I have written a lot of stuff on this blog that was … too honest. I did not do much to conceal my identity. I posted photographs of myself. I wrote stuff that could be very easily used against me, in ways that I don’t need to explain to you.
Blog has not gotten much love from me recently, I posted most stuff on my Facebook page.
All the while I was doing this, I was driven by a rage. A rage to tell what is on my mind, a rage that made me blindly hate those who want me to shut up or use it against me. Just come, motherfuckers, I thought. But my experience has shown me I do not have the psychic or financial power to defend myself against those who don’t wish me well. I wish I had that power, I really do. But it’s a fight in which I have everything to lose and little to win, aside from a defiant bird flipped at the forces that be.
I suppose some stuff is best kept for locker room talk. Hell, my stuff isn’t even suited for that. I loved reading from those who can relate to my stories. I loved the honest exchange. But I am starting to ask myself if the price I may have to pay for it is not too high. My paranoia aside, there are people out there who have the means and power to go after people who post or say controversial stuff.
But neither do I feel I can really keep writing this blog without speaking my mind. It would feel like a lie. All or nothing. Or is that childish? I don’t know, it’s just how I feel. I’d rather be completely silent than to have to pretend. Rather be alone with my misery than to pretend I am not miserable. Or angry. Or whatever. Anything that people can’t accept.
Maybe there’s stuff we have to deal with on our own. Not stuff that is shared. Kinda sad idea. That in the end, I would bow down to this damning game of pretending and playing nice, of keeping up this ludicrous idea of a peaceful civilization. That friendship can only go so deep and the only person who really ever knows you is yourself.
Maybe I can become a comedian and say all this stuff without people getting nervous, because they think I’m not being serious.
Maybe I can become powerful enough so that nobody will be able to do shit. And those who will, I will crush them badly enough so that they won’t come at me again. But that’s not reality and likely will never be.
What a weird world.
I suppose the real minorities in this world do not get sympathy from anyone. Hah. As if that was a surprise. But those retards keep telling otherwise, don’t they. They say they want to help the weak.
Nah. It’s just a lie. It’s a lie in the animal kingdom and it’s a lie for humans. Those who have no power, those who get no love, nobody really cares what happens to them. Rather, people are more than happy to project their own pain onto them and attack them for something that somebody else did. Like the guy who has to take shit from his boss 5 days a week and then somebody comes along who’s even lower in the social ladder and he can unload his frustration on him/her.
Politics will never bring equality. It will never happen. Group X may rise to defeat Group Y. But that will not create equality. That will just lead to an oppressed Group X.
And that’s just the big groups, right. Those who share a misery.
If I had a big nose and was discriminated against … and I found 10 million other people with big noses who are discriminated against, then we would band together and make a ‘pro big nose movement’.
But that’s not reality. Most people are their own minority that will never rise up. Just suffer in silence and then die. Heh, I actually wanted to write a separate article about this. Maybe I still will. Hm.
So where does this lead me? Solipsism? Or enlightenment? I don’t know. I am my own next man, as is true for many many others. So weird. I always felt like I wanted people to understand. To share something. To be intimate.
But there’s always a line. Even the most understanding person will draw a line. And that’s cool, I do it too. What does it mean, though? It means that the only truth is to be found within. That the core of your own life is always yourself. And that other people are more like the decoration on your life.
It’s strange. The idea makes me feel isolated. Like nothing has meaning anymore, since most of my life has consisted of this pursuit of … I don’t know, have some recognition or something. Seeing that I can’t ever possibly have it (even in an utopian world) is a weird discovery. So what is left? Who is left to really talk to? Just myself. Do they call this the long dark night of the soul? Or just confidence? Or truth? Or reality? Or nihilistic disillusionment? Or bitterness? I don’t know. I am not even bitter right now. Or disappointed. That would presume I still believe it can – or should – be any different. But it can’t. Everyone is their own universe.
And maybe that’s what leads to so much pain in the first place. People seeking for something out there. To have the perfect friendship, the perfect partner, the perfect society or whatever. A lot of money, sex, blah blah. And to gain this, they leave a wake of destruction behind themselves. To not have to face themselves. To not have to face God, perhaps. To not have to face this utter loneliness of being totally alone in having to deal with all but superficial social needs.
It’s also weird that a large part of me actually finds the idea disgusting to be too intimate with anybody else. It’s like two people live inside my mind. One that wants to open up without any boundaries whatsoever. And the other that wants to close up so completely that this physical existence becomes more or less pointless.
Seeing that all those things won’t give me what I feel I need, what is left? There is nothing left to pursue. No great art to create, no friends to make, no conversations to have, no girls to fuck. None of these things truly matter. It’s all an illusion, a dream. So … what is left? Only myself. Myself and my own weird existence in this pointless world. And I don’t mean to say the world is bad for being pointless. It just is. There is no judgment involved. Judgment is involved only when you don’t truly believe something to be true. Like when you first hear about the nature of women. And you are so attached to this idea of the holy feminine and you just can’t let go. You deny truth. That is when you judge truth. But when you actually, undeniably allow yourself to see truth … there is no judgment anymore. There is just what it is.
And society keeps pushing this narrative, doesn’t it? ‘Be yourself.’. Nah. If everyone was fully and wholly themselves, humanity would not be able to handle it. Not with so much pain stored underneath. If everyone’s darkness was to reveal itself suddenly, it would likely destroy the world and leave only dust.
There is no being yourself. And there is. You can be yourself with yourself. But not with others. This material world will always be a game. A compromise. Even the most powerful person on this earth is not fully themselves. In fact, the most powerful have to play the greatest amount of games to stay in power.
There is no solution. This physical existence can never be a vessel of your full self-expression, or can it? Maybe to some extent, but even then you run into barriers, some more, some less. The best thing you can gain is self-being. The ability to live with who you are, no matter what. But to push your self-expression, ideas and feelings into everyone’s faces without getting any negative feedback, shame, shunning or stuff like that? Nah. It’s not possible. Just think of it. For one person to be able to fully express themselves, you would need everyone else to go out of their own way to accommodate that. And even then, it likely wouldn’t be good enough. What if that person decides they want to be able to fly? Nobody’s gonna be able to help with that. It’s kinda like that with feminism, isn’t it. The wish to gain validation for all those people are. Full unconditional validation. But it can never happen.
Yes, maybe that’s what self-expression is about. Seeking validation. To show yourself and get loved for it. But that’s for babies. Literally. In the end, you have to do it yourself. You have to love what you are. Even without the expression. Even when you are so oppressed you can barely express the minimum of who you are. You have to love your miserable existence and forgive yourself somehow, even if nobody else will love or forgive you. You have to take the beating. You have to take the shame. And the guilt. And the pain. And you have to love it and deal with it yourself even if you can never express it. Even if nobody will ever appreciate or love you.
Should I close my blog? What do you think? Maybe you have some angle I haven’t thought about. Who knows.