anobody

In the last day, for the first time since I started this rando blog, I actually started thinking about what I wanted to write today. This immediately seemed to me a reduction of authenticity. I emptily pride myself in being a practitioner (started exactly two hundred days ago, I got a timer on my phone) of the thoughts that come into my mind.

I could question myself for even thinking I have experienced rebirth. Many people I have met seems to think so. The Man said this “Unless a person is born from above , it’s not possible to see what I’m pointing to—to God’s kingdom.” (Eugene H. P. et. al. 1993). I thought I saw freedom over two hundred days ago. Freedom from the extreme requirements I have self-imposed in this increasingly more demanding technological society. After a favourable year-long encounter with my noble physics teacher (most exemplified by fifty bucks to our class of four to get McDonald’s), I had chosen to take the graduate physics pathway, and was roughly halfway through a Doctor of Philosophy program.

What unravelled it all is a long story for the afterlife (lest Lady Death comes to kiss me tonight in the oft-disturbed darkness of sleep), but here is the rundown. Porn addiction of over a decade devolving to the edge of madness. Seeing a shrink for over a year and more, unravelling my past of frequent, unvisited events of detachment. With a reducing addiction to porn, finding my ancient desires reawakened, and in pure, pathetic desperation reaching out to the only girl that seemed to appear on the scene in January. A few hyper-crazed weeks of conversation with her, then the hammer of incompatibility falls. And I realised how broken my heart was. It revealed the inner, disparate state of my being. My sense perception, in a desperate attempt for perceived originality, constructed a perception that my heart was already broken, and that she did not break it, as the popular narrative goes. Which one is true, I cannot say. Let me hide in this broken Wonderland of a poor soul, like many others.

What a pussy! What a wimp! The barrage of such monsters at the door of my heart do not cease. Much like my dream of last night. I had dreamed a dark shape outside my front door was trying to ram into me house. I was screaming in my dream as I held the door against the dark shape.

Back to those few, fateful weeks. In that time I slowly realised how hellish my insecurities were under the surface, and the path of physics seemed so pathetic and insignificant. I also realised how much of a basket-case I was, and that I would only cause more pain to her if I stayed in her life. But my greed for her acceptance held me back from severing the ties. I was basically waiting for her to reject me. I was told by many to not make hasty decisions, but my God, I have been trying to tip-toe in life for so long. Fuck patience. Fuck wisdom. They are dead to me. They were never real. I was going to find real patience and wisdom. The stuff of legends, not the band-aids of religion. The stuff of truth, not the wishful truth-perceptions that lay scattered all over our mightily confused society.

But I need be careful with making such distinctions. I want to stay in the Middle. I do not want any extremities, anymore pain than necessary. It will be the hardest, but it will also be the safest.

Meanwhile, I keep on with the mantra of “Burn the Ships” (for King & Country et. al. 2018). I burnt my bridge to academia by leaving the Doctor of Philosophy program – officially yesterday. I burnt my bridge to stuff by constantly spending money (more than 5000 dollars out the window, about half of it going to my first and last cremation service – part of the quest to befriend me death (Michelle O. et. al. 2009)). I burnt all my social connections outside my family. The church I was attending. The young adults group. The Bible Study group. Everything except my family. This was my own fucking ark. Like fucking Noah. This is the hill I will die on (Alec B. et. al. 2022).

Here is my fucked up dopamine trip I had yesterday. Just single words (that, in hindsight, devolved into phrases, then actual sentences) to describe the Hedonism I am experimenting with. Writing dis crazy blog. Cleaning me room. Gaming BotWorld. Watching a bit of Rango, matching the days within the movie to my real days . Sleeping like a baby, letting the Niagara Falls out of me mouth, listening to my bedtime story of John (Eugene H. P. et. al. 1993). Showering & masturbating to the drawing of a woman I have virtually married to. Doing my best – using the mode of anger – to quench and push out any other woman that appears in my fucking adulterous mind. To hell with my mind! How animalistic I was in my imagination, coming at her from the back! I reassured myself – with her own imaginary voice – that I will someday rise from my animalistic tendencies. That the most pleasurable fantasy will be of me staring in the girl’s eyes, and being able to truly, non-fakingly say “I see you” while we slowly fuck and make out in my pathetic dream.

