Why programming?

Shows in a lineup are referred to as "programming".

Brainwashing people to behave a certain way is also called "programming"

A 'program' on a popular streaming service has been pointed to as having an effect on teens.

This show, "13 reasons why" has been looked at because teen suicides spiked after the airing of the show.

 This concerns hardly anyone but maybe the reporters and this blogger. I don't like to hear of anyone causing harm because I think they're all me. Everyone is me, and everyone is also not me. This is what keeps me holding compassion on this island of selfishness.

 What can help?

 Maybe some homegrown 'programming' that focuses on compassion and fuzzy human interest stories. Something like Black Mirror, but without the horror angle. Sci-Fi fuzziness might take off.

 If it saves one life, it's worth it.

The 420 Effect

 I finally have an indicator of my demographic, and I am so happy to see that everyone had a very good holiday.

 The day was filled with adventure for me, as I reside in an area that scoffs at coughs. We looked up the designations of locations that matched the theme of the day and gave them a hazy visit. My company consisted of a couple with their two doggies. The pooches provided great cover and distraction, but were also liabilities in some of the more dangerous areas we had to visit.

 All in all, the pleasure is all mine. Sorry to be so stingy.

In the eye of the BEE holder

Art. It's subjective. But just like popular opinion, those pieces that appeal to more people seem to have more value to society.

Last month some "millenials in hoodies" bought a simpson-themed art piece for an ungodly amount of money.

 The art mimics Groenig's style and characters perfectly, deleting the eyes and replacing them with an "X".

 I'm not up to date on my current artists, so I couldn't say how many of this artist's contemporaries also use this cheap method of recognition to attach automatic emotional connection to their pieces from the general public using pop culture images.

 Some people try to bring up Warhol and that movement, but I am deterred from his work by the system that propelled only him to master status. He was and is nothing special in my view.

 As much trash I talk, I will most likely continue working on the pop-culture themed sculpture that I've been designing. It's funny because people already laugh at the character.

 Money over morals? Art is everywhere? Meaning can be gleaned from a dust buddy?

 Ah, it matters not. We're all dying. Let's do it in style!

Sweet Yin, Spicy Yang

There's no great art without great suffering, so I gravitate toward as much pain as possible.

Smiling only feels better after a good cry.

 This exchange of loneliness and rejection in order to feel future joy seems so very daunting.

I exchange each tear of despair, heartache, and sorrow for those of gratitude.
I want to feel, so the range has to be set.

No more snakes,
No more alligators,
No more tornadoes,
Never fear again.

Spent decades in the yin, now let's get ready for the era of yang.That

Disassociate

She was fractured. Into two. 

One passive, the other aggressive. Each one pulling power moves or sneaky actions to be the one to claim "control".

Both personalities were adversarial, until they got broken up by the third presence. Not an expressed personality, but a super-repressed id. 

This id whips both entities into staying separate by making her re-live her horrible past abuses. This created memory mixed with her imagination is what divides her.

She's been victim to it so long that now she has embraced her fractured self. 

Who can blame her? 

We can only think of others through our own frame of mind. Even if we claim to be able to change our mentality to closely 'resemble' other's, it is just a resemblance based on a perception. We can take their words and experiences and try to get as mirror-like as possible, but we can ultimately have no idea what it's like to be in someone else's head.

The pained sometimes inflict it out of reflex.

This, too, must be forgiven. Victims of terrible abuse can become so entrenched in their own suffering, that it is very easy for them to spread the suffering to their most inner circles.

So to the disassociatives, I sympathize, empathize, and wink with my eyes at you. Your heart and soul are going to be one again.

We are the rock that lands in the middle of the lake.

 Ripples.

 Troughs and crests of the liquid press against each other in an exquisitely beautiful chain reaction. .

Life rises and falls with gains and setbacks, harrowing wins and sorrowful losses.

 We signed up for it all. Most of us have been doing it over and over again for quite some time. A good number of participants are addicted to the suffering part, the dip in the ripple. It pushes toward the shore, lifting up the crest in proportion to it's energy.

 The harsher the suffering, the bigger the joy payout. These are the highs those thrill-seekers work lifetimes to achieve. 

 One of the alternatives to this is to keep an even keel at all times. Never getting upset, but also not ever being giddy. Stoicism is the epitomy of emotional control. Seems such a waste to me to be inhabiting a human body/soul/spirit and not ever utilize strong emotion. It's like buying a monster truck to drive 5mph to the church down the street every Sunday morning.

 I'm going through some metamorphosis again. Sometimes life changes and I have to adapt, other times it seems like the opposite happens. Both are occurring currently, making this an interesting time.

 I've suffered, some may say not enough. I have some pretty positive 'highs', so I think I'm doing alright. It's still one of my life goals to cry tears of joy every morning while waking. I've only genuinely done this twice, and it's blissful.

 Thanks for sticking here, keeping check on those emotions we try to control enough to have a fun experience here in this wild VR game we call 'life'!

Time to fold dimensions to save it all.

Math is complicated.
  It's never come easy to me,
    I've failed before I prevailed.

 But regardless of my spite of numerals,
    an intrinsic logic comes through in the form of intuition.
              I can grasp concepts that I cannot explain with data.

