#the bitter ocean shitposts

[the-bitter-ocean]

Saw the latest update for Aurora and the new trope talk video and well.. I had to do it:

[the-bitter-ocean]

This is the funniest series of events to ever happen I think @daily-odile

pov: eon tries to explain why eating a star was a good idea, [eon design by @the-bitter-ocean]

bonus:

[tealgoat]

Time loop support group shitposts

Alt looper aus/ edits by @the-bitter-ocean @startagainaprologue @basilpaste

Mira edit by @pixxyofice

[karmaticfeild]

What is 9/11??

Fandom- Gravity Falls

Pairing- N/a

Summary- Ford learns about 9/11 in a very unique way.

Warnings- 9/11, this is a shitpost

Word count- 1,545

A/n- This was written very quickly. Also the first time writing any of these characters. More serious stuff will be posted later on, but this is mostly just a fun time! I hope you guys enjoy.

———————————————————————Stanford sat out on the porch, the sun shining brightly on him. After 30 years of running in the multiverse it was nice to have these moments of relaxation. Sure, coming back to see his home turned into a tourist trap was a shock, and learning that his brother was impersonating him during that time was a bitter stab to the stomach. But everything figured itself out. Bill was defeated, his family reunited, and the Stan O’ War had sailed the wide ocean. New creatures that Ford couldn't have imagined sat as memories in the pages of the newly made Journal 4.

Dipper was ecstatic to see what Ford and Stanley had found, almost seeming to burst out of his skin from excitement. It was nice to have someone to talk about his adventures to. When Dipper had shown his own journal, Ford felt pride well into his chest. A blue Pinetree was on the cover with a painted one in the middle. Ford insisted on Dipper showing what was held in his own journal, and with some convincing Dipper did so. Dipper and Ford spent hours talking about each other's adventures.

But what had surprised Ford the most was the present he received from Mabel. A blue knitted sweater with a 6 fingered hand in the front. When he saw the gift, Ford couldn't keep tears from falling down his face. He couldn't help but think about the gift that Fiddleford had given him all those years ago. The same warm feeling of love filled his chest as he hugged Mabel tightly.

As Ford reminisced, he couldn't help but feel bad for his old self. The self that pushed people away, that thought that he was the only smart person in the world. That nothing wrong could happen to him because of his intellect. What a fool he was. But Ford couldn’t be happier. He had a family that cared for him, and he has his brother back. Who knew that trusting people could be a good thing?

As Stanford enjoyed the sunlight, he could hear someone opening the door beside him. In the corner of his eye, Ford could see Stanley walking over to him and sitting on the sun-worn couch with a cup in his hand. They sat in silence, simply enjoying the sunlight.

As they sat, Ford's brain filled with ideas of what to do with the children. As fun as it would be to stay at the shack for the summer, Ford couldn't help but feel that they should go somewhere for the summer. A couple places came to mind. Washington would be a good place, there were lots of historical monuments that would be interesting for Dipper and ford. And there is a very nice art museum for Mabel to enjoy. But Ford couldn't help but feel like the kids were too young for Washington. Nashville would be another fun place to go, and it would help with Ford's “ancient music tastes.”

With a snap of his fingers, Stanford quickly turned to Stanley with a wide smile on his face. “Wouldn't it be fun to take the kids to the World Trade Center?” He was careful to not spill his coffee as he turned back to the sun. He also ignored the way Stanley choked on his drink and looked at Stanford in shock.

“It would be fun for the kids! We could go to the top of the towers and look over New York. And I bet there are plenty of shopping centers for Mabel to look around!” Stanford rambled on and on about why it would be best for the family to go visit the Twin Towers as Stanley tried to process what his brother was saying. Surely he knows about the bombin-

Oh god, Stanford doesn’t know about 9/11.

Stanford noticed his brother's silence. He looked over at Stanley with confusion as he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Stanley coughed loudly, trying to distract his brother from his own confusion. “Uh, yeah yeah! Everythings alright Pointdexter. Just remembered that I uh,” Stanley rubbed the back of his neck, “Just remembered that I promised the kids some Stancakes. Have to get to work on them!” Stanley stood up quickly, almost spilling his coffee as he walked back into the shack.

Stanford looked confused as he watched Stanley walk away. Did he say something wrong?

As Stanford tried to figure out what he did to make Stanley leave, the said brother was trying to figure out how to explain what happened on 9/11 to his brother. He had forgotten that American news would not be dimension wide news. Or he had assumed that Stanford would have heard about it somehow on the internet. Stan dragged his hands down his face as an idea popped into his head. He made his way to the stairs. Walking up, he yelled up to the kids, telling them that he needed some help with something.

—--------------------------------------------

“What am I looking at?” Stanford sat on the t-rex skull in the living room. He looked perplexed at the table that sat in the middle of the room with a white cover on top. Mabel and Dipper stood on opposite sides of the table, Dipper looking like he would rather be somewhere else while Mabel seemed excited. Stanley sat in his yellow armchair. Stan was surprisingly quiet in Ford's mind.

“Well…” Dipper tried to not make eye contact with Ford. Performance anxiety?

Stanley turned to Ford, a grim expression on his face. “Remember the other day, you were talking about taking the kids to the World Trade Center.”

Ford nodded. He was confused, what did the World Trade Center have to do with all of this?

“Ya see Sixer,” Stanley nodded over at Mabel, almost like he was asking her indirectly to take over.

Mabel sighed heavily. “Grunkle Ford, you were gone for a loooong time. And there were so many things that happened. Good and bad!! So me and Dipping Dot are going to give you a history lesson! Behold!” Mabel and Dipper reached for the bottom of the cover and lifted it up, revealing two towers made of what appeared to be paper mache?

It was obvious to Ford that the towers were the Twin Towers, but what did this have to do with a history lesson.

Unless.

“Did something happen to the World Trade Center??” Ford asked, looking very concerned.

“Shshshs! You’re gonna spoil the experience Grunkle Ford!” Mabel looked at Dipper, waiting for him to do something. Rummaging through his pockets, Dipper pulled out a handful of notecards. Staring at the cards, Dipper started talking about Osama Bin Laden and al-Qaeda. Ford nodded along, taking in what he was hearing. Stan would glance at him occasionally, making sure that his brother was okay. But he stayed quiet.

As Dipper spoke, Mabel was looking expectantly at Dipper. As if she was waiting for something.

“On September 11, 2001, there were… there were,” Dipper looked up from the notecards, feeling nervous from the intense gaze that Ford directed at him. Taking a deep breath, Dipper looked back at the cards.

“There were 4 planes hijacked by members of al-Qaeda. One of those planes,” Dipper paused, letting Mabel grab a small plane from one of her pockets. “One of the planes… hit the first Twin Tower.”

Mabel directed the plane to the closest tower to her as she jabbed it into the paper mache. A puff of glitter erupted from the tower as she pulled the plane out. Ford looked at the twins shocked, his mouth wide open. He jerked his head over to Stan, questions on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t ask me Poindexter! The kids are teaching, not me.”

Dipper coughed in his hand, trying to get his Grunkles attention. “If it changed anything, Great Uncle Ford, the glitter was Mabel's idea.”

Mabel put a hand up to her chest, feinging a stab wound. “It’s called creative liberty Dipper! It gets the point across much better than NOT having the explosion of glitter!”

Ford was still in shock as the kids argued between each other. “But there were four planes, right? What happened to the other ones?” Ford sounded almost scared to ask.

