hope there's no bombs where you are now
Sometimes i feel weak
My mind races and all i can see is black. i myself am accursed.
then, i remember what i must to do
i remember where i come from
what i saw, how i felt
it can be a blessing or a curse
more often that not, its both
my life destined to repeat the lives of who came before
but i index to heavily on the past
and forget that i have agency
it is tempting to do so
nothing easier than letting your hands up and absolving yourself of any responsibility
tell me, my father, your mistakes so that i may avoid them.
had an interesting thought late last night.
here is something the media i've consumed has taught me
devalue yourself. take it light and non-serious.
make self-deprecating remarks, this is cool
very much an embodiment of chandler bing
of course, its unfair to caste blame solely on media
but i can't help but wonder if its true
these were not the stories men of yore grew up listening to, were they?
there are eerie similarities between this and liberal politics, somewhere in the latent space of my mind
i do not think this was a concerted effort
there is no one to hold responsible
this is simply a product of the times, times of abundance and peace
but these times may not last forever, so what can we do?
i do not know, but i will try my best
Hello nirbhay. Let free and write.
How are you feeling right now? Your head is in a bit of a haze, and has been for the last few days. You wonder whether its physical or psychological. For the sake of comfort, you decide on the former.
You are confused and beholden to your thoughts. Motivation is running out and your desire to fight is muted. Usually, you are not like this.
You are likely just tired, and maybe have a cold. This is an objective assessment.
You enjoy writing - the process of seeing nebulous thoughts take form, as if they have a life of their own is intellectually compelling. Rarely do you set out to write with a firm agenda - you see where the words take you.
You wonder what your life holds, confused about making the most of it. You spend hours trapped in the cold, unforgiving embrace of the algorithm. It feels warm and welcoming at first. Familiar - it knows you inside and out.
You are excited to log in at first. Later in the day, it becomes a force of habit.
Don't yet lose hope. This is a battle that is being fought across the face of the globe. You are not alone, and neither are you lost.
Let us now talk about the elephant in the room. Do you want to do this anymore? You don't know. Is that a no? Traditional wisdom would say it is, but you know yourself better. You yourself and uniquely know the valleys you regularly find yourself in. This is a part of your life now. Do not make the mistake, however, of assuming this is unique. That is a dangerous rabbit hole to fall in.
So, where does that leave us? As confused and dispirited as before. Likely. My head is fluff right now and intent eludes me.
That is interesting. What is intent?
Drawing back to Freud; intent is any opposition to the id. Intent must be forceful and effortful. By definition, the id is automatic and primal; any intent that the id foments is impulse.
Is the exercise I embark on now impulse or intent? It feels intellectual and effortful - so I'd wager its the latter. But, at the same time, my mind feels not much different from it felt a minute ago. It is still heavy and lacking in dopamine.
Why is that important? I find that engaging in effortful writing usually causes the cesspool of numbness to fade. I find that not to be the case right now.
At this point, I'm just enjoying the process of typing.
I find a spark of motivation coming back. Brief glimpses of an ideal, future self have just passed my mind. A father, a man proud of himself and his work.
But still, dopaminergic scarcity reigns.
Let us know consider wasted opportunities. I think I'm fairly smart and capable. Yet, I can't stop considering the sinking feeling of having drained my intellectual batteries via self-inflicted abuse. Each scroll, each Cmd+T followed by a "tw" and a quick press of the Enter key is a self-wound. I am clearly aware of this. Yet, I cannot seem to stop.
Let us first consider the validity of the claims above. You know that engaging in mindless "rest" is important. Could this be a form of "mindless rest"? A case could indeed be made but we must defer our judgement to wiser people. An appeal to ethos is indeed valid here. I don't think it makes sense to question the ill-effects of social media because:
1. Common sense and personal experience
2. Everyone seems to agree with me.
Honestly, I think the simplest answer for why I cannot seem to stop is: 1. Potential misgivings about how long I have to correct my ways.
Life is deceptively short and I believe that my subconscious is greatly misled not in its perception of life as otherwise but in its underestimate of the effect of habits compounding over time.
To flesh this out more: I know life is short but it appears long to me. When I do something I know is wrong, I rationalise it by claiming that life is long and, at some point, I will wake up and correct my ways. Why is this incorrect?