The Stoics should be mad at me. Maybe they will have me in their arms on day, after this hedonistic ride fizzles out and loses its lustre.

I am here again. I guess the Reaper has not yet come. Or better yet, Lady Death.

I think I like the latter characterisation. It is a bitter sweetness I would prefer to the harsh image of flames and eternal suffering. Perhaps there is no such place. Perhaps the only hell that exists is Earth itself. To never be reborn in this place is a good thing. Who wants to be reborn in Hell? Perhaps those who come with a separate notion of Hell only speak so because they know that most people in Hell don’t think of their dwelling as Hell. Maybe the mystics had to coin Hell so that those who do not understand how fucking messed up their world is can at least have a first step towards the potential truth. The potential truth that there is only Heaven and Hell. And we live in the latter. How is it that it looks like a paradise I might address in a future post, that is, if I am still alive to give you readers a nut-job’s ravings.

I woke up this morning in the wee hours of the morning. To the memory of her, my first crush, who I lost my heart too. I have never had another crush except her (Too dramatic ain’t it? My cliche-o-meter is hitting its peak). Whenever her memory alights on me, the pangs begin. My chest tightens. My breathing becomes erratic. My body needs to curl up. The covers of my bed are oily, which doesn’t help (really need to wash them, for goodness sake). My heart races till it hurts. My thinking is arrested, and the mental spiral comes into full swing.

Whenever her memory alights on me, feelings of both longing and death arrive at my door, and I am so used to opening that door. Both love and darkness rush in through the frame, the frame of my heart’s door. Wanting to hold her. Kiss her wonderful lips. Plan my nose in her soft shoulder. A deep longing to linger in her embrace. But the day-mare very quickly turns into a nightmare. The reality of her absence grips me like death. And so I want death. I am too scared of pain to want to kill myself, let along let someone else kill me. The stray thought that enters says that you can die a painless death with the modern equipment of our age. No, I don’t want that either. For death is not what I seek, but a sense of relief. A touch of freedom. How can I ask for healing when it is such an expensive fantasy? Psychologists, counsellors, and therapists are all fellow humans, but they can’t help a dirt-poor fellow human because Money is God. No, I ask not for healing, but for band-aids. That is all I need to last for another day. Masturbation is one such band-aid. Gaming is another. Watching the telly on my lappie is another. Just another day. Just to get by.

It’s like I am caught between Paradise and Hades. There would be many voices that call what I have Paradise. But it certainly doesn’t feel like it. A few hours of each of the band-aids, each of these quick-fixes, gets old pretty quickly.

The biggest kick I am getting out of each day, to keep my sorry ass moving in this fucking rat-race (I have already outed myself, but the old spirits would have me keep going), is to live transparently. To live full of shame, and yet shamelessly. To live full and yet to be empty. The Middle may not seem the best, but it’s better than what I had in the past.

It feels like Paradise at most times. But ever so often – especially in the vicinity of people – Hades raises its hoary head.

My mind has blanked. Sayonara for now.

Here is a sorry attempt at an asexual way of life. Call it a personal sexual method. Or even an asexual theory. Doesn’t help that I have been a thought extremist for over 197 days. The insanity keeps on brewing in my heart. I have popped the egoistic mind. It needs to know its own place in my heart.

But of course, if I am going to die tonight, what’s the point of theory? An anecdote will be my theory. Staring in the beautiful eyes of Lady Death, all the hypotheses, guesses, anecdotes, theories, methods, and ends are mesh together into story. Leave the theories till the afterlife. I got a life to live.

Here’s a data point from last Sunday. I keep in mind that data is theory-laden (Hugh G. G. Jr et. al. 2002).

