death

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You can’t CURE a headache by banging your head, but you CAN make it all go away…

I am writing this post on my lapcom for the first time in quite a while*, but I couldn’t honestly say why I’m doing it.  I just decided yesterday afternoon that I wanted to bring my lapcom with me when I left the office, and since I have it with me, it would be a minor shame not to use it to write today’s post.  As far as I can tell, there’s nothing more to it than that.  I certainly don’t care much anymore.

I continued to feel pretty rotten all day yesterday, and I became quite stressed out and frustrated, even snapping at a coworker with whom I normally get along very well—actually, it was somewhat more than “snapping”, and it was not justified—before repeatedly banging my head on my desk.

This, of course, did not help my residual migraine discomfort, which was partly responsible for my horrible mood.

It also hurt my neck.  I wasn’t surprised by this fact, though, since I’ve done this before, alas.  Indeed, I can tell you this tiny bit of potentially useful information:  banging one’s head on one’s desk is uncomfortable and somewhat injurious (I’ve been known to raise visible lumps on my forehead in addition to causing neck pain), while banging your head on a sheetrock wall is not as bad.  However, banging your head on a concrete wall is quite unpleasant.

And I really don’t recommend hitting your head on the top of a door (or “hatch”) in an aircraft carrier, but that was purely accidental, born of overenthusiasm**.  I’ll just add, for emphasis, that an aircraft carrier does not notice that you hit it; it does not give in any measurable way***, only your head and body do.

By the way, head-butting a human is comparatively laughable.  But mind their teeth; you can get cuts from them that are prone to bad infections because of the nasty bacteria that often live in the human mouth.

Anyway, all this nonsense is just to emphasize that I am not doing well.  I feel physically quite uncomfortable, from my head to my tail as it were, and down into my legs, too.  And my mood is worse than the rest of me****.

Some of this may be related to the weather.  The heat and humidity down here are utterly oppressive, and they make it all but impossible to exercise outdoors (such as by walking) unless one is committed to possibly dying or becoming quite ill in the process.  I am not entirely averse to dying in that process, and I contemplate trying to walk from the office to the house almost every day.  But I’m not committed to it yet, so it’ll have to wait.  It would be just too pathetic to start it and not carry through.

It’s also been very sunny lately, which just adds sunburn (which I have from Sunday) to the mix, but that doesn’t bother me as much; for unclear reasons, I don’t get as uncomfortable from sunburns as most people seem to get.  This is probably not a good thing, especially when you have an inherent fish-belly complexion like I have.  It might also have contributed to my migraine.

I’m coming to hate nearly everything about Florida.  Of course, it’s the state where my youngest was born (and where my kids still live), so it will always have that going for it, and that’s hard to overpower.  But even my kids unfortunately didn’t have the greatest scholastic experiences in Florida—which is no surprise, since Florida is known to have subpar educational system overall (though it has definite bright spots at the university level).  Just look at who our governors have been and are, let alone our legislators.  If Tallahassee were wiped off the map by an asteroid impact, the average IQ of the state would rise by 10 points, at least.

The trouble is, it’s entirely possible that I would hate things wherever I happened to be, because really, it’s myself I hate.  And yes, I know about the self being nonpermanent and really an illusion and not a consistent thing from moment to moment let alone from day to day or from one part of the brain to another.  That’s true but trivial, and it doesn’t change the fact that I hate myself, whatever you want to call my self.

And while the self does change from moment to moment, it still has way more in common with its past and future states than it has with, say, the state of a different person, or with a dog or cat, or with a slug or with a tree or with a fucking rock.  There is a four-dimensional continuity of structure and identity to what I call my self, as there is with all of you, unless I am greatly mistaken.

Okay, sorry for that little diatribe, if that’s the correct word (“diatribe” I mean, not “sorry”).  I’m just frustrated with and angry at more or less everything.  Which, of course, implies that I am the problem, since I am the common factor in all the things that frustrate me.

Unfortunately, I cannot swap me out for some other person, and I don’t think I would if I could.  I’ve often wanted to be like certain other people in certain aspects, but I’ve never actually wanted to be another person.  In fact, I think the very concept is vacuous; I could explain why that’s so, but it may well be obvious already.

Anyway, I’m sorry.  You should all probably just stop bothering with me, to be honest.  I am only going to bore you at best and more likely cause you pain of one kind or another.  It’s what I do.  I’m not a good person by nature, though I try to act as if I am when I have the energy to do so.  But my energy is lagging and seeming to get worse all the time.

Honestly, I wish I could just sleep until I feel truly rested, or forever, whichever comes first.  Of course, the universe is not set up in such a way as to make the first thing necessarily achievable, but at least I know I can achieve the second.  It just takes commitment—or time, I suppose.

All right, that’s enough of that.  I hope you all have a good day.

*Actually, of course, this is the only time I have ever written this post, and it is the only time that I will write this post.  I apologize for the somewhat misleading language, but I suspect you know what meant.

**I’m not likely to experience that again.

***Yes, yes, physics shows that it does indeed movie a little.  I suppose I could do some math to try to figure out just how much, but it won’t be much more impressive than how far the Earth movies in the other direction when you jump straight up in the air.