Dipper and Mabel turned to Ford. Dipper put the note cards back into his pockets. “One of them hit the other tower-”

Dipper cringed as he saw Ford’s face look pained. “But one of them only hit a field! Didn’t hurt anyone. Well, I think anyway.” Mabel spoke, trying to help her Grunkle a little.

Ford moved his hands up to his temples, rubbing them. This was a lot to take in. “So, both of the towers were hit by this Bin Laden guy. And one plane hit a field. Do I want to ask where the other one hit?”

Mabel and Dipper looked at each other nervously. They fell silent. Ford’s shoulders tensed up as he waited. Nothing could be worse than the towers getting hit.

“They hit the Pentagon Sixer.” Stanley spoke up, taking a sip of his Pitt Cola.

“THEY HIT THE FUCKING PENTAGON??” Ford looked at the kids and Stanley with horror. The kids will never give another history lesson to Ford after this.

[rotary-supercollider]

Falst shitpost I made for @the-bitter-ocean and @coffeewolfart about a week ago

[the-bitter-ocean]

@chipper-smol I had to do it

Do any of the isat crew have crimes in their past?

Isa and Mira are squares. Bonnie child. Siffrin, I think so. Odile, almost certainly

[cassandracorvo]

Tagged by @lovebillyhargrove :') thank you baby I didn't expect it <3

Last Song: "Falling Down" by Duran Duran

Song stuck in my head: "Last Christman" by Wham!. She knows it's her fault

Favourite colour(s): any shade of blue, esp. cerulean and cobalt; gold; lilac and wisteria; and to wear, black, the supreme color

Currently watching: Cold Case (rewatch)

Currently reading: "Acts of Services" by Lillian Fishman

Currently craving: carbs

Last movie: Do documentaries count? If yes, "Il caso Elisa Claps"; "Hereditary"

Sweet, spicy or savoury? Bitter. Like life.

Relationship status: I'm writing my thesis (single)

Current obsession: Billy Hargrove *sends kiss the ocean*

Three favourite foods: Baked pasta. Pasta and potatoes. Roasted potatoes.

Last thing I googled: "Mobilian Jargon"

Dream trip: road trip on the Northern Europe coast, "realistically"; ideally, backpack trip🤤

Anything i want right now: my friends and loved ones to be healthy and serene. Peace of mind. My Demonia Bear. More cats

Tagging: @goddessofgodless @irohasong @ilragazzodelfaro @buckysgrace @ariesbilly @ellelans @fdevita-official-shitpost @assortedfruitsnacks212 @ariesbilly @sadhours @half-oz-eddie @intothedysphoria @mrsblackruby muah to everyone (tranne a Viviana. A te i fiori per Viktor ✝️)

And if you see this and wanna do it, i tag you too! ❤️❤️❤️

[the-bitter-ocean]

I am not really active in the Aurora fandom anymore but… here take this meme I made forever ago after seeing that one question about Dr. Jolon years ago:

[the-bitter-ocean]

ISAT meme dump 3 (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACT 4+5)

[the-bitter-ocean]

@paroxysmaljune mind if I join you

my taste in characters has not changed a bit dont let this deceive you

[the-bitter-ocean]

ISAT MEME DUMP PART 8 ( MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACTS 3, 5 and 6 UNDER THE CUT)

[lehouxnap2]

@sophiedoesherbest and I did a "words you associate with X character" of the 104th cadets

(This is all our own subjective feelings on them that i felt like sharing, keep that in mind)

Eren:

Sophie= Lucious green forests and mountains, cinnamon scent, the color green, grundge, the silence before the storm, hawks, chocolate cake, really dark and bitter coffee without milk and sugar, Demoralization, turqouise ponds, glory and knights

Me= Dark green, angry, madness, determination, beautiful eyes, crybaby, rock, metal, try hard, soft hair, rude, Fights, bruises, blood, satanist, birds, chains, piercings, Turkish food, freedom, anarchist.

Mikasa:

Sophie= I think she's more of a minimalist in clothing stlye? devotion, loyality, the color red, tigerlilies, mango scent, cented candles, gold, a big city like New York, coffee with milk and no sugar, try hard, persian cats, beautiful grasslands, slightly cloudy weather with sunshin and gentle winds

Me= The color black, black cats, goth aesthetic, lots of jewerly, red lipstick, make up, Japan cities, high boots, cute, romantic, altars, knight, protection, loyalty, red, sports, goofy, katanas, bellflowers.

Armin:

Sophie= Clams, Chocolate cookies, Sandy beach woth cloudless sky and bright blue sea, salty, fresh and oceanic smell (I dont know how to describe it but its a really nice smell), Orange icecream, Organic teas (especially from fruits!!), and Golden retrievers

Me= Water, blue, beach, fishes, shells, Sand, maths, manipulation, lying, fear, studies, glasses, early morning, cardigans, anime, vest, swimming, tea afternoon in a british old house.

Jean:

Sophie= British shorthair cats, strength, thunderstorm with big lightnings and heavy, wind , the sky is almost blac, rich little town in the mountains, polaroid photos, daisies, arrogance, memories, endless grief and love, vulnerability, bright yellow - gold colors, lemon frappe, pumpkinpie, scent of orange and lemon, beanies, grundge stlye with black and red checkered shirts, long lashes, gothic cathedrals.

Me= Beige, punk, shy, mommy spoiled, bullying, envy, leader, maturing, masculinity, horses, french dogs, french food, football, eiffel tower with sunset light, bread, motorcycles, brown boots, wrist watch, ponytail, insecurity, cigarettes.

Sasha:

Sophie= checkered shirts and dresses, sunflowers, jeans, border collies and bloodhounds old, tabby colored barn cat, a good old all-you-can-eat restaurant, cherries, a summer night when all the stars are out and you just gaze at them while the crickets are chirping, old pickup trucks, horses, barn animals, barn life, sunglasses, hunting trophies, big family, warm colours, a cup of warm grey tea, running in the near fields, cornfield, Fall Out Boy songs, rock/alternative clothing, boots, rustic small village where everyone know everyone

Me= Hunting, woods, wild, short jeans, thigh high stockings, funny, friendly, self image, big dogs, bow and arrows, sparkles, sniper, cream, russian restaurant, peruvian food, rifle mouser model, frappuccinos.

Connie:

Sophie= Parrots, cold cozy winter nights with warmth inside the house and being with the family, grey palettes, a big village with full of warm hearted, friendly people, larkspurs, maaaaaany animals, big family house that were theirs since aaages, abandoned mine lakes, cheetos, pancakes, cocoa with gingerbread flavour, cinnamon, lemongrass scent, alcohol and house parties, extroverted, funny, cheerful, friendship, tragedies, big heart.

Me= Asexuality, aromantic life, clown kid, funny, pranks, YouTube shitpost, cool kid, defender, cute, gray purple colors, innocent, bucket hats, caps, ankle rope bracelet, necklace, sunny beach in Miami, colorful converse, sweet sugar, grumpy, weed.

Reiner:

Sophie= lilacs, mint and choco icecream, melancholy, rain with wind an light grey clouds, gingerbread latte, dark chocolate (the bitter one), pitbulls, maine coons, abins in the woods, punk rock and leather jackets, motorcycles, blood and ruises

Me= Sadness, rain, cloudy beach, tears, depression, sleep, nightmares, guilt, double life, yellow, pink, milk, self loathe, admiration, flannel shirts, guitar, dark circles under eyes, eyeliner, cloudy city in Germany, 80's rock.

