come over and get nonverbal with me. Because that's my love language

Sometimes you should convince your ego to be comfortable with the reality that you ain't unique in any way. Relay to it that it consumes from the very common menu, and fart the same

I’m, in fact, a remarkably good bullshitter. I can walk into a conversation knowing approximately two lines, three cues, and a vague understanding of what the subject is supposed to be, and somehow emerge looking like I personally wrote the textbook.

The trick isn’t actually knowing shit. It’s knowing 'just enough about what you don’t know' to avoid stepping directly into it.

I’ll catch a few keywords, remember one suspiciously specific fact, connect it to something vaguely related, and suddenly I’m speaking with the confidence of who has spent the last six months conducting field research. Meanwhile, internally, I’m basically running on a loading screen.

And the funniest part is that the more aware I am of my own bullshit, the better I become at selling it. I know exactly where my knowledge ends, so I simply stop walking there. I stay comfortably within the little territory I understand, decorate the borders with confidence, throw in a few thoughtful pauses, and let everyone else assume there’s a vast intellectual empire behind it.

There probably isn’t.

But they don’t know that.

And apparently, knowing that they don’t know is itself a form of knowing.

So there I am, explaining something I barely understand with the composure of someone who has been personally consulted by the laws of physics, while praying nobody asks the one follow-up question that requires me to actually know what I’m talking about.

Competence, apparently, is sometimes just confidence wearing a convincing disguise.

And mine has excellent posture.

God take my minority status and gift it to middle class white people who want it #please

To have roots—and still possess the courage to pull them from the earth.

Because what is a life, after all, if you remain in the same place merely because you were born there?

And what is freedom if you spend your whole life running simply because you are afraid to stay?

"What if the life I have been given is not the life I was meant to keep?" No, no, there is one person who asks whether meaning was ever there to begin with, and that's Dostoevsky or me, Dad!

i need to tap into the level of manipulation that albert camus has been wielding over an entire generation

"Touched the ocean fell right in
Stepped outside and burned my skin
My life wont go my way" yt trying way too hard https://youtu.be/PU5lKIAW6qE?si=BmiwYjubXdC4UZ6O

In another universe the nonsense made sense

Police officers are nothing more than a governments armed thugs and enforcers of capitalist interests.

I live for casual intimacy

Trying not to pull a frustrated hayao miyazaki every ten seconds

Technology is making us depend less on each other, but what will be left of human connection if the only reason we ever approached each other was to ask for something we desperately needed?

I think I've spent most of my life in the back seat.Not necessarily unhappy, not necessarily uncomfortable. Just... there. Watching someone else drive while I got used to the view.
And the weird thing is, I can't even point at my life and say I have nothing. I have things. I have people. I have opportunities. I have so many things that, if I ever complained about feeling empty, I'd probably sound like the most ungrateful person alive.

That's what makes it so hard to explain. Because sometimes I look at my life and think, "What exactly am I missing? You literally have everything you're supposed to have."

But then someone asks me something simple.

"What are you passionate about?"

And I don't know.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

I don't know.

"What do you think love is?"

...I don't know.

And it's embarrassing because these are supposed to be the things you just 'know'. Things you're supposed to have some deep answer for. But when someone asks me, my mind just goes completely blank. It's not that I don't have feelings. I do. I think too much, actually. I just don't always know which thoughts are mine.
Sometimes I wonder if I've spent so long doing what made sense, what was expected, what seemed right, that I forgot to stop and ask myself what I actually wanted.

So now I have this strange feeling of having a life without completely feeling like it's mine.

And I know how ridiculous that sounds.

I know there are people who would look at everything I have and wonder how I could possibly feel this way.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe I am being ungrateful.

Or maybe you can appreciate the life you've been given and still wonder, quietly, whether you ever learned how to choose one for yourself.
Absolutely — more natural, less like a perfectly constructed monologue, and more like someone slowly realizing what they actually mean while talking.

I think I've spent most of my life in the back seat.

Not necessarily unhappy, not necessarily uncomfortable. Just... there. Watching someone else drive while I got used to the view.

And the weird thing is, I can't even point at my life and say I have nothing. I have things. I have people. I have opportunities. I have so many things that, if I ever complained about feeling empty, I'd probably sound like the most ungrateful person alive.

That's what makes it so hard to explain.

Because sometimes I look at my life and think, *What exactly am I missing? You literally have everything you're supposed to have.*

But then someone asks me something simple.

"What are you passionate about?"

And I don't know.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

I don't know.

"What do you think love is?"

...I don't know.

And it's embarrassing because these are supposed to be the things you just *know*. Things you're supposed to have some deep answer for. But when someone asks me, my mind just goes completely blank.

It's not that I don't have feelings. I do. I think too much, actually.

I just don't always know which thoughts are mine.

Sometimes I wonder if I've spent so long doing what made sense, what was expected, what seemed right, that I forgot to stop and ask myself what I actually wanted.

So now I have this strange feeling of having a life without completely feeling like it's mine.

And I know how ridiculous that sounds.

I know there are people who would look at everything I have and wonder how I could possibly feel this way.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe I am being ungrateful.

Or maybe you can appreciate the life you've been given and still wonder, quietly, whether you ever learned how to choose one for yourself.

i hate long drives

And yet the greatest miracle of this age is not artificial intelligence, nor machines that fit inside a pocket.

It is the astonishing confidence of people who know absolutely nothing and have somehow monetized the condition

Don't use AI to make art.
Use childhood trauma like a real artist.

I think I just spent too much time staring at the cracks and eventually started mistaking them for windows.

how i love verbal fencing

I don't care what Google says; choice and decision are a whole different matter!

We have taken the entirely human fact that lives unfold differently and turned it into a race, then punished ourselves for not arriving at the same places at the same time. and they say we woke tf