****Those of you who saw the movie version of The Silence of the Lambs might recall that “the rest of me” in an anagram for Hester Mofet.

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I’m too worn out to make up a decent headline

I’m going to try to make this a shortish blog post today, because honestly, I’m pretty worn out (see above).  I haven’t brought it up that much this week, but it’s been a very bad time for pain‒in the sense of being good for pain, bad for those experiencing the pain.  Well, it’s been bad for the one experiencing it here, anyway.

I’m not aware of anyone else actually experiencing my pain, though there are those around me this week who have sympathized, since my pain has been rather obvious.  I’ve spent an unusual amount of time (even for me) lying on the floor, or trying to thump on my legs and sides until they stop hurting as much, or trying to do various exercises, from lunges to squats to steps and so on to try to improve my back, sides, hips, etc., all during the workday.

These interventions have been less than perfectly effective, alas, though the exercise is probably good in and of itself, ceteris paribus.  My pain might have been worse if I had done differently, which seems plausible, but it might even have been better.  I doubt it, of course, but if I had not doubted it in that way, it would have been absurdly masochistic for me to try these various exercises to see if they helped.

My thumb bases have also been particularly sore, which was at least part of my motivation to try my little audio posts.  I have to say, the audio stuff appears to have increased my “readership” slightly, though the before and after numbers are both so small that it’s difficult to draw too many inferences.  Still, they haven’t diminished anything, so far.

I don’t know if I’ll do an audio post today or not.  I’m really wiped.  But in any case, I should work tomorrow, exclusis improvisis, so if I don’t do one today, maybe I’ll do one then.

Mind you, psychology has shown that semi-random, intermittent rewards tend to garner greater capture (of an audience, of gamblers, of addicts, whatever) than any steady amounts of reward…again, ceteris paribus.  This does not appear to be one of the lamentably numerous findings in psychology that have failed to replicate over the years; it seems fairly robust.  Certainly it is working for the casinos and for the various lotteries.

I have restarted taking naproxen since yesterday morning, and at near-maximum dose, because the pain is just too much right now.  I’ve been so uncomfortable that I’ve been getting Ubers to and from the office (the whole way) all week; this is how I heard the song about which I complained (in audio) a couple of days ago.  But this is not a sustainable practice.  It’s costing me quite a lot of money, certainly relative to my income, such as it is.

So, I’m taking more NSAIDs and hopefully it will help and won’t box my kidneys (to use typical medical slang, in which “to box” some organ is basically to kill it, i.e., to put it in a box or a coffin or whatever).  And if it does box my kidneys, well, we’ll probably just call that good for this life.

How much longer do you think I want to live with chronic pain that I can’t even partially control without taking toxic amounts of one or more medications, especially while being almost completely alone, living in a one-room dwelling with only a camp bed and my piano stool for furniture*?

I haven’t even seen the new Spider-Man movie, nor have I felt like looking to see it.  I have watched the trailer for Avengers: Doomsday, as well as reactions to it, because Doom is my favorite, but even that is not encouraging or exciting or motivating enough for 4 months of waiting.

If I were to have to face four months feeling as bad as I do this week, I think I would just buy a huge amount of ice cream and Jack Daniels and Coke and Tylenol and laxatives and every other thing I could think of and try to dissolve myself away, as literally as possible.  Okay, well, that’s not very practical, I know; I would probably have to do something else.

Anyway, that’s already about as much as I feel like writing today.  Maybe I’ll do a little audio about how we have no right or reason to imagine that there will always be a satisfactory answer to every problem, like chronic pain.  The universe is allowed to suck, and it is allowed to produce misery that doesn’t have the slightest shred of any silver lining.

Nevertheless, I hope you have a good day.

*That’s where I’m “sitting” at the moment of this writing.  I used “scare quotes” because I’m really almost leaning more than sitting, pressing the middle of my back against the edge of the keyboard to try to decrease local pain.  It’s less sexy than you might imagine.

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Blog, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blog!

Hello. Also, good morning.  It’s Thursday, the 6th of August in 2026 AD (or CE if you prefer).  As you can see, I am writing (or I will have written) a blog post today.  This is only really noteworthy because last Thursday I didn’t write a post.  I stayed at the house and did not go to work.

I would say that I’m not completely recovered yet.  My respiratory symptoms are improving, but are not entirely back to normal (I guess “normal” for such symptoms means “nonexistent”).  My urinary issues appear mostly resolved, which may be because I have continued not to use any NSAIDs other than aspirin (in modest amounts), making up what difference I can with Tylenol.  It’s not ideal, and my thumbs and back and hips and cetera are having more stiffness and discomfort than usual.  Partly because of that, I have not been walking much this week.

I don’t really have anything interesting or uplifting to discuss today.  I appear usually only to be able to sustain an upbeat impression for about one day’s worth of posting, and then I’m exhausted and unable to maintain a normal or positive attitude.  It takes quite a bit of effort for me to pretend to be normal and human.  I used to be better at it‒I think‒but my endurance for such things has worn away.  Maybe there is some psychic equivalent of repetitive stress injury that grinds down that capacity over time.  Maybe I just never really had such a capacity and I was merely fooling myself.

