What cheered me up today (after waking up feeling a bit disturbed, self righteous, lonely, and full of dread at the thought of fighting to sit down to use my laptop in my own house only to find that (a) the Internet is buggy and (b) there seem to be people who protest whenever I attempt to get into anything other than being a bimbo) was walking down to the local Pete’s and buying a medium sized medium roast coffee and being treated with kindness by the barista/cashier. I was happy to see many people sitting in that cafe having “in person” conversations, working on laptops, reading the news paper, et cetera. (Perhaps I am being discouraged from using my dad’s house as a place to work on my laptop because it lacks that kind of modernity, sense of community, and hospitable atmosphere). My biggest complaint about my dad’s house is how it is full of the stench of lingering cigarette smoke (which is sufficient to give me a headache and make my lungs feel constricted after spending less than five minutes in that house). It’s his house, after all. He can smoke in it all he wants to. I suppose I should stop complaining and be grateful that I am allowed to live there rent free.
I am considering simply getting a part-time customer service job which I can walk and, if necessary, take the BART train to instead of looking for a full-time warehouse job because full-time warehouse jobs are difficult to get to without car and usually require that I work 12+ hour shifts back to back to the extent that I scarcely have time to do anything other than sleep between shifts (which means living for the weekend rather than making every day of the week count). I prefer to live like a university student who works to help pay for its bills, groceries, survival gear, and other commodities but who spends most of its time going to class and doing class assignments.
I hear the female microwave auditory effect voice whining and protesting about what I said. She seems to think that it is bad for me to have that much free time to study, exercise, and to engage in hobbies. I do not need very much money to get by (and I am not willing to forsake having what I think is sufficient free time for any sum of money).
Okay. I am open to the suggestion that I get a full-time job instead of a part-time job (especially since getting a full-time job seems to be the only way for me to be able to pay rent for my own apartment). I just thought I would get more bang for my buck if I continued to use my dad’s house as my legal residence (and place to store my stuff, take showers, do laundry, and use the Internet in short occasional bursts (because the house Wi-Fi and my phone connection on that property is very weak) while spending most of my time living out of my backpack and hanging out in public settings.
The bitchy voice who keeps bullying me (i.e. scolding, wailing, whimpering, passive aggressively mumbling, hissing, making snarky taunts, et cetera (and generally sounding like an adult impersonating a tantrum-throwing child while acting like a goody two-shoes at the same time to some chauvinist dictator)) seems to be insinuating that I do not deserve a break from being psychologically tortured by mind control technologies (et cetera) until I rent my own housing unit and change my legal residence to that new address. Until then, she seems to think that I deserve to be in excruciating agony so that I am tortured into getting a full-time job as quickly as possible and settling for having to be dependent on my mom’s car to commute while having very little time off to do anything other than prepare for the next shift. (That’s seemingly to prevent me from being able to use my brain to “think outside the box” and to pursue my intellectual and spiritual endeavors with as much dedication as I want to and, also, to restrict my movements and travels so that I am much easier to control, subdue, and suppress; to prevent me from having original thoughts and being in touch with my authentic emotions; to fool me into thinking someone else’s thoughts and emotions are my own such that I basically am deprived of having a real sense of individuality; to keep me trained and ready to reflexively obey my tyrannical masters like a loyal, submissive, and brainwashed dog who looks forward to little more than treats and being spared punishments; to be force-fed procreative propaganda and cornered into getting pregnant so that I can no longer live alone nor pursue personal hobbies).
Beware that this journal entry (and many other journal entries I have written) are a bit hyperbolic, unpolished, and missing lots of facts. I wrote these journal entries while being yelled at, insulted, and barraged with distracting noises from law enforcement and while enduring physically uncomfortable circumstances (because I literally have to fight to get every word in). I do not have enough time and space away from constant harassment to be able to be as perfectionistic as I want to be in one sitting. I hardly even have a chance to read what I have written. I usually have to wait until late at night to be able to focus on my craft because the day time seems to belong to the anti intellectual breeders who demand that I accommodate them but not the other way around. Like I said, what I am writing is likely an exaggeration of the truth (but I am making it sound surreally bad in order to motivate myself to treat this like a war on my autonomy and not just some light-hearted skit).
* * *
As I was walking down the street, I was thinking about something cryptic which my mom texted me on the phone approximately six years ago. She basically said to trust “them” (and it is not clear to me what she meant) and to just do what they tell me to do. Perhaps she was referring to the law enforcement voices which use “technological telepathy” to read thoughts and to inject messages into people’s heads using electromagnetic signal beams (and perhaps neural prosthetics akin to the Neuralink). I doubt that my mother would acknowledge remembering that text if I brought it up (and, every time I have talked about such “technological telepathy”, she abruptly launches into a tirade about how I am delusional and have a serious mental illness).
The significance of this additional note is that I think that Americans especially need to practice being skeptical of everything they hear and even think and to not just blindly trust “authorities” (especially if such “trust” is the result of being terrorized into gullibly believing someone (or pretending to believe someone) in order to avoid being punished). I am not going to just blindly trust “The Voice of God” to tell me factually accurate information. What it looks like to me is that those “disembodied voices” I hear renders an unsophisticated listener infantilized, intellectually crippled, and confined to depressingly myopic patterns of thought and behavior such that those listeners are essentially conditioned to live “on autopilot” and operating from rote memory instead of consciously making decisions and coming up with original and non-stereotypical responses to triggering stimuli. More sophisticated listeners such as myself are not as likely to devolve into an infantilized, dementia-ridden invalid because such people resort to deploying skepticism and engaging in rational debate while favoring science over faith and over populism. So listening to such voices is not guaranteed to make the listener smarter (or stupider). I think that, if a listener simply tries to avoid expending as much effort as possible, that listener will default to becoming stupider as a result of listening to those voices (which means that a listener “should” make a valiant effort to not fall into a hypnotic trance of childlike gullibility and to keep intaking high quality information by reading the news, books, watching documentaries, attending classes, partaking in discussions and debates, et cetera (rather than withdraw from intellectual exercise in an effort to maintain a “relaxation streak” for as long as possible)).