The house was empty. I undressed myself, laying naked on my bed. I rarely was naked except in the shower. I have only looked at my own naked body in the mirror. Shame normally greets me and shoos my eyes away from my own body. I went on and imagined that I was making out and making love to an imaginary character called Alice. I didn’t want to imagine a real person, that hurts too much. For that person, and for myself. Orgasm came pretty quickly, I am a 26 year old virgin after all LMAO.

Here’s a theory. If Jesus is God, all that I hate, the God I am angry at, is not Jesus. Jesus has been clothed for over two thousand years with so many thoughts and theories that I can’t see Him in His true glory. But to turn this idea back to me, I also wear much of religion. I have grown up the son of a pastor for the last 26+ years of my life. In that time, I have clothed myself in fake religion, trying to cover my nakedness, my sexuality, my darkness. The dark desire to fuck a girl into eternity, with no care for her desires, her passions, her needs. A rapist’s mind. The desire to have sex all the time. If I was such a demon, I guess The World and The Church are glad I stay a virgin. Lest I hurt a woman, rape her. So it’s best I lock myself in my room, lock my phone so pornography is far from me, lest I become the monster of my nightmares. Is this the monster of religion? Is this monster of self? Perhaps I need to undress both myself and God. I am not interested in being a mystic. Nor am I interested in Deconstruction. I am only interested in Reconstruction. If God is for everyone, that I will let Him slowly build a real image of Him. And I will slowly build a real image of myself. My heart aches everyday, but it’s better than fakery. My God seems so small, but it’s better than wooden images.

Writing this is a living daymare, but I don’t care (in my insanity, the me at 3 pm – it’s 9:17 now – will regret this). I am ready for the Kiss of Lady Death. The only kiss that every single, virgin man like me across the long span of history (there must be untold millions – after all, only the victorious men get the time to write their stories of conquest) can receive. The lowly men don’t get a chance in this dangerous playground, this bitter comedy of death. I hate it when people say “That’s Life”. It’s Death. It’s Fucking Death you are talking about.

What’s our (single men) foreplay before entering into Lady Death? The sun that kisses our face. The breeze that caresses our cheeks. The smooth rocks of the river the massages our feet. The poison of choice that touches our lips (mine is coffee). The birds that twitter sweet notes into our ears. The thick carpets that presses into me. These I have experienced this morning, followed by another fucked-up fantasy in the toilet. It’s all I have. How pathetic ain’t it :P ?

I called this post a half-demon because I see both light and darkness. Light in undressing oneself of shame. Undressing God of all the fakery, all the FUCKING FAKE RULES. Actually, never mind, they have dressed up a fucking wooden image. Darkness because what I am doing seems crazy to my past self. It’s all grey. But there is one thing that isn’t grey – heartache has haunted me for 197 days. One has told me that it was a gift. I see it as a half-curse.

I know I am ranting like a madman. But I am not like a madman. I am a madman, in this mad, insane world. If God made this world, man has really fucked it up. If God didn’t make this world, man is completely fucked.

I don’t believe that demons exist anymore. The only demons that exist are lies. But lies are often wrapped in alot of truth. Lightness cannot be separated from darkness in Middle-Earth.

Within living memory, two demons have shaped a story. This story that I am living.

The last demon was related to my addiction to pornographic manga. Within erotic Japanese manga, lays the blur, evil, line between adults and children. This is what I remember now. This was around March of 2021. I have been addicted to this kind of pornography since I was twelve. It has been over a decade of addiction. I had grown near numb. But this event was enough to throw me up against a gate of Hades. A Fear was born. I was scrolling MangaFox’s catalogue of erotic manga (a stock-standard website for reading “free” manga – not so free, I was just another bloody pirate), and I saw a small icon (amongst many good icons) that bore the drawn image of a sexualised child. It wasn’t the first time I had seen a sexualised image of a child-like adult in Japanese manga, but after many years of being stuck in pornography, the fears of becoming more than just an addict vehemently dawned me. I could become a monster. There was a monster inside. I had to run to prison. I had to call the police, pre-empt my thought crime. I was the oldest in my family, with many younger siblings, surely I wouldn’t! But living in secrecy, I knew not. Only whispers of death.I had already been trying for three years to get out. It didn’t work. I was at a gate of Hades. I must find someone. I found a shrink called Peter, and, with tears streaming down my face, in a choked face, I called him and asked for help. This the beginning of the end. I had to pre-empt my own evil. a satan that lived within me. I needed to crush his head before he took control, before he, with his puppet strings, turned me into a pure, fucking demon.