I do know that I had longer stretches of positive mood in the past‒sometimes too positive, I suspect.  But that’s gone the way of the great white whale, as far as I can tell.  I certainly don’t feel positive.  Maybe I come across occasionally as positive, though.

Who knows?  Not me.  I never lost control.  You’re face to face with the man who sold the world.

Oh, wait, those are the lyrics to a David Bowie song that was covered brilliantly by Nirvana:

Sorry, I think I’m being a bit incoherent.  Perhaps I should try more to be on guard against madness, or at least to fear it like Lear did (that almost rhymes).  But I don’t, at least not really, because my type of madness is mainly mood related, not a cognitive dysfunction.

***

Sorry for that little discontinuity, there.  I got to the train station in the interim and lost my train of thought…ouch, no pun intended, sorry about that.

As I was approaching the northbound side of the station, I had to stop because the express train was coming through, and the gates were going down.  Actually, the gate just started going down as I approached; I could have rushed across, but it would have been a bit obnoxious, and there was nothing to gain by it.

I like being near the express train as it passes, anyway, because its slipstream creates a really nice breeze.

Does anyone else out there see such express trains go by and wonder what it would feel like if one threw oneself in front of it as it approached?  By which I mean, do you wonder if it would hurt, or if the concussive force would be too great and too fast for pain?  Would there even be time and nervous system input enough for one to register impact, let alone to suffer?

I wouldn’t do that sort of thing, of course (I think).  It would be very rude; it would spoil the commute for thousands of people at least, and it could traumatize the poor people who work on the train.  I suppose if I were to be fully hateful enough as well as self-destructive, I might stop caring about such things.  But that hasn’t happened yet.

It’s that wish to avoid discourtesy which makes things like self-immolation or jumping from high windows/balconies problematic to consider, too.  Similarly for just opening up some arteries in a bathroom (mine or that of a hotel or similar).  I would dislike causing such trauma (and mess) for other people.

This is one reason why the notion of just swimming out into the Atlantic seems appealing.  It’s a big old ocean, it’s right nearby, and if one can find the discipline to swim far enough out, there is unlikely to be much mess for anyone to clean up, other than fish and other marine life, who would get a bit of extra food.

However, the ocean is very frightening.  It is not my natural habitat.  I can swim well enough, and it’s easier to do so in salt water than in fresh water, but that vast, deep darkness is daunting.  Weirdly enough, immolation might be less frightening than swimming out into the sea.

On the other hand, there is the notion of just walking.  It’s summer in south Florida; walking more than a certain amount can and will kill you.  When the heat index is higher than body temperature (as it is most days for a substantial portion of the day at this time of year), it can kill you with surprising speed.

I suppose if one were hoping to be particularly fastidious, one could make sure to walk toward the Everglades‒they are never too far away around here, and there are a goodly number of organisms there that would not complain about disposing of one’s body.  They’re generous that way.

Okay, well, that’s enough of that subject for the moment, at least here in my blog.  It’s never very far from the front of my mind, but that’s my problem, not yours.

I work tomorrow, but not Saturday, so there should be one more post this week, exclusis improvisis.  I hope you all have a good day in the meantime.

TTFN

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My morose, meandering Monday musings

It’s Monday again, of course.  I won’t get into any of the usual stuff I discuss about Mondays, except to note that, outside of the minds and artifacts of humans*, Monday doesn’t exist.  It’s just another day, and each day is not fundamentally different from another day.  Wild creatures do not get the weekend off, for they have no such concept.  On the other hand, they don’t exactly have enforced workdays or work weeks and all the many artificial but very real stressors that humans have created.

I am still off NSAIDs except for some limited aspirin, and I am quite stiff and sore, a fact which is particularly difficult to ignore in my thumbs as I write this.  My urinary signs may be improving; certainly I’ve been working on intervening in the issues, not least of which intervention is the aforementioned curtailment of NSAIDs.  I’m not sure how this will go, but I guess I will find out, one way or another.

I haven’t read any books of any kind‒including audio books‒in almost a week now.  There are several processes behind this fact, but a big part of it seems to be a general anhedonia.  Nothing is very interesting to me.  I don’t even feel any particular interest in the new Spider-Man movie, which would normally engender excitement.

Heck, I honestly don’t even feel much about Avengers: Doomsday, and Doctor Doom is probably my very favorite villain (and one of my favorite overall characters).  Podcasts also seem boring, and so do various videos and shows, educational, fictional, or anywhere in between.

I don’t really do anything in my spare time, to be honest, other than try to distract myself, and that’s becoming more difficult.

My boss, on Saturday, suggested that maybe after work, before I go “home”, I should stop somewhere and get the urinary stuff checked out, and I said, “Yeah, I don’t see that happening.”  The prospect of taking care of such things in my “spare” time is about as natural a feeling as the prospect of spontaneously levitating.

