It all began with Xenosaga

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone. . ." To think it was Xenosaga Episode I: Der Wille zur Macht, a Japanese video game, which originally exposed me to that quote. It truly does illustrate the finer points of learning scripture. Irrespective of what theological position you may hold, those finer points remain undulled. Even Friedrich Nietzsche had aspirations of becoming a priest throughout his entire early life. 

Come to think of it, it was that game which sparked my love of Nietzsche. It all began after I looked into where the second half of its title came from. I should play it again whenever I have the opportunity. We all need to return to our roots from time to time lest we lose grip of what we are. I just need to find the patience for JRPGs again lol.

This makes me question if there is any genuine need for us to exhume our past. Aside from appeasing the sentimental whimsy that escalates with age. The flow of time continuously erodes our essence. Why should we make the attempt to recapture moments that have long drifted away from us? I guess that is a question that I will have to present to Marcel Proust or even better, a neuroscientist lol. 

I suspect this is where my abysmal memory comes from. A side affect of relegating my waking moments to the crumpled up scrawls of a failed novella.

Here is my favorite scene from Xenosaga.

 

An Eclipse of Hope

Lately my posts have taken a more maudlin direction. I promise to make it up to my readers by writing something more engaging. For the meantime I ask for you all to wait until I can invoke a fit of buffoonery worthy of placing on the printed page.  

Today we were given an opportunity to finish where we left off for an exam for intro to electrical engineering. Even so, I was only able to complete half of it. The nights I poured into it out of preparation went to naught. I left feeling dreadfully hopeless about my future prospects and my overall competence. On the drive home I turned to this song in order to soothe my nerves. It took some of the edge off but I still had to overcome a sort of hollow sensation that comes from having your chest and guts scooped out.

After driving for a short while I realized that this new disappointment which made its debut on the center stage is completely overshadowed by all the others which formed the definitive backdrop of my life. All of the time I lost in my youth to this paralytic sinking feeling of powerlessness and inadequacy came back to me. This recollection did not consume me but rather, it reminded me of a very profound quote from the Doom Eagles:

All of creation suffers, young ones. Only in accepting our own mortality can we make a difference. Only in bearing the burden of our failures can we find the strength to go on. Only in detachment from glory, or honour, or jealousy... from life itself can we hope to spare others from grief. We are Doom Eagles. And we are dead already.
+++ Librarian Secundus Thryn of the Doom Eagles +++

A sense of relief came from being (more than) well prepared for dealing with this attack on my spirit. Like a fencer who was caught briefly unaware, I recovered my footing and gathered myself together.  My thoughts were such “Right now I am truly in my own element. This is my domain. I am home.” Things then took a turn for the better. This despondently invigorating realization served as a confirmation of being alive. You'd be surprised just what sort of things you would welcome just to upset the bland progression of day to day life.

Regardless of how welcoming we are of it, a toxin is still a toxin. So I dealt with it in the same manner I treat another mild toxin that I am fond of. I lied down and let it run its course. I guess you could say I was drunk on self loathing lol. When I awoke I began to briefly review the material that gave me a hard time and then took a break from it to blog to you all. A break which must end soon seeing how much time I devoted to writing about the experience rather than actually fixing it.

This Saturday I was driven to desperation by a similar sort of fit so I searched online for anything to get me out of this rut. A friend of mine who is a modern military enthusiast noticed my fascination with neuroscience and my recent preoccupation with the science of memory. Lately I have been touting working memory as the very backbone of cognition, so he shared a very illuminating article which prompted me to get this book. I recently abandoned a similar personal project so I could devote more time to studies and internet wanderlust. Seeing that article confirmed just how much more attention I must devote to strengthening the very thing that is most vital to my success. I must now abandon Lumosity and stick to more classical methods. It's only fitting for someone who has always been a fan of the classics.

The Allegory of Sisyphus

I returned from physics class feeling disappointed with myself for being unable to follow along. Even when a portion I was struggling with was personally explained to me I tensed up at my inability to grasp it. It should come to no surprise that shortly thereafter I was unable to recall what was necessary for me to proceed with the problems assigned to my group. I had no choice but to defer to the others in my group whose comprehension outstripped mine. The dreadfully sinking suspicion that there is something genuinely wrong with me was further reinforced by a nerve wracking experience with an intro to electrical engineering exam the day before. I could find consolation in that many of my peers struggled with it as well but I don't. Lately, my devoted studies have yielded a disproportionate output. I searched for anything I can use to help pull me out of this "Sisyphic" turmoil. I thought I just merely had to fortify my working memory using various aides like Lumosity. Lo and behold I found this. It would seem that my little Lumosity program really isn't helping. As if my hopes were not already sufficiently dashed.

Despite my knack for ornamenting my thoughts with verbal flourishes and being gifted (or burdened) with existential insight, I lag behind in the only skill that truly matters, logic; and by extension, working memory as well. I just wished I knew where the root of this cognitive disconnect lies so I can effectively work toward uprooting it. I lack the means to treat this with the aid of modern medical/behavioral science. So I am left with no other option but to find a way to work it out myself. I can only hope that I am just being too highly strung and inflating things.

