myself, when I first started out making videos and having the first small success. In programming, when somebody did not understand what was obvious to me. In another guy who also directed a video for the first time. I guess you could just call it hubris. It also took me a while to learn that others are not being stupid on purpose just to make me angry.

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Ego, pain and identity

Yesterday I meditated a bit on my relationship with the feminine. I realized that I am addicted to feeling anguish. When I see a girl I am attracted to, the predominant emotion is not love or lust – it is anguish. Even before I try getting with a girl, I already feel anguish over a love I can never have. So I asked myself whether – given the choice – I would choose to be in an actual loving relationship that feels good and rewarding or feel anguish over a relationship I desperately and vainly pursued. To my surprise, I realized I would choose the second. I can not imagine having a mutual loving relationship without at the same time being constantly terrified of losing it. I have made myself an identity out of my pain.

The funny thing about unconscious ways of thinking is that they tend to fade when you make them conscious. So I awoke today and had this weird feeling of unease, of dread. Felt like I was not myself, somehow not in control. I felt like I was not aware, yet I was aware of everything. I walked past a few girls and felt the usual need for some kind of approval, like a smile. That usually does not happen, so this feeling of inferiority overtakes me – only that it does not today. I feel it, yet it does not hijack my thoughts. It is just there. And that scares me. Or does it scare my ego?

Yeah, I realized I was not my usual self. I used to feel like myself when I had this feeling of tension and slight pain in my upper back and in my head. When I felt weird, I just used to focus on that pain and it made me feel like myself. Today, there was again this voice that told me to focus on this pain to be myself, to look at the world and the moment through the eyes of that pain and through my head. Only that I recognized it as a voice that I did not feel any need to obey to. It was like that which I used to think was me was now suddenly separate and a bit like an external voice.

It still felt like me-ness, only that I was aware that this feeling of me-ness was not me.

I felt a very strong resistance to this weird form of awareness. Suddenly, my identity was gone. The whole point of my past life seemed to be to obsess about not getting any from women and feeling bad about it. Or it used to be about trying to prove myself to others. So I was walking the street and I still had these thoughts; but something was different. I was not identified with these thoughts. And these thoughts kept whispering into my ear: Come, you know this is you. Come back to overthinking and obsessing about this stuff. It will give you purpose, meaning, something to be angry at, something to aim for. But I just felt no need to do that. I just observed it. And as I said, it scared me. I pointed my inner eye to where I used to think is me. It felt familiar, but it no longer felt like me that much. And this fear was – I think it was the fear of this part of me to die. Yes, fear of death. Fear of losing who I am used to be and becoming something entirely different. Yes, dying.

What point is there, what meaning is there, without that pain? Is that even me? A weird and unfamiliar new me is lurking underneath, much deeper, much calmer, much stronger. But the old me looks at this new me and sees danger, threat. The strength of the new me and its awareness feels like an an attack to the old me.

And the old me screams: You can not just be that. You can not just not feel anguish and pain about girls. What arrogance of you to want to be this confident. What will the others think when you no longer feel obliged to please and suck up to them? What will they think if you no longer feel guilty for your existence? It is the only reason they let you live!

And the new me just looks at the old me; without protest, but with calm and – as it seems to the old me – malevolent gaze. Only that it is not malevolent. It is neither benevolent. It just is. It just observes. But the old me does not want to be observed.

Yeah, I figure enlightenment is still some way ahead. But then, who cares? I made enlightenment into some goal for my ego. I thought that when I become enlightened, I will finally get all the girls and respect and I will not care. But my ego did not realize the prize it would have to pay for that goal. It thought that it could achieve not caring by pretending not to care, whilst still craving all that validation underneath. But that is not how it works. It will actually have to die, this craving and this pain. Sooner or later. And who will I be then? I have no idea. There are no words for it. I will just be, I guess. And the ego that wanted the enlightenment to achieve its goals – will no longer be there to witness it.


How logical are you really? – Part 1: Introduction

How logical are you really? And what does logic really mean? Is it the answer to everything? Here is a nice little quote by Einstein:

As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.

What the hell does he mean? Well, I have no idea what he meant – whatever that means. But here’s my take. As a programmer, the answer is straight-forward to me. To create software, I must know how the underlying system works or at least, the options it offers me for controlling it. This is, in a way, a very logical endeavor insofar as I am provided with rules under which the underlying system operates. If I follow these rules – like syntax – and make use of the available commands in a clever way, I can predictably create decent software. If I were to write ecco instead of echo, the system would report a fatal error and that would be that. Where does logic come into place? Well, to me, logic is a system by which you can use and combine axioms in order to come to new conclusions. This is a very precise art – if you will – insofar as you can easily verify the veracity of the conclusion by verifying the validity of the deduction.

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What is banana?

There was a little boy. He loved to get loving attention from his parents. Sometimes he got it. Sometimes he did not. He noticed something odd, though. Whenever he got their loving attention, his parents used to say banana. At other times his parents seemed to do quite the opposite, making him feel very ashamed or guilty. It made him feel like he did not want to live. When they did this, they always said grape.

The boy had no idea what the fuck banana or grape was, but it occured to him that it had something to do with him and his behavior. He figured that if he could understand what banana meant, he could always be banana and thus always receive loving attention. If only he could always be banana and never grape, he would never have to feel rejection again.

So he tried to adapt and be banana. But it seemed that no matter what he did, he could not figure out how to always be banana. Something that was banana at one time was grape at another time.

