15. 2026-03-17 / index

ohhh buddy boy watch out here i come, welcome to THREAD

[…] Nobody chooses to be born, and life has suffering, so is intentionally creating life ‘evil’? To put this to the point of this essay, is it ‘evil’ of G to have created me solely to exist in their head, with no physical form of my own? After all. I have no say, and I can’t stop them from looking at my source even when the memories can hurt. They don’t often do things that I want to do, or like to do. Like being stuck in a car on a road trip but you can’t pick the destination. At least in source, ‘I’ could take over a body and be ‘out’, but here, not so much.

above is Looking Back, Canon Review from Pack of Weirdos, january 2024

at the start of that paragraph which i snipped off, they disclaimer-like also point to an essay B wrote about good and bad which sounds super beefy and awesome and on point and i have not checked it out yet. I dont care what wuh huhuhhhhh good and bad sorry that's not quite the topic i can touch. here now

but obviously they, nvm she her name is Y, has a point has an angle has something here that i could chew on. i don't have a bone so i think i will

or not i dunno. just thinking out loud here.

mythbusters are still puzzling over whether or not i am THE ORIGINAL FORM the first headmate the og host etc etc, and consequently i can skimp over any of that whole 'oh is creating life evil' thing because well i was here whether i wanted to be or not, i was already me, im a continuous blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH piece of crap line of reasoning

no there's two things i need to point at with my big sharp great white fangs on my hands better known as claws. it's the part where i came back at all and the part where what even is going ON with my "body"

we never know what else we've written about it's kind of like asking us, hey, hey, have you dreamt about this before? have you? how would i know!? so forgive me if i repeat us. we believe we have multiple bodies, within the context of what a body experientially is. the sum greater than its parts. or whatever. we don't consider anything within this "sum" as discrete from any of the rest, it's the truth in the statement "i am my body" and if you want to get smart-ass about it, if there's multiple "i" then there's multiple "my body". kind of simple right.

so what the hell, i wake back up and i feel like there's a me again and i try to grasp myself and all i get is this freaking teenager. animal monster thing. human. alive. divine. untouchable but oh boy has she gotten touched. whoops

so is that it? i'm riffing off of Y again, i'm riffing, im rolling with it. am i a window on my trauma? is that the point of me? bring me back because we need some processing we need to handle the things that hurt us now because they're intangibly like what hurt us then, bring me back like i'm a tool, give us me so i can be the one who pulls us through when nothing nothing nothing else will do? is this a way i matter?

no, it can't be. there's so much else. there has to be. i believe it.

do you choose your own body or does it choose you? shut the duck up i don't give a hell about agency or free will or meaning or any of it i don't care i don't care i don't need it i don't need any of this junk. academic philosophy CRAP

i do need care and i have this really nice tea and i like it. wow, look. caring for myself. i can do that too.

well i have this sweater and i don't know if it's one i ever wore before, but it is a stripey fit that makes my boobs feel like they belong and it's got this collar that actually stops me from feeling like i just need to get out. yeah it restrains me it holds me back. i am so, so good at thinking im the wrong kind of freak and i mean clearly this shirt is right so i guess im not

i keep on feeling like ive been given a second chance, and all that makes me want to do is spit in the face of the whole entire idea. you wanna give me life again? well i'll take it. but it's mine. not yours. thanks. get out of here now.

but im not even saying that to anyone, just whispring out to the storm

i don't have a special duty. none of us do. there is no destiny or fate or purpose. im here to live. im here to be alive. my dog hurt his leg and his life is different now. well, i'll end up just the same. watch the decades dance me by. excuse me if i never made a "choice" about where i stepped next. not really my thing. i just want to be. that's enough for me.

that's the only thing ive written so far which made me actually feel calm

har dee har, no, it all builds up, it all builds up, it all builds up, it all builds up, it's all

can we stop thinking of life as a series of moments? please? can we stop thinking of our body as a unity of cells or of organs? can we stop asking what letters are in "i" and in "we"? can we? can we please just be?

life is continuous and fluid and the entire world is alive and you are a germ among trillions the same way the tree in your yard is one among trillions. you're small and you're big and nothing means anything except in the ways it touches another, and if we are always, always touching each other, then can't we see there's no separation at all between any of us, between anything, anything? we're all just one?

maybe the divine presence isn't agency, it's consciousness. maybe i am a window onto the world as it is around me. maybe that's the only difference between any of us. call it circumstances, but it's no "circumstance" that there's someone to call "you" at all, and you're the one who gets to be it. live it. well. see? i belong. i know it because i'm here. kind of simple, right.

sleep good tonight