It’s not in my nature to be much good at taking care of myself.  I’m not really inclined to take care of much of anything administrative in my life, to be honest**.  I pay rent and electric and water and cable/internet bills, because not doing so would be a great and immediate inconvenience, but other things are not in my wheelhouse.  They are not salient to me, and I don’t know how to make them salient without them already being salient.

So, yeah, if the issues I’m having are precursors to, or symptoms and signs of, some more serious problem, well…that’ll be that, won’t it?  As I said to my boss a few sentences after my above reply about seeking help, “Basically, I’m just waiting for something to kill me, anyway.”

That’s the state of my life now, and it has been that way to varying degrees for quite some time.  I believe this qualifies for the term “passive suicidal ideation”.  I don’t just experience the passive form, of course, but it is more common, or more frequent, and slightly more persistent than the active version.

Make no mistake, though:  for the last dozen years or so, not a day has gone by, as far as I can remember, that I didn’t have at least some moments of active SI.  And, of course, I have many methods available; I make sure to keep things that way.

So, yeah, one of these days my blog may just stop, and if it does, there’s a good probability that it will have been because I stopped being so passive.

I make no predictions, and I certainly don’t engage in threats or warnings.  I’m just trying to clear the air, and explain why, left to my own devices, I’m not liable to seek any medical help for anything unless it is so acutely painful as to be impossible to ignore, like a kidney stone.

I figure that sooner or later, some infection or maybe some malignancy will come along and take everything out of my hands‒at least unless I take matters into my own hands before that time, which is eminently possible.  I’ve said before that it would be nice if I got some kind of final crisis that at least allowed me to say goodbye to the people I love, but I recognize that nature doesn’t promise nor owe me any such convenience.

It doesn’t matter.  Quite possibly‒probably‒no one would want to come say goodbye to me anyway.  It would not surprise me, I’ll admit.  It would be sad, but I would probably consider it entirely appropriate.  Why should anyone care if I am going to die, anyway?

Okay, well, on that chipper, cheery note, I’ll bring this post to a close.  It’s already too long, honestly.  But I do hope that you all have a good week collectively and good weeks individually.

*And humanoids, I suppose.

**That’s a weird expression, isn’t it?  Does it imply that if I don’t say it, you cannot assume that I am ever honest?  But surely, claims of honesty are just the sorts of things that liars would make, just as religious texts will claim to be true and infallible.  “You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to, so that when they turn their backs on you, you’ll get the chance to put the knife in.”

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Warning: Reading this blog may be hazardous to your mental health

Well, it’s Monday yet again, though I don’t know why it bothers, and it’s the beginning of yet another thoroughly pointless work week.

Okay, I suppose one can honestly say that it’s not pointless at the local level; people need to work to be able to pay rent, buy food, get medicine as needed and so on so they can survive.  But that, of course, just kicks the can of meaning farther down the empty dirt road of reality, since why they should survive‒why they should want to survive‒is a debatable question.

There are empirical answers to that question, of course, but ultimately, it probably gets down to the brute fact that this shit just is.  There’s no sign of any kind of meaning beyond what people invent for themselves in their own (individual and/or collective) heads.

And that would be just fine, too, as far as meaning goes, if people could just own the fact that it is all artificial, it is invented‒any (and all) of our senses of meaning and purpose, any of the stories we tell ourselves and each other about the telos of reality.  But people have this irritating tendency to start to believe their just-so stories, no matter how absurd, because they would rather delude themselves than face the possibility that everything is‒on the deepest and largest scales‒meaningless.

I suppose it’s related to the recognized fact that the best way to convince someone that you’re telling the truth about something is actually to believe that you are telling the truth, even if you are not.  If you believe something, no matter how absurd, you are likely to convince others that you believe, and that might make it more likely that they believe you.  Of such bootstrapped fictions are cultures and civilizations made, at least initially.

By the way, my plans for meeting up with my youngest this weekend fell through at the last minute, so to speak, thanks to a prior engagement with a friend (theirs, not mine) who came in from out of town, and about which meetup they had forgotten.  These things do happen, of course.  I could hardly blame anyone for preferring to spend time with someone else rather than with me.  Not that I think this was the situation!  I’ve no real doubt that the conflict was true and real and regretted.  But even if it were not, although it would make me sad, it’s not something for which I could blame anyone.

Well, I guess I can blame myself.  After all, it is surely because of what and who I am that people don’t really like to be around me much, and don’t like to stay around me longer than they are required to do.  If I knew that there were some precise and specific, alterable attributes in me that were responsible for this, I would probably try to change those attributes.  But it’s probably the gestalt of me that is the problem.  I simply am that which I am, and this portion of my four dimensional structure seems to tend to repel other such four dimensional beings.

Even if I could fix myself, and with relative ease, I might not.  I don’t honestly feel that I deserve to be fixed.

I could, of course, fall back on the true words of Will Munny from Unforgiven and say:

But, while I can recognize that fact in my frontal lobes and other parts of my neocortex, unfortunately my basal ganglia hate me, and it’s hard to convince them otherwise.  They have tremendous neuropsychological inertia, and I don’t even know where to get a grip to try to move them.  But I sense that pushing them in just some random direction is more likely to make things worse than better.  I’ve gone into that general reasoning before, and I’ve encountered nothing to change my conviction on that count.