"Well, it's just like it is with the stars, there are bright ones and there are those that are dim." -Hilda, Outlaw Star

I have wasted the most potentially fruitful portion of my life wallowing in self pity and agonizing over my failures. Now, the flow of time has pushed me to a precipice. The only option left is for me to push back and grimly advance. 

A little scribble that I am proud of

A flute that is so dreadfully bracing must come from a man whose breath is emboldened by a soul of such depth that it plumbs the terrifying breadth of the human spectrum. It takes a nerve of such heft to accompany such a powerful composition.

I was in one of my austere moods again. Then again, when aren't I? I just wanted to write a little something that is grave yet offset by my wry sense of humor. As is my wont lol.

Noonaut space monkey

So far it has been a week since I started my daily intake of noopept and alpha gpc. In case you are all unfamiliar with nootropics, they are cognitively enhancing substances. Think of them as a sort of brain supplement. Despite having hopes of developing an acumen which allows me to engage in intellectual banter with the likes of the Ultra-Humanite and Beast, I had no delusions about what my little cocktail can achieve. From what I gathered from neuroscience articles, the physical layout of our minds, neurotransmitters and all, plays a pronounced role in both the cultivation of our intellect as well as its potential. What is more disconcerting is that our own drive and will can be tied closely to genetics. It takes so little, just a slight hormonal imbalance, to reduce a Fields Medal holder to a drooling imbecile. A rather grim outlook to have for our prospects. If it is any consolation, I am an optimist on this issue. I consider our physical makeup to be only half of what is essential in developing our mental prowess. The other is just pure effort and will. Such a sentiment amounts to nothing more than wishful thinking.

Before I started taking this nootropic stack, I was constantly entrenched in a mental fog on account of my self-diagnosed ADD. My mind was constantly in two places at once. It made navigating the course of my day into a distressful, frustrating, and disappointing endeavor (as if it wasn’t already). Even after taking my very first dose I felt an unfamiliar sense of clarity. I have become so accustomed to my frequent meanderings that being separated from them has left me with a type of superstitious dread. That as I become more and more of a rational organism I become less and less of a feeling one. I was correct in attaching the label of “superstitious” to this type of separation anxiety that is reminiscent of the hokey drivel of a Saturday morning cartoon.

For one thing though, my stack does not remove the malaise but, it does blunt it very well. The liquor of disillusionment that I so freely drink from made languishing in my room a necessity, all so that I may soothe my nerves. This has become less of a necessity. I can now attest to noopepts effectiveness as an anxiolytic. Unfortunately my schoolwork has become more of a test of will than before. I am confident that this is just a rough transition that comes from starting a new semester. Now that I have regained the kinetic potential that comes from focus I must dig deep and find the will to sustain momentum.

Sartre and Camus Came to Me in a Séance

This pervasive and deeply rooted nervous dread that seeps into my every waking moment is something that I have learned to live with. I believe that it is simply the human condition, the existential predicament if you will. A sort of nagging ball of doubt that forces us to recognize that our lives are slipping away with every passing moment. We all adjust in our own manner or, quite literally, die trying. The most common panacea is religion but those of us with a constitution not suited for this prescription have to search doggedly for a different remedy. Whether it be vice, asceticism, or throwing ourselves into some sort of “fruitless endeavor.” A term which I use loosely given the utterly elusive nature of value judgments. The list goes on and on but in the end all of these remedies amount to nothing more than a placebo. For no matter what, we are all burdened with having to tolerate ourselves.  We can only exist in a detached stupor for so long. Even the most ideal paradise can grow boring and cause us to yearn for anything else so long as it is different.  

This chilling reflection was written during my meditation session. I find it comedic that coming to touch with my very center (which as you can tell is overly romanticized) gave rise to this fiendish little affront to decency. If this is what “detachment from self” truly is, then most of us would be far better off not coming anywhere near it. But, I suspect that this is all just the very first step toward “enlightenment.” If only I can find the nerve to put the next foot forward.

I will let you know that this was all written spontaneo. Whether that adds or detracts from it, I cannot say.

Alpha Flight makes my pants tight

You see these mofos right there? They are Team Alpha Flight. The original A-Team. You CANNOT fuck with these guys. Their shit is so sick that people’s pants instantly drop on sight. They are so cool that whenever John Woo sees them on t.v. he gets inspired to write homoerotic fan fiction about them. This one dude tried making them look stupid at a party and before he knew it he found himself face-down in a grimy alley with his butt stuffed full of Mexican jumping beans. In order to comprehend just how sweet these homies are you’d have to get in a knife fight with a coked up gorilla. Rather than suffer a narcotic fueled simian stabbing I’m gonna lay down a story on your candy asses.