The first demon was born when I was around six years old (It’s too blur). The details are a more scant. They are clouded in the past. There was my sister’s doll. There was a table I lay under. There was my pants down. The doll was unclothed, close to my uncovered privates. I held it near me. I was looking for something, I knew not what. My father so happened to come by, and saw the clothed part of me under a table. I was ashamed. Deeply ashamed. That is all I remember.

The first demon and the last demon. How can I slay them? I can only do a best with words. What words can I use?

I might have found a Key to Paradise (if it exists). I found it in The Chest of Luke (Luke et. al. +85).

_One of the criminals hanging alongside cursed him: “Some Messiah you are! Save yourself! Save us!” But the other one made him shut up: “Have you no fear of God? You’re getting the same as him. We deserve this, but not him—he did nothing to deserve this.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom.” He said, “Don’t worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise.” _ I found this key roughly in March of this year. In mid-March, the most painful moment in a/my life occurred (a story for another time). Never have I hated the world or myself like I did that day. I found myself lying down the next day on my bed, lying there for many hours. A mate called Nate indirectly told me to “Pray to God with my arms open” (Nate J.F. et. al. 2019). I found myself saying this key from Luke’s Chest “Remember me”. I was ready to die. I will let this King, who I have never seen, remember me, while I continue to burn in Hades.

Writing this for a public is letting social seppuku come knocking. Will I answer? All will The Public come and Break Down The Door, guns blazing? Off with his head! Burn him at the stake!

If I were to die tonight, if the Reaper were to come for me, I would be ready. I have made peace with and slain my first and last demons. If I live to see another day, I would make peace and slay more.

https://write.as/me/posts/

Big Thanks to Write.As, I found you and you were the platform I was looking for.

I am a nobody. A broken and beloved being. I am on a single quest. A quest of my life. A quest of a life out of billions that have gone before us. I had the most painful moment months ago, on the fourteenth of March 2022. It involved my first and only crush from over a decade ago. It was only a few weeks of intercourse, but it was enough. Her leaving me was the closest thing to Hell. It's like she died, disappeared. I died inside. I wanted to die more than anything else. It was the first day that I rose my hands up to the sky. I am a hyper-skeptic, and super-judgy, but for the first time in my life I needed Jesus to be real. The dream is more real than reality in my pain. I have never cared about Him for all my life. My rationality had to go. My so-called mind was crushed to pieces. This was a ground zero for me. It felt like everything in this life crushed me into the ground. I could only lay prone. It was a croaky “Help me” into the consuming and confusing darkness. I started this blog to tell a story. It's not my story, it's a story. Woven into the fabric of The Story of Light and Shadow. And why? Because I am tired of all pretension. I am so fucking tired of the grievous Rules that exist. Religion is a lumbering behemoth that crushes so many. And we all are more religious than we think. Everyone is. I am tired of all the whys, hows, and whats. 99% of all those things don't matter if I am going to die tonight. My heart only wants One Thing. It's not even a Thing. It's a Thou. A Person. Love Himself. But where was He? Why did He have to leave us nearly 2000 years ago? This is a search for Him. Just another search. No guarantees for a perfect blog. Only Jesus can write The Perfect Blog. I am fucking human, for gods' sake. Death, a event, might come for me anytime. If you have a moment, grow with me. I will grow as we go forward in This River of Time. I am scared. So fucking scared. I want to fucking die everyday, but I will neither kills myself or let someone do it. If you will, let's go and take the Sting out of Death together. An atomic moment at a time. A post at a time.

(P.S. I was going to use “Just another atomic moment” but I will not. I see barely any Justice in this fucking World. I hate Mystery. Let's burn the Mist away. Isn't that what the Sun/Son does?)