You know, it occurs to me that I should probably have some kind of disclaimer on my blog in general*, to the effect that people shouldn’t read this blog unless they have a pretty strong sense of self-worth and so on, and that people who have mental health issues should definitely not read it.  I fear that a person who is vulnerable might be inadvertently convinced to do themselves harm after reading my work.

Possibly I think too highly of my lowliness, but I’ve long since recognized that my inherent nature veers toward destruction.

So, yeah, I guess you can warn anyone who expresses an interest‒if such a being exists‒that if they so much as doubt their courage, they should not try to enter this particular Cave of Caerbannog, for death awaits them all here with nasty, big, pointy words.

Oh, and finally, let’s just take a moment to mark and to celebrate the Apollo 11 Moon landing, which took place 57 years ago today.  If you are one of the people who claims to think that humans did not land on the moon, well…I won’t tell you that you should end yourself and thereby raise the overall intelligence of the world by a small but measurable amount; that would be uncharitable.  But I do suggest that you please either get a vasectomy or a tubal ligation, because if there is any genetic component to such stupidity, we don’t want it to propagate forward in time.  Let’s put a bit of chlorine into the gene pool.

Otherwise, have a good day.

*I have put one in today’s headline, at least.

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Yes, I am not a ray of sunshine

Well, here I go again, doing a blog post again, this time on a Tuesday morning.

I guess it’s mildly amusing that today, a Twosday, has a day number that’s twice the month number:  7-14 (or 14-7 in European style, but it doesn’t really matter, since either way the one number is two times the other).  It’s not exactly amazing, but as I said, it’s mildly amusing.

I meant to note yesterday that yesterday was a combination of the two most “popular” prime numbers: 7 and 13.  It’s not a great coincidence, which probably explains why it didn’t stick in my head as well as it might have.

It did make me think about other, more interesting dates, and I realized that this coming October 13th will have a fun pattern (if that’s really the right word):  the numbers of the month and day, when doubled, will give the year:  10-13 and 2026 (in this case the European ordering of the numbers slightly dampens the fun).  I know someone with this birthday, so that makes the coincidence slightly more amusing than it might be otherwise.

Geez, I’m such a weirdo, talking about date numbers and their coincidental patterns, which don’t actually mean anything at all.  I’m sorry.  At least I don’t delude myself that they have any true significance.  They are merely coincidences, of which there are potentially limitless numbers; a pattern-focused person will just tend to notice them.  In this (and probably only this) I have an advantage over Newton, who wasted a lot of energy on things like Bible codes and so on.  Then again, I have learned from Newton and from the oodles of other people who learned from Newton and added to his work, so I have some unfair advantages.

Of course, we hope that people later in history will always tend to have advantages over their predecessors, including us.  Unfortunately, this isn’t always nor automatically the case.  There have been numerous and lengthy periods of human existence‒even in historical times‒in which there was merely stagnation and even regression.  For much of history, and perhaps still, most people wobble between lives that are “nasty, brutish, and short” or are merely ones of “quiet desperation”.  I guess it’s up to each individual’s judgement which of those two lives would be preferable.

Right little rays sunshine I am, am I not?  Yes.  I am not.  I’ll paraphrase Jacob Marley as I have done before, saying “look not for comfort from me‒it comes from other regions and is bestowed by other ministers on other kinds of persons”.  It goes something like that, anyway.  These words, the ones I used, are the words I want to use, so if the original doesn’t match, well…I did say that I was paraphrasing.

I don’t know what else to write today.  I’ve hinted at how it’s good to feel appreciative of the fact that we know so much compared to even the most brilliant people of times past, and that hopefully our descendants, literal or figurative, will have even more advantages over where we are now.

It’s useful, I think, to remind oneself of the fact that one did not create the good or the bad that exists in the world into which one is born.  I may know much, much more about the way the universe works than Galileo or Newton or Laplace ever did, but it’s not because I’m smarter than they were.

The block at the top of a pyramid would not rest there at its current height, in midair, had not the blocks below it already been placed.  And if the current top block is subsequently part of the base of a larger structure laid atop the previous one‒a larger pyramid with the first as perhaps its corner or core‒then subsequent “blocks” should realize (if blocks are capable of such a thing) that their elevated position is what it is because of what came before.

Each block achieves roughly the same gain in height, whether placed on bare ground or on the top of a tower.  It’s how high their base is that determines how far they can see, ceteris paribus and exclusis improvisis*.

It’s also good to remember that it’s possible for edifices to crumble.  Indeed, all edifices will crumble unless maintained more or less constantly against entropy.

Whether entropy itself in the long run can be completely overcome is unclear, but it seems unlikely.  Still, if there is a way around the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics (perhaps the deliberate creation of new universes) that way will only be discovered by those at the top of a pyramid greater than the current one, of which we will be lower, supporting stones.

That’s not ignoble by any means.  The top of a tower cannot stand without the foundation and the support beams and every floor that lies beneath it.  There are no skyhooks.  Everything has to be built from the bottom up, ultimately, unless time is somehow cyclical, and the far future eventually becomes the distant past.