Bertholdt:

Sophie= Intense snowstorm with really strong wind, foxgloves, pinetrees, pineforest and grim, rocky, dark mountains, dalmatians, brownies, scent of freshly cut grass, isolation, abandoned roads, 1970's Mustangs, twenty One Pilots songs

Me= Marine blue, no determination, undecided, follower, medicine, chill, selfish, appearence, gray, sweaters, cloudy, sweat, nervous, shy, storm, trees, bad luck, coffee place in Denmark.

Annie:

Sophie= demisexuality, purity, hydrangeas, cool weather when there is no snow but things are freezing, overfreezed lakes with unfortunate animals in it like deers, foxes, etc., angora cats, scottish shepherd dogs, vikings, north, goth or scene, checkered skirts, ripped stockings, anime/cosplay stuff, dreamer, repressing emotion, candies, donuts, nutella, sweet coffee with milk and like 4 sugarcubes, campfire, electric guitars, 80's bands and music, eyeliner, electric blue and black, tiny tattoos, death's head hawkmothes, small deserted town with unfriendly people, anxiety and melancholy, chocolate cakes, evergreen forests with forgotten temples and ravens, the urge to deep in the heart hug someone and feel their warmth and love, isolation, regret.

Me= Snow, winter cold, Pearl like earrings, light blue, 2000's rebel style. Guitar, long eyelashes, black eyeshadow, boots, hoodies, white, Stones, wolf, boxing, introvert, nightmares, brute, cats, ice skating, ice cream, donuts, isolation.

Historia:

Sophie= macarons, pastel pink and blue, sparkles and glitter, hot chocolate with cottoncandy, roses, sweet fragranced perfumes, fluffy clouded wheather where the sun shines, the birds are chirping, but the rain is coming, dedication, undying love, grief, pink carnations, Imagine Dragon songs, accessories made from clams, lazy days in cafés, cottages, writing at a fancy laptop, Ragdoll cats.

Me= Royalty, pink, gold, crown, white cats, bells, wedding, mean, 2000's fashion popular girl, velvet, white swan, perfection, imperfection, rebel, cute make up, rings, feminine, perfume, bubble baths, greek gods, two faces, farm animals.

Ymir:

Sophie= Sand, the scent of vanilla and pomegranade, applepies, gold and dark brown earth colours, volcanos, fire, hot, humid summer days with clar skies, a lonely, clear blue river in a rocky mountain, capuccino, bullterriers, Tiger eye stone, bath bombs, loyalty, tragedy, true love, intricate.

Me= Love, pastel orange, cakes, honesty, thief, money, orphans, kind, funny, tickles, catholic church, fresh wind, towers in Norway, fruits, ties, bride, autumn, goddess, true to yourself

Marco:

Sophie= lavenders, deserted /creepy cementeries and villages, some sort of freshness and cleanliness, sunsets when the sky is light blue and vivid orange with pinks and purples, and the clouds are majestic and fluffy, witchcraft, white lilies, warm, cozy feelings, white chocolate

Me= Lavenders, white lillies, music, laughs, sex, kinkyness, sweet stuff, white, chocolate colors, love, sadness, lonelyness, desperation, friend, books, religion, tight jeans, cookies, sunny city in Italy, uptight, high expectations, raspberry, blush

Part 2

[oddlyre]

Tagged by @ivory-in-rapture love u ♥︎

ancient or modern // bitter or sweet // chocolate or vanilla // coffee or tea// create or destroy // day or night // early bird or night owl // freckles or dimples // gold or silver // Greek mythology or Egyptian mythology // macarons or eclairs// hot or cold // thunder or lightning // typewritten or handwritten // secret garden or secret library // spicy or mild // dark magic or light magic // virtue or vice // ocean or desert // mermaids or sirens // known or unknown// rough or smooth// moon or stars // rain or snow

this was fun thenk u @frecklyylance @frequenseas @shitposts-and-tears @illyrianwitch @fangirling-quietly

[the-bitter-ocean]

@paroxysmaljune @some-pers0n

I should start listening to that podcast my mutual likes. The pneumonia podcast

[ladytesla]

Romance and Revolution: Writing

I got bored today so I made little 2-300 word blurbs for all the guys I made for my Ikemen American Revolution shitpost fake otome game.  Which I might make someday.  Idk.

Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette

I sank down into a chair beside Lafayette to catch my breath.  He smiled at me, his eyes shining in the candlelight.

“Mademoiselle’s face is glowing,” he said.  “It is a pleasure beyond description to see you enjoying yourself so much.”

I could feel my face grow hot, and not just because I had been dancing.

“There’s one man I have been wanting to dance with, Lafayette,” I teased, “but I haven’t seen him get up once.”

Now it was his turn to blush, a charming red creeping over his cheeks.

“Ah, though I do know how to,” he said sheepishly, “no one wants to see such clumsy steps as mine.”

“I’m sure that’s not true!”  I urged him.  “Please?”

“No, no, I’ll stay here,” he mumbled.  “The last time I danced…  I was laughed off of the dance floor by the Queen of France herself.”

My jaw dropped.  Eloquent, princely Lafayette… laughed off a dance floor?  I couldn’t imagine.

“Well, it seems I’ve finally found a flaw in you,” I said with a grin.  “I’ve been looking for so long and haven’t been able to find any others.”

He looked surprised for a moment, then laughed.  A musical sound that made me laugh too.

“Mademoiselle’s silver tongue would be right at home in the French court,” he smiled.  “Perhaps you should come with me someday.”

“I don’t speak French, remember?”  I asked.

“You could charm everyone with that smile alone,” he reassured me. 

Now it was my turn to blush.

  Mariot Arbuthnot

“You’ve lived near the ocean all your life, and never been to sea?”  Mariot looked at me and shook his head.  “I don’t understand it.  I joined the navy at 10.”

“I started working at my father’s practice when I was 15,” I countered.  “Medicine doesn’t really involve going to sea.”

“I suppose not,” he shrugged.  The ship suddenly pitched beneath our feet, and I lost my balance with a little yelp.

“C-careful!”  I ran into his chest, solid as a wall, and he reached up to grip my shoulders, steadying me.  When I looked up, his face was bright red.

“You don’t have your sea legs, I take it,” he said, guiding me to the railing so I could hang on to it.  I had no idea how he was able to stand so easily on a heaving deck, shifting his weight to counteract each pitch and roll.

“I’ll have my sailmaker assemble a hammock chair for you to sit in, the next time you come,” he promised. 

“Thank you, Mariot,” I smiled gratefully at him.

“It’s nothing, he’s bored anyway, so I figured…” He became very interested in a knothole in the deck, kicking at it.  “It’ll keep you out of the way… women aren’t supposed to be on a ship of war.”

“So do you not want me to come see you?”  I asked.

“I never said that,” he mumbled. 

  Alexander Hamilton

Alexander finished writing a letter and sealed it, then turned to me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, lovely,” he flashed that dazzling grin at me.

“It’s all right,” I said.  I enjoyed watching him work.  The look of concentration on his face, the speed of his quill, the soothing sound of it scratching against paper…  but when I looked at the clock, it was far later than our agreed meeting time for dinner.

“You work too hard sometimes, Alexander,” I said reproachfully.

“There IS a war going on,” he chided as he held out my cloak to me.  “But once I’m done for the day, my time belongs to you.”  He offered his arm with an elaborate flourish.  “Shall we?”

“You still want to go to dinner?”  I laughed as I slipped my arm through his.  