 Each number has it's own emotional expression.

 Numbers that harmonize move a unit towards integration to the point of non-existence.

 So, since we all go away in one way or another after all, why don't we just set a few things straight:

• Every letter of every language can be expressed numerically in almost infinite ways.
• Feelings can be quantified, whims estimated, and cravings assigned numbers
• Once everything is based on numbers, the unified system approach brings forth Phi
• Phi ratio includes every possible number combination, which is ALL of existence, and alts
• Rules can be made up on the fly. Success relies on ability to stick to the chosen rule-set.
• From these truths, a person can manifest experiences, materials, food, and mindsets.

 

 This is one of the keys to laws of attraction and manifestation. When someone wishing for something imagines the light that bounces off the goal, they are emanating the frequencies that harmonize with that object, experience, or person.  

So, although I'm atrocious at calculations, my brain can give me a break by letting go of the 'how' and focusing on the 'why' and 'what happens' of these theories. 

Incel in a cell selling out

The word itself sounds wrong: "Incel". Involuntary celibacy.

 I blink many times a day, this is involuntary.
 I also do not have sex many times a day,  but this is no reflexive action required by my body.

I'd like to rename it to a longer and more to-the-point moniker. "Forced Celibacy".

 That's more like it. When those words hit the ear, an image of someone holding a gun to another person's chastity belt comes to mind. This is an image that closely resembles the actual feeling of being an 'incel' than the original name implies.

 How are we forced to not have sex?

 Firstly, we have our genitals mutilated at birth by a religious practice. The religion is not even what our mothers and fathers follow. The lack of sensation to the missing area and resulting scar tissue end up lowering the libido by decreasing sensitivity to fractional levels.

 Secondly, no allowances for sexual discovery are given while growing up. Each nuclear unit makes up its own methods to pass along information, relay any sexual wisdom, and allow for privacy enough to facilitate experimentation. Most families do not employ any of the above methods and leaves the human lacking in all areas sensual. Confusion and uncertainty about sexual identity turns shyness into complete awkwardness when confronted with the idea of sex.

 Thirdly, we are a world that follows religious laws that uphold monogamous relationships. Even though the lowest number of people are attending church, more marriages are happening. The laws of each town, city, state, and nation all legally recognize the bond between only TWO people, and nothing more. This places a single union with fidelity at the highest rung. To attain a healthy relationship, everyone must strive to be monogamous and faithful in order to have sex and keep having sex after marriage.

 Fourthly, the importance of material goods and mere survival by expending energy for others profit is seen as 'responsible' and is looked at as one of the best virtues.

 "I'll not even look at a man if he doesn't have a job", this one waitress says to me.
She plays the structured game exactly as it's been set up. Those that don't give their time to the good 'ol corporation don't get any pudding pie.

 Fifth on the list is assholes. No, not the rectum, but the wreck of human scum that is the bad guy. They say "Good guys always finish last".

 The man who first made that quote up got laid on the spot.

but seriously, this mindset delves deep within the psyche of the current generation. Before, men were built to be assholes for good reason, they had to help their family survive in a land of assholes. There were no good men associating with them.
 As time went along, they had to mix. This is where the saying came from. The good guys didn't even flinch because they were fine finishing last and knew their scenery was better.

 Until women started to become programmed to hate themselves. Self-esteem issues plague more girls than ever before. This is due to saturation of denigrated and degraded women in social media.

 Those that rely only on others for their oxytocin-9 shots are sadly mistaken when left alone. They feel as if they deserve harsh treatment and exposure to rude behavior. Good guys can't provide that, but they do make for good heart-break material if someone were to have a darker heart.

 The last man I witnessed with his pants below his hips while cradling his manhood outside of his underwear in public stated that he did so to show women how quick he'd be if they were to get 'froggy'. In many areas, this would seem to be a social faux-pa, but in the urban areas, there exist females that absolutely love to see their mate do this. Good guys don't grabba their junk.

 I propose booths on every corner. These booths are for consensual free sex between adults. A variety of safety gear and prophylactics can be 3d printed from the interior.

 Think port-o-john, except the john part has a jane with it.

 The ultimate no-strings-attached biological satisfaction center.
Not robots, but human visitors that are available through a tube-like tunnel system that
hooks people up at no charge. We came with dollar slots or coin changers, so we aren't meant to pay for what nature gave to us freely.

If no partner is available, a variety of self-help tools would be provided to quell the most impatient of incels.

 They would have to look at art that adorned the satisfaction center walls.
It might look a little like this.

Poetry of post-crisis self therapy

There was the one time

Sex, or the lack of

was used as a weapon against me

I buckled initially,

lashing out with violent shouts.

I calmed enough to sit back on the couch in a daze,

while the fabricated lovers went to do the deed

in the other room.

After the initial shock wore down,

I took a look at a lonely notebook

with just one page used.

I ripped that message from the book

and started at the beginning of the issue

of my forlorn love.

Within the next six hours,

I filled that notebook

with my own counseling

for my own problem

solving it before I saw the ‘Lovers’ emerged

from their fateful slumber chambers.

I asked them with a genuinely positive tone

“Well, how was it?”