I’m not aware of any reason to suspect that is the case, but it isn’t entirely implausible.  So, if that’s the case, I guess the past follows from the future and everything is built on nothing, since, as Luna Lovegood noted, “A circle has no beginning.”

Oy.  I’m quoting Luna Lovegood now (though at least I know this quote is accurate).  I think I should probably call it quits‒for today if not more completely.

I really do want to call everything quits.  I’m very tired.  And I’m quite weird, and I’m pretty much alone.  Whatever contribution I was destined to make to that pyramid, if any, I think I’ve probably already made it.

It doesn’t matter, I guess.

Anyway, I hope you have a good day and then more good days on all the days thereafter.  Why not?  There’s no law of physics that says it’s impossible, even if it’s unlikely.

Though, that unlikeliness is itself a law of physics, so don’t take too much irrational comfort in the “it’s not impossible” argument.  Likelihoods matter; someone will occasionally win the really big lottery jackpots, but I can confidently say, “It won’t be you.”  I could bet my life on that, in fact, and I would probably be safer than I would be when flying on a commercial airliner.

That’s another subject.  I’ll discuss it another time.

*Barring the unforeseen.

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“With the lights out, it’s less dangerous”

Well, I’m writing today on the lapcom, not for any particular specific reason, but just because, as of yesterday afternoon when I was preparing to leave the office, the various strengths (or magnitudes) and directions of the vectors in my brain came together and produced enough impetus for me to pack and then carry the lapcom with me.  After that, there’s much less of an energy barrier in the way of actually writing using the lapcom in the morning.  If I have it with me, I prefer to write using the lapcom rather than the smartphone.

As for the subject/topic of this blog post, well…I don’t know.  I have no idea what to write or what to say, other than to say whatever comes out of my (figurative) mouth here.  I don’t know what I’m going to write ahead of the actual writing any more than you know what my next word will be before you read it.

I guess that’s how conversation happens in real life as well.  People (at least, neurotypical people) don’t tend to script their conversations.  They just start talking, and the process of talking is identical with (or at least part of) the process of forming the ideas in the first place.

You don’t think about that to say before you think and say it, nor do your think about what to think about and say before you think about thinking about and saying things.  One cannot in any literal sense fully plan ahead what one says or thinks, because it would imply an infinite regress.

No, most of the time, expressing one’s thoughts is the first circumstance in which one formulates those thoughts (though of course it might well not be the first time one has had the same or similar ones).  Ideas, and even memories, do not exist fully formed within the brain, as if on some SSD drive; they must be reformed every time they are brought up.

This is part of why memory in humans is so malleable.  All memories bring out not just information from the past, but also color it with whatever information is leading to the memory being recalled at a particular moment.  This feeds back on and can alter the memory over time.

The things that happen with neural nets/deep learning systems/LLMs is teaching us at least some things about how thoughts and minds work in non-linear ways, though it’s important not to draw too many or too literal parallels to actual brains.  For one thing, brains are vastly more efficient than any kind of software/hardware we have.

Though your brain is certainly the most energy-hungry portion of your body, using about 20% of all the calories you burn, this still is only about 20 watts or so.  That’s less than your typical lapcom uses, and far, far less than any LLM or similar system uses.

The brain is also more complex on many levels.  Synapses are not simple binary switches, like transistors; they are more or less continuously variable in the amount of neurotransmitter they release into a synapse, and the number of receptors in the receiving synapse, and the degree to which activation (or inhibition) of those receptors affects the functions of the postsynaptic neuron and how that interacts with other inputs and the basic metabolism and chemistry of the next level of nerve cells.

Those functions are also affected by hormones of various kinds, from peptides to steroid hormones to things like histamine and glutamate that are neurotransmitters and hormones and (some of them) even amino acids.

Then, of course, there are the inputs from the many and various “glial” cells, which are not neurons, but which “support” neurons in the brain, and which (among other things) create the myelin sheaths that allow nerve transmission to happen much more quickly in “white matter”, and so on.  These things can alter and tweak the “weights” in any particular neuron “node” in ways that are more complicated than the nodes and weights in neural nets.

And of course, the scale is daunting.  You have about a hundred billion neurons in your brain (give or take), and each one has connections with 1,000 to 10,000 other neurons, making the total number of synaptic connections in the brain on the order of a hundred trillion to a quadrillion.

Just imagine if every star in the Milky Way galaxy had some kind of hyperspace links to 1,000 to 10,000 other stars.  That would be a complex galactic network.  The brain is this scale of network.  And the synapses, again, are not binary switches like transistors, but are more or less continuously variable within a given range.  Likewise, the impulses traveling down an axon, though binary in a sense (each nerve impulse either happens or does not), actually vary continuously, because it’s the rate of impulses arriving that affects the release of neurotransmitters.  But it’s not the only thing that affects it.

Anyway, this is all interesting stuff, I guess.  Learning about neural nets is fascinating, and is yet another use of linear algebra, matrices and the like (which are also good for General Relativity).  And learning about how gradient descent works in machine learning and so on is interesting and thought-provoking (an amusing coincidence, not an irony).