“With you on my arm?  Absolutely,” he nodded firmly.  “It’s not very often I can parade around with a beauty like you on my arm.  I want to make the whole town jealous.”

“It seems you have a way with words whether you’re writing or speaking,” I said.  He held the door for me, and we stepped out into the evening twilight. 

“I do try,” he said warmly.  “especially when you’re involved.”

I looked into his eyes, at the confidence radiating from them, and felt absolutely helpless.

  Charles Cornwallis

“Let me come with you, Charles,” I demanded.  “I can help, I know medicine—”

“Absolutely not,” he frowned.  “You’re going to stay here.  There’s no place in the city more secure than this.”

“But what about you?”  I asked.  I followed him through the parlor as he pulled on his cloak.  I didn’t want to be apart from him, not for a moment.  I didn’t want to be like so many other women, waiting for someone who may never come home.

“I said no,” he repeated.  He stopped me in the doorway, his hands gripping my arms.  There was a ferocious glint in his eyes, making him look almost feral.  His face softened, however, when I spoke again.

“I just want to help you,” I rested my hands on his chest, toying with the clasp of his cloak.

In an instant, he pulled me into a fierce embrace, one arm around my waist and a hand on the back of my head, pressing me against him.

“Help me by staying where I know you won’t get hurt, you fool,” he whispered in my ear.  “I don’t want to lock you away to keep you from harm, but I swear to God, woman, test me again and I will.”

He pulled back to press his lips to the top of my head. 

“Stay here and wait for me,” he said again, his face set like a marble statue.  And with a whirl of his cloak, he walked down the steps toward war.

  George Washington

“Have you seen this?”  I asked, waving the pamphlet I’d found angrily in the air.  Drunkard looked up and let out a woof of disappointment that I’d disturbed his nap.

“Let me guess,” George looked up from the map he was examining.  He looked tired, but still he smiled.  “They’re calling me incompetent?  An old soldier resting on his laurels?  An imbecile?

“Yes!”  I snapped.  “Do something about it!  Sic Hamilton on them!  They don’t know what they’re talking about!  They don’t know what it’s like out here!”  I was furious.  George was doing all he could to keep the American dream alive, and critics were coming at him from left and right. 

“Hush now, enough of that,” he said gently.  “Give me the pamphlet.”

“Aren’t you angry?”  I demanded.  “And let’s not get started on what Lee’s been spouting after Monmouth…”

“I agree, let’s not start.”  He took the pamphlet from my hand.  Instead of reading it, though, he tossed it into the fire. 

“Whoops,” he mused.  Then he turned back to me.  “You’re angry enough for the both of us.  Maybe I should sic you on them instead.  But that wouldn’t solve anything.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he shook his head.  “Being goaded into an argument won’t solve anything.  Actions will.”  He smiled reassuringly at me.  “Turn the other cheek, and focus on doing what you can to keep my men moving.”

His patience was endless… and infuriating.

“I’m still mad, though,” I muttered.

“Then go be mad while helping your father,” he chuckled.  “Turn your anger into energy.  They’ll see they were wrong when the war’s over.”  He patted my back, shuttling me on my way.  “No more pamphlets for you.”

  William Howe

“I thought all Englishmen drank tea,” I said, looking over at the cup in William’s hands.

“I prefer coffee,” he confessed.  “It’s more bitter.  Keeps me awake.”  He shoved a hand through his wavy brown hair, making it stick up at all different angles.  He didn’t meet my eyes.

“Something’s wrong,” I pressed.  I could tell in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he nervously bounced his leg while staring out the window. 

William put down his cup.

“I’m worried it won’t be enough,” he said softly.  “You don’t understand how the military works.  There’s dozens of men waiting to take the place of any officer who doesn’t perform his utmost duty to his king and country.”  He sighed.  “I’ve come this far… but what if this was all a trick?  What if I’m just a fool who doesn’t realize his own incompetence?”

“William, stop that,” I soothed.  I hated to see him gloomy like this.  I got up and walked behind his chair, placing my hands on his shoulders.  “You’re brilliant.  And no matter how this war ends, I know your king will see that.”

“My king…  but not yours, you little yankee,” he gently grasped my hands in his and looked up at me.  There were lines of exhaustion on his face, but a small smile despite them. 

“I hope you’re right,” he said.  “When you look at me like that… I’ll believe anything.”

  Paul Revere

It was hot in the little workshop, which made Paul strip down to his shirtsleeves.  I personally didn’t mind a bit.  I loved watching him work.

“Is that my favorite doctor?”  He asked, looking up from the forge.  I gave a laugh and a little wave.

“What are you making today?”  I asked.  I stepped into his workshop, staying in the corner out of the way. 

“A tea set,” he sighed.  “Some lobsterback officer wants it.  As long as he pays me well, though, I’ll make it.”  He stood back and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  He looked back at me and grinned.  “Made a little something from the scraps, if you want it.”  He jerked his head towards a little cat figurine on the tabletop.  I reached for it to get a closer look.  It was a horrible idea. 

“Ah!”  I withdrew my hand.  It looked cool, but it was still white-hot!

“You didn’t touch it, did you?”  He frowned and crossed the room to me, taking my hand in both of his.  “Idiot.”

“You’re the one who brought it to my attention!”  I protested.

“I suppose I did,” he took me over to a bucket of water and had me dunk my hand in it.  The cool water soothed my scorched fingers.  I tried not to think about how close he was.

“There, that should feel better,” he said.  “Now I’ll have to give you that little cat.  You’ve been through enough trouble for it.”

“You’re too kind,” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m anything but,” he corrected.  “Get on out of here before you hurt your pretty hands again.” 

  Joseph Brant

Joseph and I stopped our horses on a hill overlooking the sea.  I could see Mariot’s blockade in the distance, a few scattered pyramids of white canvas near the horizon.

“I can’t imagine traveling on the ocean,” I said.

“It wasn’t my favorite experience,” he replied.  “But I’m glad I went.”

“Where did you go?”  I asked in surprise.

“London,” he responded.  It took him a while to realize I was still watching him, waiting for him to speak again.  He scowled before reluctantly continuing.  “I wanted a promise that my people’s lands would be respected, that we wouldn’t be forced to leave.”

I couldn’t imaging being that far from home, much less with so much at stake.

“You’re brave to have done that,” I said.  “I don’t think I could have.”

“And yet I’ve seen you walk battlefields looking for wounded men,” he smirked.  “But perhaps you’re more foolish than brave.”

“Maybe I am,” I sighed.  “But I want to help people.  That’s what I do.”

Joseph was quiet for a while, even after we continued on our ride.

“To live for others is admirable,” he said softly.  I looked over at him, surprised to hear him speaking so openly to me.

“Thank you, Joseph,” I said.

“Don’t think too hard into it,” he said.  “I was just thinking out loud.”

  Thomas Jefferson

When I walked into the library, Thomas was walking along the shelves, a frown on his face.  The frown deepened with each shelf he passed.

“What are you looking for?”  I asked.

“’Don Quixote’,” he mused.  “I was reading it, but it’s not here.”

“Oh…” I said sheepishly.  I held up the copy I was reading.  “I think I stole it.”

“Thief,” he quipped as he walked over.  “What part are you at?”

“I’m not far,” I confessed.  “He just found the lazy shepherd boy being beaten by his master.”

“And Heaven forbid someone be in trouble when a Knight Errant is about,” he sat down next to me.  “Would you be willing to share custody of the book?  I’m a fast reader… and I’ve been wanting to continue the novel.”

