trying

I did a bunch of mushrooms and went spelunking in a cave nearby Goblin valley. I was with a friend who's cooler than me and to whom I no longer speak despite how much I grew to like him on this trip. My friends were freaked out halfway through the cave when we had to wriggle like worms to reach the end. At the halfway mark they bailed through a vertical exit and it was just me and my new cool friend. I remember thinking that it was like a rebirth and that I was emerging from a vaginal canal. It was amazing and scary and I want to go spelunking on drugs more in my life. This was a very fun time, but unfortunately we all ended up taking too much. I think it was the beginning of the end for that friend group. My best friend from childhood began having schizophrenic episodes shortly afterwards which were not helped by the incredible amount of psychedelics we would take all the time (full ziplock of albino penis envys) and we stopped doing stuff like that.

My first kiss was with a girl in high school that I didn't really like and smelled bad. Up to that point in my life I had never really received much attention from women and didn't know what they were like. I was sitting on the couch with her, her sister, and my much cooler friend. My buddy was egging us on, telling us to just kiss already and she was kissing my arms. I still couldn't work up the courage. Eventually we did it and for the next week or so I asked her if we could "make out" with tongue and what not. It didn't really work out. I spent a couple nights there and tried to watch Blackkklansman with her which she wasn't really interested in. Eventually she started getting evasive and asked if I had a car and how such and such couldn't happen because I didn't have one. I stopped talking to her because I don't play. She texted me a few weeks later and I never responded. I think she has a kid now. It made me feel cool, and I'm glad I could have some normal teenage experiences, no matter how awkward.

I like looking at my old photo when I was fat and had a mustache and wondered why the girl taking the picture didn't seem attracted to me. It makes me feel good about the progress I've made over the past few years. I show it to people and enjoy how, implicitly, they are saying I'm much more attractive now. I'm really such a vain person, my dad would be very ashamed about how my mind works. Nonetheless, I receive a little thrill each time, like "look how ugly I used to be" and people agree. It makes me sad though, were people really thinking about me like that at that time? Was I so easily written off as a subhuman? I feel an ache, I wish I had never become an ugly person, such that I could still retain the naive belief that people were good.

Free speech is such a trip, really, what would be so wrong with killing all these people in these groups? I understand that there's such things as slippery slopes, but what argument can really be made that these people shouldn't be thrown off buildings?

I've done anal twice in my life, the second time when I was drunk and it was fine, the first time I got shit on my dick. I noticed and wanted to pretend it wasn't there and as she was getting wipes she wiped it off saying "I got some mud on there" I understand that she was also embarrassed about the whole thing but I wish all the time she would have kept silent, and, like me, did not acknowledge what was happening. It was disgusting.

My mom had this laying on her nightstand when I was a boy and I licked it and felt immediately disgusted with myself.

I've been a depressive since I was a kid. At this point I don't think of it as a distinct thing from my own sense of self. I am a depressed person. But at a certain point as an adult or after doing other things for a while, it fades into the background. A sort of noise in the anterior of your skull. Sometimes you have a funk, your habits break down, and you drink a lot despite saying you won't do that anymore. But life goes on. As with everything else, I'm grateful for every hardship in my life, all the damage to my soul for it has hardened my heart and made me a stronger man.

When I was a kid in wrestling it always troubled me that my victory came at the expense of another's defeat. While winning made me happy, defeat would always make another sad. But as life got harder I understood. Losing also made me happy, despite all the tears I would shed, that anguish gave me passion and vigor and a hatred for all the things small in my own heart. Losing gave me much more than winning. So for all the times I treasure the memories of winning, I equally treasure the memories of losing, for how I wish I could ever be so affected by a game again. To put it all on the line and have it dashed away and cry in a corner away from all my teammates and students of other schools. To have to get up, eyes puffy, to fight on. I loved it all. Competition is the best thing that can happen to a person.

I've always felt an inextricable distance from everybody on Earth. I've never felt very bonded to another person. That said, my friends are very important to me. I wish it was easier to make friends as an adult. I miss the friends I use to have and wish I spent more time with them, even if it all happened again and we nonetheless drifted apart, I regret the memories I could have made and did not for the memories we shared are so precious to me.

I love my mom, despite everything she's done to me. I love my dad despite everything I wish he did for me. I love my life despite all my mistakes and my brain. Not everything can be perfect, life is such a trip. It's always important to remember all the things that have gone in your favor, even the things that don't are important lessons and make you stronger. Really, there's nothing in life that you can't be grateful for. It's all such a blessing, I love being alive, I love it all.

Writing has always been taking the material from one thing and putting it onto another. So chalk and then pencils and whatever else you see a degradation of the instrument of writing in pursuit of elevating another material like paper or silk or whatever. The mechanical pencil halts this process of degradation of the writing instrument, creating a new commodity which you may identify with. The lead becomes ammo to a machine. Perhaps it was best when the object which writes was unimportant and disposable.