Feigned Interactions

Continuing from The Smoke Filled Sunset

The fires are more prevalent at night; when in your solitude you can feel the flames crack your heart to cinders.

I’m at a loss for words, I’m at a loss for feeling. What is this catharsis... wishing to see the embers turn to ash.

Today I haven’t shed a tear. This is a far cry from my average days of late. Not that my tears have been for sadness, they are usually tinged with either profound happiness or empathy for others.

In psychology this can be called mania. Periods of great excitement and joy, delusions and overactivity. Roughly the same effect of taking MDMA. Further defining mania leads to obsessive enthusiasm and desires.

All my life I have been very focused. If things needed to be done, they were done. If something was interesting I could probably write a book about it in a matter of weeks. If things were not interesting... good luck holding my attention.

I’ve felt like my elevated mood of late could be attributed to all the life changes I’ve made. I smoked most of a cigarette a week ago and crashed immediately to utter depression with a complete loss of appetite.

Another source of refound joy was deleting Facebook off my phone. Mitigating the constant dopamine of feigned interactions. I’ve been meditating and researching belief systems that mesh with the wonders I’ve seen in altered states. As well as the complexities of social anxieties and their manifestations.

I’m a Hermeticist. I believe in the power of the mind to effect reality. Reality being what we can agree on. In fact, I can point to any man made thing as claim that at some point it was nothing but an idea. Even light with its particle wave duality must be observed to collapse its wave function.

This leads me to conclude that we are living inside of a simulation, the ultimate free will experiment with infinite possibilities. Every consciousness with free will is “rendering” its own reality. We’ve even replicated free will digitally as of a few weeks ago.

Much like I can say penis and instantly conjure a penis in your mind. Spells are literally spelled, or spoken. Their effect on the mind is the definition of magic. Pictures, screens, VR... all ways to more effectively communicate an idea.

When I program I consider it magical. That by simply typing these same characters into a text buffer that will never be seen by more than 99% of its users, we can more directly communicate our thoughts.

In 1867 radio waves were theorized. They were discovered and produced in 1887. In the following 131 years we’ve built communication devices that contain the sum of mans knowledge in an ether of energy.

All of this to say: science is magic, alchemy. Your knowledge is a power source. Your actions your quill. Your canvas is the minds of others.

This may be the shortest explanation of my base mental state. Where I may suffer from mitigable ailments and have trained myself to usually exhibit the mental “flow” state. The profound creativity of the hypomanic.

My friend decided to sleep instead of watch me flounder. So I have to get from the bus station to the gallery. I decided to take a metro then walk several blocks... with my luggage. By the time I arrive I’m probably sweating far more than I should... just from the walk.

I didn’t notice how off kilter I was until I tried to make conversation with one of the artists that painted our muse. I couldn’t hold my phone steady enough to get our XR to show up. So I just passed of my card and walked inside.

While writing my name on the sign in sheet I was still visibly shaking. So odd to watch your hand spell your name like a child. As I was walking toward the first wall of art I saw her walking in the same room. I kept looking for the pieces I was hoping to see. I walked the entire gallery then came back to the first room.

Two of the other people that went to the desert with us over NYE were there. Where our friend explained she knows I care about her but my presence was making her feel uncomfortable... after which I gave our friend a brief hug and left.

Is it just hearing words? Is it seeing the defensive posture? Is that all the spell I needed to move on?

Not a hug goodbye, with plans to see again followed by silence, then a wordless block for a simple compliment.

To my knowledge her only complaint about my actions was attempting to communicate. Yet pushing a block button and trying to avoid conflict created such a tension that I have to swear off a client.

These are the pitfalls of social anxieties... living with your actions... your guilt. Wearing a mask and failing to communicate.

— Shel Silverstein

Is what drove me to the edge of madness trying to wonder what I did wrong to her? When the answer is nothing.

Unfortunately, if my plague passes before me I fear hers is only just beginning anew. As we mirror each other I can only have sympathy for her headspace and her heart.

I can’t hold a grudge, I understand the actions all to well. They could have easily have been mine... just like they actually were at differing points of my life.

The only thing keeping me from sleep is the curiosity of my dreams. Will I wake up tomorrow with the same pleas my “real dream girl.”

Either way there are only ashes to raise from.