I was surprised at the offer, but smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” I said, holding the book between the two of us.  He took it from me and held it out for both of us to see. 

“Let me know when you’re ready for me to turn the page,” he said softly.

I promised him I would.  Then we began to read again, enjoying the silence of the library together.

  Benedict Arnold

“Benedict, that’s enough,” I finally found him in his office, a bottle of wine in one hand and an empty glass in another.  It was rare for him to drink himself into a stupor these days, but a recent loss in battle had hit him hard.

“Go away, Peggy,” he mumbled.  “Witch.”

“Peggy’s gone, Benedict,” I took the bottle from his hand.  Soon, I replaced his wine glass with a water glass.  He stared at it stupidly before taking a sip.

“Everything keeps going wrong,” he said.  “I have the worst luck of any man since Job.”  His bleary eyes turned to me.  “And yet you’re still here.  I don’t understand it.”

“You don’t have to understand it,” I soothed, sitting down beside him.  “Have some more water.  Do you want anything to eat?”

“You should have left by now,” he went on, ignoring me.  “Everyone leaves.”

“But I won’t,” I said.  I patted his back gently.  “We’ll see the end of this war together, Benedict.  It will be all right.”

“You’re so naïve,” he leaned over and rested his head against mine.  “But… I hope you’re right.”

  Nathan Hale

Nathan’s laugh was infectious.  However, he was laughing at me, so it wasn’t as funny as it normally was.

“You’re horrible at skipping rocks,” he teased.

“I’ve had better things to do!  Leave me alone!”  I sniffed indignantly.  He pushed off from the tree he’d been leaning against and strode over, picking up another smooth stone as he went. “You’ve gotta flick your wrist like this,” he said as he demonstrated.  Sure enough, the stone sailed several skips into the center of the pond. 

“Show-off,” I accused as I reached for another.  He watched me, then shook his head.

“No no no, not like that…”  He reached out and took my hand in his, moving my fingers so that they held the stone in a manner he deemed acceptable.

“So when you flick your wrist, use this finger to put a spin on it,” he explained, moving the rock in my hand.  “Come on, try again.  It can’t be as bad as last time!”

I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him.  He stepped back and swept his arm in a grand gesture toward the open water.  I tried my best, and sure enough, the stone skipped once, twice, then sank.

“I did it!”  I cried happily.

“You did,” he grinned.  “We’ll make a decent stone-thrower of you yet.”

[kado-maschine]

How to be alone?

Everyone has problems right? Those who don't, either don't understand what the term problem means, or they are inanimate matter, but even inanimate matter has problems too because of entropy.

Anyhow, my scariest bogeyman is that at best I can't make a relationship work, and at worst I even avoid the chance of having one. Why? If I want to put it simply, fuck knows. Thing is that I'm not gonna put it simple this time, as what I have learned from fake news propagated by Russian troll armies is that everything that is simple, sensational and easy to understand is not very productive apart from having the intention to muddy the waters and serve a very select few by doing so.

Since my interest is to clarify things for my own good (and maybe help or at least entertain others), truth is the name of the game with this writing (whatever it turns out to be). If there will be no other benefits, at least I’m going to be  able to cross off the mental task off my imaginary to do list.

One day, after having a rather enjoyable horse at the vet sensation, as I went to bed I had the same sensation that I was having as a child on countless occasions when I couldn't sleep or woke up randomly during the night. The bed, the sheets and most importantly the pillows felt like they are made some rigid, abrasive material, that is also disgusting. It felt like being embraced by disgust and bitterness. Normally my bed and I are best buddies, I love to sleep and I had no problem falling asleep on a beam bag in the middle of the office, during business hours. The chemistry was also supposed to help, not to deteriorate. Fast forward a few weeks while sitting on the bed and drinking a cuba made of free rum and overpriced PEPSI from the hotel's mini fridge I'm trying to figure out, when and why was I having problems with sleep before and when was I sleeping like a baby and why. In recent history, since my memory is one very slippery slope, the answer is a no, a no regarding detectable issues with my sleep. It is a no, as long as all the nights spent with gaming, night shifts or digging through obscure forums to find a track in a mix somewhere between minute 53 and 57 are not considered. Reflecting on the whole experience described above, I must have had trouble sleeping when I was a really small child and I was missing a lot. As I was growing up things got gradually better. By the time I was in high school the wardrobe have been conquered and turned into my gaming nest. The gaming room hosted my first gaming pc that I built piece by piece from a shitty Athlon that dad got screwed over by some "friend" and beloved games that kept me glued to the screen for hours on end. After the PC came my first car, job, girlfriend and slowly but surely as I moved away from my parents my own life really started to take shape. I have slept better and better. Now, armed with a mortgage, with two cars that possibly cost as much put together as a front bumper for a brand new BMW M3, two cats who are by far not the smartest but they keep me company and are cute af, two bicycles, a bunch of computers and a job that I'm grateful to have and one that fits my questionable attitude towards work, I yet again arrived to the point where the quality of my sleep is degrading faster than a space capsule entering the atmosphere, despite all the the things listed above were part of what I was dreaming of as a child and teenager/student.

Despite all of these, I'm oscillating between two states when it comes to sleep. One is the depression sleep, after taking a long hard look at my backlog that reaches to the Moon and back at least five times, taking a nap seems to be the only viable option, or multiple naps, or a humongous sleep where the only thing that can get me out of bed is the need to pee. The other one is the let's try to solve all of my problems in a purely theoretical manner, right before sleep, going over the same problems over and over, while making wild conspiracy theories about myself, because of the purely hypothetical setting. This mental kung-fu under some circumstances can turn into the above mentioned “being embraced by disgust” thing. How did I get here?

I've seen people being happier while having a lot less. What is that they have and I do not possess? Intimacy, I guess by the power of exclusion. Of course I could just short this whole thing before it gets off the ground, as a self-proclaimed good capitalist. I could say that If I can make enough money, someone will fake it for me for the financial benefit and as long as this someone does the thing right and tricks to my brain, I couldn't give less a of a fuck, or could I? Anyhow, with my current work ethic of extracting as much resources as possible form as little invested work as possible puts a cap on my earnings that limits my financial possibilities to roadside STD intimacy. Shut up! - screams the humanist from somewhere between repressed emotions and avoided social responsibilities. You have to make things work, otherwise you're just treating the symptoms, but the root cause remains and will re-surface over and over again - he continues. Now, call me Susan and you know the rest...  A multitude of attempts were made to solve this mess, so I kept failing in various ways. Yes, my now my mantra is "failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, success, failure, failure, success". Despite this attitude, one can only take so many failures before feeling exhausted and gets worse at the task on hand because of said tiredness and fails even more. People also tend to tell me that I need to learn to be happy alone. Please, shut the fuck up. Despite my shitposting, which i find genuinely funny, good and somewhat toxic way of escapism, I can be happy when I'm alone. Just to bring one example to the table, the road to this very hotel room where I'm writing this whatever right now, took me through one of the twistiest mountain passes that gets you outside of the Carpathian basin, the road goes through the city of Cheia (BV) and it has dozens upon dozens of hairpins one after another and miles upon miles of narrow, twisty roads with a bunch of elevation changes. My right foot just couldn’t care about fuel consumption. With my tires squealing in almost every corner and I was laughing loudly in the car, spanking the dash and shouting "ohh yea" while I could let the steering wheel loose for a few seconds. Dancing alone in the living room when the track of the week or month hits out of the blue, or when the right people at the right party are found to have "deep" conversations about whatever stupid topics that our brain soaking in whatever cocktail finds to be fit for purpose. The thing is, if one spent somewhere in the neighbourhood of six years trying all the gizmos and distractions of the modern society to make him or herself be happy without intimacy and succeeded to some extent, but at the same time realized that hundreds of thousands of years of evolutional biology and al the workflows tied into it cannot be cheated in a lifespan, what are the limits for being happy alone?