I’m reading some things about this and trying to pick up on it, just for general understanding.  I doubt that I’ll ever do anything with any of it other than maybe “talk” about it here (which is nearly the only place I talk about much of anything).  But at least it’s interesting.

It’s futile, of course.  But nearly everything I do or have done is or has been futile.  And that’s not just on a cosmic scale, but on a human, day-to-day, interpersonal scale.  Almost all my efforts are either wasted or fully counter-productive.  This is the outcome of something like me trying to do and be good as much as he can; it just tends to be pointless or worse.

None of it matters, though.

Anyway, as often happens with the lapcom, I’ve written too much of nothing today, and that’s irritating to me.  I can’t imagine how annoying it must be to my readers.  At least, the rest of your day will probably be less annoying by comparison with this post, right?

Right?

I guess maybe it doesn’t really work that way.  It’s all just irritating, isn’t it?  It’s irritating that I don’t catch a terminal illness, some kind of deadly but not-too-quick infection or cancer or something.  It would be good to be able to have people know that I was dying, so that if anyone out there is mad enough to want to see me or greet me or say goodbye to me before I die, they could.  I think I would appreciate that.

Odds are, though, I’ll just disappear and be gone someday, perhaps very soon, and almost no one in the world will notice.  Those who do notice will only do so vaguely, because there is practically no one to whom my life is integral or even very strongly connected.  I’m just background static for the most part.  When I go, it will just be good riddance to bad rubbish, as they say.  There’s really no sensibly available better alternative of which I am able to avail myself.

As Kurt Cobain sang, “Oh, well, whatever, never mind.”  He had some good ideas, did Cobain-sensei, and he carried them out.

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What do you call an infinite number of finite and separate beings? Maybe just “reality”.

I don’t really have much to say today.  Not that such a thing usually prevents me from running off at the keyboard (or the smartphone in this case) for stupid lengths on any given day.  But I think it may do so today, because my energy is flagging, and it’s only just very early in the morning.

I suppose today’s date is mildly entertaining:  it’s 7-7-2026, and that is the same in either the USian or the European way of ordering the day and the month.  But that’s pretty unremarkable.  Any day of a month in which the ordinal* number for the day is the same as the ordinal number for the month will produce this.  There are, thus, 12 such days every year, and they are the same days every year.  So, they are not very exciting.

I guess it would have been better back in 2007 (07-07-07), or even better, in 1977 (7-7-77).  But then it would only be fun if you drop the two digits for the century (i.e., 20… or 19…).  It’s not great, is it?

I don’t know.  What should I talk about, here with my shouting into the void and gazing into the abyss and jumping into the conclusion?

That latter expression almost sounds like a euphemism for dying, doesn’t it?  Is it like skipping to the end of a mystery novel?  Probably not, because I’m very close to being certain that, unlike the end of a mystery novel, nothing will be revealed when one dies.

By that, I don’t mean that the truth will be revealed and it will be that there is nothing.  It’s more subtle than that.  I mean nothing of any kind will be revealed to you, because that to which the revelation might occur is what will cease entirely‒in a way, that happens every moment, but not in quite the same way as it will (I suspect) at the time of death.

Of course, I could be wrong about this, in principle.  But I am not “agnostic” in the usual sense of simply not having any inkling one way or another about a question.  I think there are good, strong reasons‒based on all we know of physics and biology and mathematics, and on how many different mythologies there are about “life after death” and how much they stink of desperate human fear and wish-fulfillment, how anthropocentric they are, when clearly the universe is not anthropocentric‒to think that death is simply the dissolution of the four-dimensional pattern that was a person, a sort of re-annihilation of “virtual particles” back to the vacuum state of the quantum field.

In a spatially infinite universe (or in some other version of a multiverse) it seems to be that there will exist other versions of you, both identical ones and nearly-identical ones, as well as quite different ones, including ones that inexplicably have all the memories of being other versions of you.  But they will not literally have been you, and there will be a much higher proportion of “you” that will have random memories of every possible kind of nonsense.

Of course, none of these versions of you can violate the laws of physics**.

And they aren’t really you, are they?  If they were, you might be experiencing everything any version of you is experiencing now, and you are not.  There are strong impediments to such a simultaneous experience of infinite lives, not the least of which is the relativistic impossibility of information traveling at infinite speed, as well as the incoherence of the concept of “simultaneity” for objects with spatial separation (if this is not obvious, I encourage you to look into special relativity).

So, yeah.  You are the state of your being right now, and that state is always changing (not randomly, though a lot of it does seem to be stochastic).  There is not a much better description of “you” for accuracy, though there can be more precise and thorough descriptions of the details.

There could be a billion or a googol or Tree-3 number of “identical” copies of you, but each one would be just a separate “you”, no more a literal part of your being than would be your former womb-mate if you were one of a pair of identical twins.

Reality can be disappointing, though that’s really only if you think you have any right to expect it to be otherwise than it is.  And you don’t have any such right.

Have a good day if you can.

