KARBYTES_JOURNAL_2022_ENTRY_449

KARBYTES_JOURNAL_2022_ENTRY_449

The following notes and images pertain to karbytes’ most recent trip to the beach.

I noticed that the crows which leave at Thornton Beach are larger than the crows which live at East Dublin BART station. The crows by the ocean appear to be at least as large as the red tail hawks in Dublin. Also, the crows near the ocean seem to make less vocalizations and flap their wings less frequently than the crows of Dublin.

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Speaking of quieter and happier looking crows, I have just now started a practice of not talking out loud to myself in public.

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What is significant about this trip to the beach is that I decided to leave my backpack locked in my car which is parked inside the East Dublin BART parking garage. I am starting to practice using that car as a mobile personal storage unit to ease my burdens and to lessen my neuroticism pertaining to having to always be physically attached to my material possessions.

* * *

I admit to stealing the BART ride round trip (which I have done in the past many times and which has been a gamble (because I was caught a few times and forced to pay a fine over $300)). I gamble like this because I am trying to defy the norm which says one needs money to travel locally and because I believe that public transportation should be free.

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Not to be a “Debbie Downer”, but my trip to the beach (and through the beach) reminds me of one of my biggest pet peeves and sources of depression and anxiety: humans overpopulating the planet. I see that many humans carelessly leave their trash behind as though they think they are the last humans to enjoy the space before it is defiled and rendered inhospitable to future visitors. I get the sense that there is widespread normalized (and perhaps even coerced) apathy and hopelessness about saving the environment and extending human lifespans and physical and mental abilities through technology and medicine.

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The screenshot from Quora was from my web browsing yesterday. I almost decided not to include it in this website until I thought about how the girl in the story failed calculus despite having perfectionistic parents and an apparently high work ethic. I think her mind was corrupted to be too much of a sycophantic cuck and traditionalist bitch (who seems to only have ambition as a means to garner approval and provisions from external authority figures rather than having ambition to understand and gain a sense of mastery over the universe and to acquire the means to appreciate beauty which instant gratification and immature cognition like hers does not afford).

Also, many times I go to the beach (where I am writing this note on my phone and sending it to myself via Gmail), I often hear other people in my midst making disapproving taunting noises whenever I think or write something “controversial” in their midst (especially when I talk about how I think most women have been disabled by culture and by sexual selection and how I hope that such retardedness becomes obsolete and falls out of fashion in the future such that all humans are no longer so deprived of mathematical and logical proficiency and the capacity to genuinely and deeply enjoy such proficiency for intrinsic reasons mostly and not just to impress other people nor to earn favorable treatment from other people).

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While walking back to the Daly City BART station from Thornton Beach, I thought about how AJP has generally and covertly treated me like a prostitute; a woman whose job is to wait to be picked up by some guy, driven to his house, fondled, objectified, and masturbated into, and then thrown back into the streets the next day while treating her as diseased, despicable, and disposable for being relegated to such a pathetically parasitic position with respect to society. I feel scorn towards prostitutes for the same reasons; namely because prostitutes generally seem to talk like they are independent and self assured while they are “subtly” always crying for help to be taken in as some rich guy’s orphan princess and offering little more than a body which moves in unoriginally mechanistic and self denigrating ways as though she feels resigned to be humiliated and callously used because she made herself easy to hate fuck (and to regard as a bum beneath the facade of decadence she did not exactly procure without playing dumbed down sexed up and vulnerable baby for some chauvinist sucker willing to pay her for her “services”).

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Of course I try to make my journal entries accessible to the general public as web pages using this website to host them and consolidate them into one easy-to-locate resource. I have yet to gather what I think is sufficient evidence that the web pages I publish are not being censored. From what I can tell so far, no one I know has read my journal entries and seemingly no strangers have either because I have gotten zero direct feedback about the content I publish on my personal websites. If people cannot or will not read what I have written, I am not interested in reiterating what I have written and tailoring it to suit the preferences and limitations of the people I am “supposed to” confide in (with tears streaming down my face and whiny panicky lamenting) to family members, friends, and mental health professionals. If that means no one but me reads my diaries and no one but me knows much about what is really going on inside my head, so be it. If I die within the next 24 hours, so be it. Existence will continue to exist (I assume) even if my human form is no longer alive to participate in it. What I mean to imply by that last sentence is that I think something other than purely nothing will continue to exist after I die (and I assume that the physical universe I am currently living in will continue to retain many of the same phenomenal patterns following my disappearance from that realm of existence).

* * *

It occurred to me while walking that I have been (and think many people are (especially poor people)) trying to act nonchalant at all times; especially while not getting what one wants because to freak out over not getting what one wants is considered to be a mental illness and uncomfortable-to-behold disability plaguing sheltered, soft, and oftentimes affluent people (especially those who were raised in affluent circumstances and who have hardly worked to acquire affluence in their adulthood).

I think I do an okay job at not visibly freaking out when things don’t go my way, but I do think I often (if not always) have an irritable and impatient demeanor; subtle as it is. I would rather not try too hard to force myself to act indifferent to my own suffering like some people do to theirs because I find those people to be irritatingly glib, insincere, passive aggressive, covertly troubled, and akin to a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

So rather than force myself to laugh, smile, sing, and dance when “the real me” is in intense distress, I would rather just quietly grimace and try to mitigate my suffering and salvage what I have left to live for. If I could, I would confide how I really feel and the details of existence which matter to me but not necessarily to other people in my journal rather than confide in other people.

image_link: https://github.com/karlinarayberinger/KARBYTES_JOURNAL_2022_PART_16D/blob/main/toyota_matrix_license_plate_13_december_2022.jpg