I have reached a point where the things that cause me unconditional pleasure are getting very complicated, time consuming, expensive or dangerous, like buying car parts, pushing transportation devices to their limits, gambling with bs crypto currencies or trying to learn skills with a heck of a learning curve, not to mention experimenting with chemically induced changes in my brain activity. I have also reached a point where it gets harder and harder to trick my biology. The ape says reproduce, while this in the modern era where global warming is prevalent and innocent eyed orphans  are making t-shirts in Bangladesh for next to nothing in a sweatshop, while China’s rivers deliver more plastic to the oceans than water kind world makes no sense. I could  at least fool the ape with just having someone around and occasionally making love or engaging in other forms of intimacy. At least the thresholds would be closer and it would be a lot simpler to fool the inner ape and the hormone levels wouldn't need to filled up with lies that much. Besides the raw biological teardown, having someone around as a partner where the positive interactions outweigh the negative ones could be the basis of a symbiosis between two humans.

If some intimacy / sex / company would help, why I’m not having any? - the question poses. In theory, the ins and outs have been mapped out. It all started, as it mostly does, during childhood. The marriage of my parents went totally south when my sister was born and I had 4 years, so my long term memory just started working. This meant that my memory had no part of seeing a single act of intimacy of my primary caregivers towards each other, just shouting, aside from my grandmother and my favourite aunt giving me a hug sometimes. It was a real battle zone where a few hours without shouting were far and few between. This and a lot of other shit that my parents were haunted by, courtesy of their own pasts gave me exactly zero knowledge on how to read woman. I’m basically fucking blind. Even if I was any good at maths I would loose count of the occasions when someone told me, “Look at that girl / woman, how she’s looking at us / you” and I had to ask where to look, in terms of general direction, not to mention the ability to pick up small signs. How do I see the sign, if a year or so have passed since we ’been together and I didn’t know the eye colour of my first girlfriend. Sounds surprising right? Well, when batshit crazy is considered normal for the first 20 years of your life, climbing out of that perspective has quite a learning curve. If that learning curve weren’t damn steep enough as is, add a stupid decision to it, and be very disciplined about that stupid decision for years, and the shitstorm will be near perfect. But I come back to the near perfection of the shitstorm in a bit.

First of all, how about that first girlfriend and the stupid decision? I think I might have been 18yo when I had my first kiss and I was 19yo when I met my first girlfriend. I would have never ended up her boyfriend if I wasn’t drunk on a particular party and were just kissed by another girl who was into me boosting my morale, the cherry on the top of the cake being that I knew from a friend of my sister that my would be ex was into me. All these factors played into the hand of a relationship that lasted two and a half years and could have been a major leaping stone for me. She looked gorgeous and a chemistry was spot on. We learned things together and I learned how and where and when to touch a woman. Since I was still in the grasp of the narrow conservative (small rural town, what do you expect?) mindset I did and said a bunch of things I’m not proud of. Hopefully she learnt more from those lessons as much as I did or even more. So, why wasn’t this relationship the bridge between my loneliness and the ability to have functioning relationships? Why instead of being a leaping stone I stumbled and fell into a ditch head first?

When it ended, the feeling was so shitty, that the most logical conclusion to my very simplistic mind was to avoid feeling like that again altogether, therefore becoming cold and distant become the primary guidelines. Six years of loneliness ensued. Going without sex, kissing anyone or hugging could be easily measured in moths or even a year. Months have passed between occasional one night stands, where the hunter was determined or drunk enough to not to care about my cluelessness, or the hunted was drunk enough to not to be totally unapproachable or clueless or both. Even if they were looking to turn the one night stand into multiple nights or maybe a relationship, due to the long stretches of loneliness and due to the weird sexual expectations that arose during said long stretches of nothingness, I felt so weird and ashamed of myself, that I turned down further invitations and couldn’t bring myself to talk to them. Basically, from their perspective, I had sex with them, than I disappeared in the ether. I have managed to show myself in a successful a-hole kind a way, while I felt like the most unlucky, ugly and talentless piece of shit (now that’s what I call “an achievement”).

Despite the fact that I found myself highly repulsive for a long time, hiding behind sunglasses and foundation I had enough self confidence to let woman try. And boy oh boy, they did try. Those who were more desperate were more determined, while those who had multiple choices open had a look, maybe had some fun and than left seeing the vast cluster of insecurities behind the sketchy façade that looked enticing from a distance, but fell apart upon closer inspection. People told me that I was good looking and I should have a girlfriend and I truly believed for years that they were only saying this to save face. Now, looking back, I’m starting to realize that I’m not ugly, I might even be good looking by some metrics. This realization came as the memory lane of old pictures was revisited again and again. Upon closer inspection all the woman around me, hugging me, giving me kisses on photos became evident. It is one thing that I couldn’t capitalize on any of that, but I realized, how lucky am I that genetics favoured me. Elsewise, if the gene pool wouldn’t have been kind to me at least in this department, I would be the most neglected man, considering my social and dating skills. Or the lack thereof, to be more precise. One thing to be grateful for.

Before this realization occurred, I shit you not, I had to realize first, that the policy I applied after I broke up with my first girlfriend was seriously affecting me. It was like one of those cases, when a temporary workaround is put in place for something, everyone forgets about it, than it causes a major shitstorm in the long run when something breaks down the line, messing up a forgotten but needed dependency. Before this realization life went by casually in a perfect state of cognitive dissonance, by not willing to open up for anyone, not willing to pay attention to anyone’s feelings and yet craving intimacy and blaming the world for not providing any.

So ok, during the time it took for the realization to kick in some amazing woman drifted away. ”What do you do now, you dumb fucking bitch?” - asks one part of the brain. “Well, you stand up, use less swearwords, or edit them out later and keep moving on hoping that each failure at least landed some useful experience points that can be used as a solid base for improvement.” - says the other. So this is how the journey of relationship 101 and emotion handling begun.

Phase 1. Trying to establish a relationship, but being emotionally unavailable.

There’s was a girl who added me on facebook after after a party and somehow I managed to puzzle the picture together. She was there, she saw me playing music, she liked me and she tried to reach out. We have started talking, we have started going out and we kept going out without me doing any advances for 3 moths, when she finally had enough and invited me over to her place to watch Narcos. That night was followed by a relationship that lasted approx two months when she kicked me out, calling me insensitive and unable to care for her emotionally. She was totally right.

Moving on, I drop a comment on some meme posted by one of the girls I met at the University a few years ago. She replies to my comment, I reply to hers, the discussion moves to chat. After a couple of days she tells me that she is coming home from abroad and we shall meet. I agree. The meeting happens, other things happen, we get along really well, meet two more times and consider ourselves to be in a long distance relationship. She’s very enthusiastic, wants to communicate with me, she’s being cute and I’m still 100% emotionally unavailable. When I finally decide to visit her, after dragging the topic for months, she cuts me loose. Rightfully so. Off course, I delete her from social media, and decide that whatever, I’ll make enough money so someone will stay with me for that, even if I’m an emotional iceberg laced with titanium (un-fucking-penetrable). What an utterly crappy response to being rejected, says captain hindsight.