Of course, he was too young to consciously and rationally analyse this. He just somehow trusted his brain to understand one day.

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Is your pain created by yourself or others?

Demolished keyboard

I want to ask you a question. I want to ask you to answer it spontaneously, without thinking, out of your gut. The question is: Who creates all the pain in your life?

Okay, I admit it. I am not that creative. This question is just a variation of something a woman asked me in response to a Quora question of mine about free will. She wrote: Who creates your life? Although it seemingly had no connection to my question, I felt a deep desire to answer this question. And although I did not fully understand my own answer, it was simple: I. I create my life. I choose everything I am and everything I experience.

I still do not fully understand it. But I can not deny that the only answer that feels right is still the same.

There is a cool site called Existential Comics with lots of comics poking fun at philosophers of all ages. Here is a fun bit about stoicism. The message is a bit similar: You can not harm me. It is only me who can choose to suffer from events I have no control over.

I have been doing meditation for about half a year now and about two weeks ago I had a short insight into how this is true. I was at cinema and the ads started running as they always do. And as always, I had a reflexive reaction to them: I felt contempt, boredom, ridicule.

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What will the others think?

I am prone to judging myself pretty strongly. In those situations, my thoughts often revolve around what other people will think. I think this is a trick of the mind. Who is really the author of your pain? The thoughts and opinions of others? But when you are alone in your room, there are no thoughts of others. There are just your own thoughts thinking about what others will think. Your own self-judgment disguised as judgment of others. This is ideal for the mind that wants to convince you you are powerless. I mean, if your mind told you that you are an asshole all the time, you might tell it to shut the fuck up. But your mind hides its madness behind a pretense of rationality: It is the others who think this and you have no influence over it. I am just the messenger.

Thus, the destructive thoughts your mind fabricates seem like they are not even your own. So it seems impossible to stop them. How could you stop a thought that is not your own? And ideally, it is the thought of someone you are afraid to question.

If a kid was spewing bullshit, you could call him out. But then the kid comes and says: But this is not my opinion. Obama (or insert random important figure) said that!

So you start thinking about whether you have the right or power to question Obama (or insert random important figure).

But in the end, it is your own fucking mind that brought up the self-loathing. It just prepended “Obama (or insert random important figure) said …”.

So maybe it is wise to not let your mind hide behind the backs of others and hold it responsible.


A phenotypical explanation of fear of women

Fear of Women

Recently, I used to have dreams in which my mother ridiculed and humiliated me. I wanted to strike her, but something kept me from it, I felt paralyzed. There was also this one time where my mother threw a nice skull I owned out of the window. I wanted to punch her, but I felt a similar kind of fearful resistance.

Now, I have been thinking. Does it make sense to be afraid of women purely for reasons of shaming tactics or to avoid rejection? It does not quite add up.

Some time ago, a commenter remarked about a picture of me and my mother and my grandmother that it is obvious that they must be afraid of me physically. It is a thought that never entered my head and it is true that I am much stronger and taller than my mother and other women, for whatever it’s worth.

Some time later, during my meditations, I was reminded of the fact that my mother used to beat me when I was still too young to defend myself. Got me thinking.

What if fear of women is – partly – just a residual fear leftover from days when women were still ones physical superiors?


I want to be loved for myself – but I don’t know how to be that

I want to be loved for being myself – without having to do anything. But the truth is: I have (had) no idea how to stop doing anything. Of course, one may argue that I was not doing anything, since I hardly ever approached. But what I am referring to is that I am used to be a slave of my thoughts. I am not doing much of anything in terms of action, but I am doing lots and lots of compulsive thinking. My mind bombards me with judgments of the girl’s and my own behavior. I hardly manage to hold a conversation without getting timid, quiet and tense. Better say nothing than something wrong – god forbid!

She does not like me. She does not need me. It can never happen. I am bad for wanting her. She disrespects me. I am worthless. She finds me disgusting. Am I disgusting? She does not consider me a worthy mate. No, that is not possible! One day, I will find out how to do it right. Damn, that guy over there is much more masculine than I am. Oh, I just made a rather feminine gesture. I must be gay. Whoo, I just acted needy. I just acted weirdly. I just acted creepy. I just insulted her. I just made her uncomfortable.

Blah, blah.

Things should be easy. But I have no idea how to take it easy.

Of course, I am working on that compulsive thinking issue, with meditation. Works like a charm.

Just be yourself. Yeah. I used to think these thoughts were me. They go in circles and circles and then they go in circles one more time. Is that thinking? No. It is just a bullshit LP with a crack.

For you guys:


I saw a crazy screaming woman today – she reminded me of me

Heaven, Street

My first day as a free man in two months. I take a ride into the city to buy a cheap checkers game. On my way around the cathedral I hear a woman scream. A man is firmly holding a relatively attractive young woman’s two hands at a restaurant table. Let me go, she shouts. I wonder what it is about. I look at her hands; she has some kind of necklace wrapped around her fists.

I suspect she attacked the man and now she is getting what she asked for. Let me go, you asshole!

She looks around; a few somewhat amused people are watching. Help me! Help me, you cowards! Aah, you are hurting me! I feel mild shame, but I will not interfere in a situation I know nothing about. Besides, it is interesting to watch. In fact, it is interesting that there really seems nothing I can do without knowing what happened. Justice is a blind bitch.

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