this is a blog

I get such whiplash on tumblr, it is so unlike the world I actually live in. And I wonder about echo chambers. I wonder about polarization. I think about memes and cults and thought contagion.

I wonder about self hate, about self correction, making the perfect self. But being lonely within it. I wonder if I'm proud of being incomprehensible. So I learn to articulate better. I listen to rules, I listen to debates. I have social anxiety.

Humans aren't fully good. And they are not uniquely terrible. They are mammals that will continue to plant mint and blackberry because they taste nice. They are mammals that will cherish their young or sacrifice them or eat them. Territorial mammals that feel no qualms about taking from 'those richer than us'.

I read a historical fiction story. It felt hollow. Individualism didn't exist as it does today. There is no head of the house, no limbs, no macroorganism. Without planning for heirs no one will look over them in their old age. I cannot be invested in the story. I feel lonely and strange. Then I worry that I am a picky asshole. Why can't I have fun like everyone else? Why do I need to think?

I was a lot happier when I never left my head. When an insect on a leaf or a good comic would fuel my thoughts for months. I feel guilty now. I need to be aware of the world I need to be a witness. Or I am complicit. Original sin or inherited karma, it doesn't matter.

For most of human history people were not able to absorb this much current news. For most of human history the news ended by the fence around the village, or by the tall tales brought back by the knights home from their raids.

I don't really know what I am doing now. I don't really know what I am, what I love, if I can love. What kind of loneliness I have. I think I just want to be understood. And I am frustrated that I need a "label" to be able to convey that.

I am not really okay with it. I think about dying every day recently. And I have been idealizing it since I was 12. And I am so angry that I have to exist. I am angry that I have to have thoughts, and experience sounds. But it is too late because I have latched on to those around me like a crab at high tide. If I go down I drag them all down.

It would be better to be hated. I envy Cesar's death. I envy that it was righteous, and beautiful. But I could never be that hated, I have too many thoughts to do anything.