Related to this train of thought is the idea that I am metaphorically like a human being who has been transported through time from the year 2022 to the year 1300. I have the sensibilities of someone from the year 2022 but everyone else around me has no idea what my worldview is like. Rather than try to convince people to adopt the sensibilities of someone living in the year 2022 (which seems futile because I am the only person who understands the context and the possibilities everyone is missing out on), the path of least resistance is to pretend that I a have only known the same societal circumstances as everyone else around me to avoid getting tried as a witch (and tied to a tree while I get set on fire before a cheering crowd).
This leads to another train of thought (and the phenomenon of an “ant mill” (i.e. “death spiral”) which I referred to in a recent journal entry last night). The ants who are trapped into a routine of following the ants in front of them such that they walk in circles until they die of exhaustion seems to be a microcosm of what many (of not most) humans are doing. I see lots of people driving petroleum powered cars who seem to think that, if they do not, their lives would fall apart and they would end up starving, homeless, and unemployed because they need a car to go to work and to do their chores in what little time they have. Yet, as humans continue to insist on sticking to petroleum powered cars while shunning electric cars powered by photovoltaics (and not pollution-emitting energy sources such as nuclear fission, nuclear fusion, and combusting coal), they collectively reinforce a “death spiral” towards ecological collapse which would make most (if not all) humans go extinct. I feel like one of the few ants who had enough awareness to exit the “death spiral” while most others continue to trudge around in circles while glaring at me and telling me that I will suffer as a consequence of not following the herd. (The ants are basically “locked into” a pattern of following their neighbors because, like humans, they too are a social animal species and they are hardwired with the incentive to conform to their neighbor rather than to deviate because going their own way means that they are much less likely to survive (as a general rule)).
This compels me to make the rather hyperbolic claim that most people lack “free will” because they lack the requisite awareness necessary to notice a gap between the perception of a stimulus and the formation of a reaction to that stimulus. The “good news” (in my opinion) is that, if a person can increase its degree of awareness, that person can increase its degree of agency (i.e. “free will”). The more “free will” a person has, the more choices that person has when faced with a decision.
* * *
The phenomenon of an ant mill is not just a metaphor for human mob mentality. I think that human civilization is essentially an ant mill which is scaled up in terms of complexity. I see how little room to contemplate alternatives to being in firm lockstep with the herd there is as a member of the human species in the particular locale I am in. It seems that people are literally forced to be in cages with other people present almost all the time to ensure that no one is allowed to think and to behave “out of bounds”.
* * *
As soon as I sat down in my own backyard to finish typing this note, a guy using a leaf blower started the leaf blower and is standing on the roof of a neighboring house within line of site of where I am sitting. I did not want to sit inside the house because (a) my phone signal is much weaker in there and (b) there is a noxious amount of cigarette smoke in there. I get the sense that the entire neighborhood if not town is colluding against me to prevent me from being able to sit down to use my laptop or even just to hear myself think because I am almost always forced to hear other people talking in my vicinity (like right now) and I don’t just mean the voices I hear via microwave auditory effect. Much of today I have been listening to white women wail insults at me from the sidelines. I heard one of them just call me a whore. Like I said, it is an all out battle for me to have even a single hour to not have to be barked at and stared down by other humans in my midst. Rather than mind their own business, many people seem to go out of their way to wage war on my freedom of speech like they have nothing else better to do with their time. There seems to be a coalition in this neighborhood of angry residents who want to torture me whenever I enter the premises so that I am unable to establish a living here (or anywhere) and so that I am physically prevented from being able to relax such that, as long as I am near those people, I am almost always in a perpetual state of “fight or flight” (and being in that hyper adrenalized and threatened state makes it very hard for me to pursue rigorous academic quality work).
I can tell that there are people who are adamant about forcing me to emulate the voices I hear via microwave auditory effect which get worse when I take shrooms and when I am located near where my parents live. It sounds like what they want me to feel like is a little girl being grabbed by the neck, forcibly strapped down to a stretcher, injected with adrenaline and tranquilizer simultaneously, and force fed an angry, scolding tirade about how I am not to disobey my parents nor any other adult authorities and how I deserve to be punished and terrorized into not sounding smart, clever, witty, nor proud so that I am, instead, reduced to a crying, pleading, profusely apologetic prisoner being tortured while they perform the functional equivalent of a lobotomy on me. (That leaf blower (as useless as it is) continues to make its low pitched and aggressive sounding hum as I write while I hear that female voice ranting hysterically about how I need to be more meek, humble, obedient, and sedentary). I get the sense that there are people who strongly insist that I be treated like a felon and subject to violent punishment and denied human rights in retaliation for me merely expressing my opinions nonviolently online (or even for just having those thoughts).
Apparently, I am an elitist for not being a whimpering, cowering little girl trembling at some violent authority’s feet and, instead, being relatively nonchalant (rather than hysterically upset) and adopting a relatively objective third-person perspective and narrative to describe my experience rather than being relegated to an intensely subjective, emotionally charged first-person perspective where I can scarcely come up with a coherent narrative at all.
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