*I think it’s ordinal, not cardinal, in this case, but I’m not too sure.  I’ll look it up.

**I truly despise expressions, usually found in clickbait headlines, such as “this or that finding breaks physics” or “this shouldn’t happen, according to physics”.  No.  Nothing breaks physics.  Nothing that happens “should not” happen according to physics, because physics is what describes what is out there in reality.  If something seems to defy physics, that just shows that we don’t understand physics well enough.  Such things are not generally frightening or worrisome to physicists (and other scientists); these things get them motivated, for they reveal places where we can learn new things about the universe.  Scientists, ceteris paribus, love finding things no one understands.  Science knows it doesn’t know everything***, and what’s more, science kind of loves that it doesn’t know everything.  That’s part of the excitement, the challenge, the possibility of growth.

***If it thought it knew everything, it would cease.

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Imagine whatever headline you want; I don’t care

Welcome to the Monday of the first full week of July in 2026 CE (or AD if you must).  I hope that those of you in the USA had a nice Independence Day weekend.  There are no more significant holidays (that I recall) until at least September, now.

I didn’t do anything to celebrate the holiday‒unless you count trying to burn some kudzu‒because holiday celebrations generally involve other people, family and friends and such like, and I did not have any such group with whom to celebrate.

It’s probably just as well for such groups that I am not a part of them; I’m a serious downer and an unpleasant person* to be around for very long.  This used not to be the case; in my default or older settings, I’m naturally more hyper and sometimes rather silly (that too can be irritating, I fear).  Since my chronic pain began, however, I have become a much grumpier, angrier, more irritable person.  Things that I would have laughed off in the past, or about which I would have been more “philosophical”, easily get my ire up, even tiny little, minor, innocent things.

Using the seven dwarfs as personal descriptions, I spend most of my time these days Grumpy, rarely if ever Happy, frequently Dopey, quite Bashful almost always, from time to time Sneezy, not Sleepy nearly as often as I would prefer.  But I’m always Doc.  Take that for what it’s worth, which is probably nothing.

Anyway, yeah, I didn’t do anything pleasant on Saturday, nor much on Sunday, though at least I did talk on the phone to my sister.

I toyed with the notion of “celebrating” the 4th by making my way to the front of the Palm Beach County courthouse and making a fireworks display in the style of Thích Quảng Đức.  However, it was not only a Saturday, but it was a federal holiday; no one would have been there.  Also, I don’t know that I would have the courage to go through with it.

I need to do something though.  I cannot keep doing what I’m doing.  But I don’t see many options which I’m capable of embracing, given my dearth of personal energy and motivation.

I’m sorry I’m not being more positive or interesting, or at least quirky and strange in a less negative way, today.  Actually, I don’t really know if I’m ever interesting.  But, anyway, I just don’t have the energy right now to pretend not to be depressed, like I often do.  Maybe I’ve been pretending all my life that way**.  They do talk a lot about “masking” in neurodivergent people, and it has struck me as a very accurate and apposite notion since the first time I encountered it.

But, of course, there’s not necessarily any identity underneath such masks.  There’s certainly nothing very consistent, since “who we are” at any given moment or stage of our lives is but a three-dimensional slice of what is actually a four-dimensional being.

In case that sounds weird, I just mean that who we are at any given moment is true for just a point in time, a snapshot of a being that has not only spatial extent but also has a beginning and an end in time and which changes with every moment of that time, taking in and losing particles, maintaining that roughly constant but always altering configuration from frame to frame of of the movie that is a person’s life.

So, a question like “Who am I, really?” is perhaps best answered by saying, “I am the being who is asking that question.”  There is probably no deeper answer, at least not any much more specific one.  There is no “character description” in some Platonic realm that lays out who we really are, or if there is, I’ve encountered not the slightest intimation of it, and I would be very surprised if it existed.

Anyway, enough gobbledegook.  I’m just tired already, and it’s only the very beginning of Monday morning.  I’m so very tired.  I really ought to go before I spoil the party, to paraphrase a good Beatles song (see below).  I fear that I will just be a black cloud for everyone around me today, and probably in general.

I can’t even seem to find a book I can stick with reading right now; I shuffled through several different genres, let alone books, in my Kindle library a few dozen times in recent days, weeks, whatever, trying to find something interesting.  But after a brief time reading each thing I lose momentum and interest.  Even The Noonday Demon, a well-written book about depression, loses me after a bit.  Even Physics isn’t interesting to me, and that’s a bad sign.  Ditto for music, or movies (or shows) or what have you.

Everything is just a drizzly, insipid gray‒metaphorically, and sometimes also literally.  And I sometimes don’t have the energy to keep pretending that I can see anything else.

Like Ed Deepneau said in Stephen King’s Insomnia, “…sometimes the world is full of colors…but now all the colors are turning black.”

Enough, this has gone on too long already.  I apologize.  I hope you have a good day and a good week and a good remainder of your lives.

*More than one person has told me this, and they did not compare notes.

**Probably not.  It would be very bizarre indeed to be born depressed, though the tendency thereto can certainly be congenital, much like both forms of ASD that I have/had.