Well, first, life is not long. Four years of college (that seemed like an eternity when I was a starry-eyed freshman) passed by in a blink. Second, the longer you carry on with a habit, the harder it becomes to kick as time passes. Your father's experience is a testament to this.
So, what can be done?
Like Byung-Chul Han, I think that ceremony and ritual are important. One way I can leverage this is by treating this point in time as a ceremonial turning point. Some might say that it is a natural choice - I should have graduated by now and am now making major career decisions, the likes of which I'm not used to making without a supportive hand in mine.
Okay, great. So, what changes are you making? What is one thing you'd like to change?
To be honest, I've already stopped wearing height-increasing inserts. I am proud of this. Let's stretch ourselves a bit more, Nirbhay. What is one more thing we can do?
I think the best thing we can learn to do is respect ourselves. Perhaps framing a goal in such an all-encompassing way is counterproductive. How can we make this more tractable?
Let us try to now: Deeply understand that my mental capacity is sacred. Protecting it is sacrosanct. It is all I have. By engaging in quick and (what seems like) harmless "fun", I am actively destroying what serves me
Is there another, more mythical way to frame this?
I notice that my motivation shoots when I perceive a struggle as uncommon and strange; drawn by ideals that the common person would not honor. (Is this a problem? If so, let's leave it for another day)
How can I frame this problem as such?
Social media is the opium of the masses today. By engaging in brain rot, you're no better than the hood girl with twirled-up eyebrows who twerks in front of the camera. Any presumption of superiority is false and flawed. Your drug is the same, just of a different flavor. Do you want to be like her?
I just put everything above this line into Claude and asked it for critical feedback. It said I am engaging in intellectual exhibitionism. Perhaps this is accurate. I will accept this feedback warmly. But, even as I accept this feedback, a brief thought flashes in my mind. If someone were to now read what I am typing, they would accept me as a person willing to accept criticism. What is this strange cognitive pattern? As I write and think, I base what I do on how I think others may perceive me - ingratiating myself constantly to a perceived, omniscient arbiter of human value.
Now, Claude says this is common. It is called the internal panopticon. I've always felt like this. I remember writing my math homework extra diligently because I visualized Anita Ma'am monitoring me through an awesomely powerful surveillance system. Where could this have borne fruit in my head?
The first question to ask is whether the origins even matter? Yes, investigation can serve as a fun intellectual journey but I worry that they will most likely not be productive - to both finding the origins and also helping me with this issue.
Second, is this even an issue? Is this not a valid manifestation of the superego? Is the superego not critical in determining how I function? Perhaps this is a step too far, and to that I may concede.
Hah, another thought. I am feeding my writing into Claude persistently because I seek its praise. I beseech it to call me smart and pat me on the back. This is interesting; I think this is common but new.
Another pattern! I just put the response into Claude - could not be bothered to put the effort into comprehending the response, gave it a cursory glance and, somehow, a few seconds later, found myself on LinkedIn.
I think I am truly sick right now. Not metaphorically, but literally. I think I have some kind of stomach poisoning and my head is too heavy to functionally control my id - it is letting the barbarians slip through the gates.
At this junction, I now have two choices.
The first is to admit defeat and give up.
The second is to keep writing.
I will choose the second. I think writing is a transformational exercise.
Another realization: dumping this content into Claude and asking for its analysis is a bit like asking it to do a coding problem for me.
It is like a slot machine.
Let's talk more about that now: the concept of AI as a slot machine. What does it mean for AI to be like a slot machine? Let's first consider this from the viewpoint of writing and shipping code.
Too often, you find yourself crafting a prompt and giving just enough context to the AI - hoping it somehow solves the problem. If it fails, you make some small, cursory changes and hope it works the next time. Why is this addictive (like a slot machine?) Because, it works!
The addiction mechanism is obviously present. You say something (make a bet) and get something back (how the bet turns out). If what you get back works (the bet works out), you get a reward. If not, because you've gotten a reward the last time, you spin the lever again! Another key part is the fact that you may not lose money like you do when you gamble but you stake your cognition - your muscles atrophy every time you hit send.
Wow, I really enjoy writing. I could do this for hours.