Phase 2. Overflow.

Next up, wasted on party (but in a mildly good way) and another girl who remembers me from a festival that took place years ago initiates a conversation and I end up hanging out with her and all of her girlfriends. We party, we talk, we decide to go to an after at their place. Due to administrative reasons when I get there only one of them is there, so we start talking. Meanwhile people are arriving, chemicals are wearing off and kicking in, dynamics change. Finally everyone gives in and we sleep together. The next day (because the next days always counts from the moment when you wake up) we talk, have a long walk, I unload a mental excel of pros and cons about myself to her since honesty can only be good (later on my psychologist tells me the contrary, since what I do is scary and things should be let to unravel by themselves) and I leave town.  After my short city break is over we decide to meet and she’s over at my place before I could blink. We start hanging out more and more. Even If I have the tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again, just to be sure that they are mistakes and I have mastered the recipe, this time I knew that I have to open myself up. The theoretical part was ok, as the plan was to move slowly and open myself up step by step over an extended period of time.  Unfortunately the gap between theory and practice sometimes can accommodate a few light years in between, so all of the emotions that I managed to bottle up over the years managed to get out after only a few careful steps. She had her own problems, I had mine and they didn’t make a good combination, but a rather unfortunate one. Disregarding the fact that I have tried to invest emotionally, I still couldn’t care for her emotional needs. The whole thing blew up in my face, basically. Being blind to anything that is less obvious than she suddenly turning to me in the middle of the night and saying, “I have to go home”,  and having the alarm of something is not right going off is not the hallmark of being ready for a relationship. Another part of the lecture was that revealing rating systems to woman about woman is a double edged ice cream that mostly licks back instead of being licked. For those who don’t view the world from an engineering / mathematical (call it as you fancy) perspective, there are people out there who measure and categorize everything. This in a relation means that the relevant parameters like, looks, intelligence (or the lack thereof), like mindedness, biological match, size of the cultural gap (if applies), financial and social situation are all measured on a scale and the weighted average tells if the other person is a match or not, and how good a match it is. Unfolding this information in my situation turned out to be a major no-no. Based on the very narrow sample, I was convinced that this is how it is and I should never again reveal my rating system ever again. Luckily, lately a friend of mine told me that his girlfriend appreciated this kind of approach, so the analytics based way of thinking is not my mental dead end, only it has to be used after a lot of observation and in the right situation with the right people as the “target audience” seems to be quite small. By the time we got to the point of me revealing my rating system, red flags were flying all over. Thing is red flags are easy to miss even with experience not to mention barely having any. When you add that up to the fact that you need a planetary alignment that occurs every 5000 years to be able to get close to someone, you also finally manage to let your guard down and you know that giving up on things is generally considered bad and dedication is king, those red flags are rendered inexistent in the quantum soup of thoughts. All of the above combined leads to the materialization of one very specific dynamic in attachment theory, where the anxious one is trying to get closer and to invest more in general, while the avoidant is getting further and further away, creating a situation where both feel frustrated. Fast forward a little (as the whole thing lasted two months), she cuts me loose and I have no clue how to deal with the tsunami of the emotions that are now very much on the surface and the pink cloud that acted as a distraction is gone and the withdrawal starts to kick in. A downward spiral begins that ends with being so desperate to escape the sensation of a panic attack being one mental “block” away that I start taking random meds and drinking, because at one point they have to override my emotions. I don’t want to kill myself per se, but I made peace with the thought that if I need to die to escape that state of mind, I’m fine with it.

Luckily since I’m an attention whore, I’m not doing this in total silence and even if I’m not being totally upfront about it, my friends and people who are not my friends but are nice people and just care realize that something is off and rush in to help. Their intentions are really good, however, most of them are not experts and just share their best practices. Five or six best practices in, one is confused as fekk. This confusion is that finally pushes me through the barrier to seek professional help. Luck was by my side as I found a psychologist I could work with from the get go. As we were moving forward with therapy I was still trying to resuscitate a very dead relationship. The contrast between my interactions with the therapist and my ex were miles apart. While I was still rowing the waters “make her feel sorry for me” and told her how I tried to get my overboiling emotions in check, scaring her tremendously, creating a mess of emotions for both of us, the how's and whys and the to-dos were very clear during therapy. At one point the psychologist said that “You see the situation very clearly, you are also very conscious about what you did and what are the possible ramifications of your actions and you also have a plan as to how to fix them, why are you here?” My answer was simple: “While I’m in a state of rest, where I’m not being cornered by my own emotions all is clear, however, once shit hits the fan, all of the logic that was nicely put together goes out of the window and I start acting borderline crazy”.

As the therapy sessions flew by and the links to my ex started to fade, things ere starting to stabilize. All that was left is what I call “light general depression”. Light general depression is exactly what its name stands for. It doesn’t contain joy (apart from chain-smoking, watching tons of YouTube videos about video games and cars, binge eating pizza and ice cream and drinking herculean amounts of rum), existing feels bad and pointless, but it is not terrible, there are no big ups and downs and existence in this state can go on for extended periods time. As one of these days passed by as experienced from the warm hug of an unnecessarily long bath I randomly texted a friend to see what is she up to. She was hanging out by herself, drinking and asked me if I wanted to join, so I did. By the time I got there another woman was at the table. Nothing special, we introduced ourselves and carried on drinking. I did not find this new addition to my pool of acquaintances physically attractive, that under normal circumstances could have been a trigger, however she was very intriguing. As the alcohol levels in our blood gained an ever larger foothold, the discussion suddenly turned into one of those that go down the rabbit hole of serious emotions and life experiences. I love these discussions (hence the experience, wink wink), they are the bread and butter of why am I socializing. It is almost pointless to say that as the discussion turned into the two of us going on a philosophical rampage about depression and explaining the how’s and why’s to anyone around us the spark went off. Finally, as the night came to a close and everyone said their goodbyes only the two of us were left walking the through the streets bursting with nightlife telling more and more intimate stories about ourselves. As we reached her place and said goodbye I got stuck in the mental loop of what to do after a meeting and discussion like this. Luckily she promptly bypassed the situation by shaking my hand and telling me something along the lines of “till next time”. The next day the temptation was simply irresistible not to stalk her online. By the time I got a glimpse of her through her profile her friend request already landed safely.