Wolverine used to be a scared little woodsman who roamed Canadian truck stops looking for discarded footwear catalogs. He was so wacked out he thought it was cool to regularly cover his entire body in pickle juice. One day he tried hitting up on a chick that he was all hard up for. Sure enough, he got shot down harder than a Somalian spy plane, so he turned to drowning his sorrows in Nyquil and huffing computer cleaner. One day he ran out of Nyquil so he walked to the store and came across Team Alpha Flight chilling in the parking lot. He couldn’t pry his eyes off them cause they were so cool. When he gets excited he just loses it and starts to nuzzle up to people and make creepy goat noises. Guardian was in a bad mood that day and was gonna make Wolverine pay for creeping the shit out of him. But Puck, the illest badass in all of Team Alpha Flight, gave him a look that stopped him right in his tracks. Guardian knew that he must let Puck handle this, so he stepped aside. Puck then flew right at Wolverine into a ball and hit him so hard that it literally knocked some sense into him.

It was in that moment that Wolverine got in touch with his cool side. You see, Puck has the innate ability to sense when people are cool or not. Despite Wolverine acting like a complete dufus Puck saw that deep down Wolverine is reaching out for acceptance. He only wants people to accept the dope ass crazy fucka inside him and understand that he just wants to cut peoples shit all day. After receiving that moment of clarity Wolverine went on a rampage and started cutting up everything. He cut phone lines, cars, cheese, that shit out, budgets, you from the football team, umbilical cords, you name it. Apparently, all those years of covering himself in pickle juice gave him the ability to preserve his cellular state and regenerate himself. From there on out, he rolled with Team Alpha Flight, cutting punk bitches and playing Heroclix afterwards.   

So there you have it. Now you know just how utterly sick Alpha Flight is and exactly how Wolverine got his healing factor. Shaman couldn't make it today cause he's out healing peoples roids and dandruff.

A Cruel Muse Inspires Gloomy Musings

Our minds are fickle things that choose to give us insight at the most inopportune times. As of late my bottled up existential thoughts have been pleading for the release of a despondent outpouring. I think it is because each day I am becoming more aware of just how utterly impotent and powerless I am. This frustration traps me in a fugue state where everything around me is truly incomprehensible and my very capacity for thought, focus, and communication escape me. This lack of clarity creates more failures which prolong my fugue state. A truly self sustaining vicious cycle. Then I find myself treating each day like a crumpled up rough draft thrown into a waste basket.

This is a little something that I had set aside for a time when I felt more inspired. It would seem that my muse goes by the name of regret. You will find that this is far less off-putting than me venting my petty grievances. The miserable little tirade from before is but a precursor for the innocuous inoculation of the human condition that I will now administer with the deftness of a quack. 

It is during these moments of reflection that we are forced to make peace with what we are, what we are not, what could have been, and what we will never be. The totality of thought that forms our very being is purely ephemeral. As such, it lacks any definite shape and character. It may be nothing more than just the remnants of a repeated firing of neurons, like spent mortar shells.

Many have proffered their own recipe for success and happiness. Snake oil vendors and prophets alike have tried to give a name or symbol, turn into a consumable, or write a manifesto for that very thing that keeps us going in the face of incessant futility and frivolity. When in fact it has no form. It could very well be just nothing more than an ideal arrangement of neural pathways and a perfect balance of neurotransmitters and hormones. If this is true then the search for either contentment or enlightenment are nothing more than just a wild goose chase.

Daoism had the foresight and wisdom to call this amorphous thing The Way.

Ravioli and ham sandwiches fuel apoplectic fits of egomania

Oh God. There are times when I scare myself with what I write. After having a thirty minute meditation session with my brainwave entrainment music I fell into a state of half-sleep for about another twenty to thirty minutes.  After eating some ravioli, ramen, and a ham sandwich I felt reinvigorated. I turned to my usual source of inspiration, focus, and energy. Really haunting and vampiric organ music. Something about the organ speaks to me. I am sure it has everything to do with what I have grown up seeing what this type of music is associated with. A cultured, frighteningly intelligent noble (preferably a vampire) who lords over a vast castle on a precipice surrounded by the verdant expanse of an ancient forest. These sort of meanderings are just flights of fancy. I am sure we would be surprised or even horrified if we shared the sort of sentiments and thoughts that form the dilapidated foundation of our frail and mortal egos.

I highly suggest you check out the Vampire Knight series. It is deliciously tragic; made even more delectable with a soundtrack that adds a devastating impact which rattles your very bones. It blindsides you repeatedly and tosses you into the icy desolate wasteland of humanity. After listening to this particular performance the words and thoughts just poured freely out of me. Even as I am typing my music continues to push me forward. The apoplectic fit of egomania which was ignited by my music led to me writing this little reflective piece. I can only hope to carry the momentum of this fit all the way to the gym later tonight.

A simple flourish at the end adds a little more depth to a performance. Even if it is a disjointed one that becomes completely lost to a sudden collision with the madness of the self and the uncompromising reality of this world.  As I grope feverishly through this fog I occasionally catch glimpses of times that never were and could have been. After so many years all one can do is laugh and thrash with reckless abandon. At least with what little strength our aging bodies still have. As gravity matches its force with our burdens it continues to submerge us into the earth. Even after we have entered the abyss. In such unforgiving depths we are loathe to experience it alone. So we call upon those nearby to join us. So I say “Which of you have the sand to plunge into the very depths of your own self?”