She left town for a few weeks (if I’d be religious or into spiritual stuff, I’d say there’s a link to the previous relationship, luckily I am not, life is just hugely random), but we agreed that I would take her to party when she comes back, since she haven’t been to one since her son was born. Meanwhile I also found out that she had what she described as a “sort of boyfriend”. While all of this was unravelling my brain dripping with curiosity kicked me into higher and higher gears as my taste of the unusual and complicated got ever more triggered. Finally the day of the party came and it was the best party I ever attended where I didn’t like the music at all. We really connected. Looking back at that level of connection, I couldn’t tell if we were really alike in some terms and hugely different in others, or she is just simply darn good at showing what people would like to see. A few days later she invited me to watch a movie, we watched the whole movie without me totally being unable to do any advances, again, unless we finally decided to sleep. Things happened. That night was the starting point of a journey that lasted 7 months and included lots of love, lots of desperation, living together with ex boyfriends, handling a spoiled 4 year old boy, discussing and trying to come to terms with a father that got lost in the ether, lots of calculated action combined with a shit-ton of impulsivity and lot more. What I learned in this relationship about trauma, falling victim of compensating for trauma, overusing resources without considering the future, keeping something useless and counterproductive in your life just because it makes you feel superior, utterly useless - clueless and spoiled people, the consequences of being inconsistent in a child’s education hopefully could fill pages on its own, If I managed to learn something. All of this is still just scratching the surface. The full and detailed version of said list serves material for more writings as this paragraph could go on for dozens of pages, but it won’t to avoid further side-tracking. Also, some of these lessons still need processing time for the sake of being able to paint a picture that is more accurate rather than soaked with emotions. What is certain is that at least one writing (if not more) about overprotective parents running the risk of handicapping their children, involuntary hostage taking and kindness as a useless perk if not accompanied by other skills will come at one point. With the this pitch out of the way, let’s get back to the relationship itself. To put it simply, there was this man, dressed in black from head to toe, wearing black nail polish occasionally, being a strong proponent for nihilism and putting himself at risk for the excitement of being exposed to risk while also testing all sorts of limits because an “engineer” has to know the limits, right? During the course of a few months this man had a child seat in the back of his car, learned how to micromanage educational failures by measuring, not just feeling and truly cared for the wellbeing of a few people. He had the impression that he found his place in a world where he previously tried to fill the void by proving the pointlessness of life through reckless (and very fun) activities. Thrusters were set to 110% as the pink fog of “this is it, we have to commit and do this” descended on the brain cells locked in a hormone fuelled frenzy. Finally I experienced a Christmas where I felt happy and loved instead of trying to avoid conflict and hating the world in general.

While I was working on getting myself involved in a hot, crazy mess, thrusters 110% on, I happened to stay at my former flatmate’s parents for two days. I love going there, not just because it served as a perfect base for a weekend of partying, but it is one of those places where a family functions in a symbiosis, not co-dependence. Very-very-very fucking important difference. I love to see how people interact with one another when the main driving force is not fear, but understanding, where attachment comes from the light, not darkness. Even now it makes me to slightly tear up to know, that family can be good, not something to avoid as much as possible, if handled properly. Sights like these give hope. Anyhow, before this detour gets too big, I had good chat with my ex flatmate’s mom where she told me “Kado, don’t look for woman who fit you best, look for someone simple who is capable to learn”. Objectively speaking, this was the best advice I ever received about dating. Worry not, this will not be left unexplained, jut not right now.

So with this advice in mind, the weekend ended and the quest of getting myself deeper into the murky waters of chronic co-dependence was back. As the first few months of the relation flew by and we went from low profile affair to we’re together now and everyone should know about it, more and more details emerged of an ex that could only commit to a relationship when the imminent loss of her partner is present. It also became clear that his incompetence serves as his major attraction, since a man that is kind, but lacks any purpose and logic to derive any said purpose is highly desirable for an ego that cherishes being superior. It became evident how this dynamic eroded seven or so years of the than “woman of my dreams” into a quagmire. My nativity was strong enough to redirect the previously mentioned thrusters to pull her out of the quagmire by the power of micromanagement. The end result hovering in the distance was that my help could propel her to regain traction. As soon as she will be  in a better place and I can get just a bit more of those tiny glimpses of her former happy self, we’ll be on track to create what we referred to as a “power couple”. However, one thing that flew under my radar and finally led to the demise of this premise was an important conclusion drawn after years of being a cog in the corporate machine. Never give 100%, maybe at the beginning, but not even then. Not to talk about 110%, as no person can operate on those levels for months on end, unless driven by amphetamines or coke, but that will take an even higher price in the longer run. If one still decides to go down this path, burnout will be just around the corner. When said burnout meets with someone who needs therapy rather than relationships, shit will go down. Empathy will run out after the same mistake leads to the same crisis for the zillionth time, emotional attachment generates fear in conjunction with each re-occurring crisis and “the you shouldn’t do this, you should do that” tone prevails. The thing is, if I look at my ability to get very cruel, cold and calculating when feeling emotionally cornered as gift or as a curse, it doesn’t matter, it still happens. Detailing to a mother how others managed to solve something with relative ease that she couldn’t or barely could and that she should do this and that, in that situation is a major no-no. I think when it comes about parenting, egos flight higher than Icarus. As one of the cornerstones of empathy is to try to put yourself in the shoes of others, I tired imagining how it could feel like if someone, dunnoh, attacked me because I can’t do maths for shit, or that I have a tendency to abandon my plans. In conclusion, the grey matter sitting inside this skull that is producing these lines might just feel comfortable when it comes to shedding ego. Whit our dynamics auto optimizing themselves to counteract one another in a pretty toxic way, the inevitable happened. We agreed that we can’t understand one another no more, therefore it was time to break up.

In order to minimize the pain a full communication lockdown went in effect to add another twist to the Covid-19 lockdown. This combined with making a few new friends while doubling down on substance abuse spiced with getting into relapse territory with other woman got me ticking along. I think it is pointless to say that this mechanism used for calming emotions wasn’t the best. First, natural coping mechanisms were obliterated even before getting a theoretical shape, not to talk about trying them and maybe getting some experience, second, these coping mechanisms took their own toll on my body and psyche and third, they crumbled in the very moment when my ex reached out to me to normalize our relation as two human beings who happen to know one another. It only took a few hours for the stream of emotions to turn into whirlpool of anger and darkness where my criminal mind flourishes. And boy do I have a criminal mind. When the going gets rough it isn’t like I can’t control myself and start shouting, and throwing things around. No-no, it’s not like that at all, but it is like making plans, evil plans, plans that would make a drug cartel hitman nod in approval. The way these “solutions” from the dark end of the spectrum interact with checks and balances look like: “what I would say of a totally unrelated person who does that” or “what were the consequences if my plans were revealed and such”. This time, all these impulses distilled in ever more frequent and strategic use of creating constructive ambiguity by selectively revealing secrets and manipulation. The cherry on the top was put in place when she reached out to me when she tried to re-establish post breakup communication, consisting in grabbing all sorts of dark echoes that race through my mind, amplifying them and revealing them to her in order to make sure that she’ll be convinced that I’m a horrible, dangerous and aggressive person underneath, therefore she’ll never attempt to communicate with me, ever. It wasn’t nice, at all, but it was violence free apart from me running my mouth and it worked, for a while.

So far so good, the plan worked great. I made friends with new people, both offline and online and I had a few who were interested in me and maybe still are (as you might have noticed so far, can’t really tell). The plan was to get some mileage into the game and get more experience points and to learn, for which diversity is essential. There was a week where I had 4 dates, with 2 happening on the very same day. Result? Let’s not call it a total fucking bummer, but let’s go with a “valuable lesson”, ok? Why? One person stood out and everybody else faded into the shadows of absolute zero interest.

People who intrigue me are the ones that I feel a longing for. These are the people who have my instant and unconditional support as soon as they ask, these are the people I’m paying attention to and these are the people that I use as examples to follow in certain walks of life. So, there was one date who stood out and baaam, just like that, interest for anyone else vanished like lines from a broken phone screen at a rave. This one person turned out to be someone who exploits life just as I do, or even to a greater extent when the conditions are set. She likes adrenaline, playing around with thoughts not being afraid to be cut by some rough edges, going fast, views substances as mere tools, not like something good or bad and last but not least, she is the best looking, besides ticking a few other boxes. Did all the positives yielded a relationship or even a one night stand? Absolutely not. Was this a problem? Maybe from the perspective of my reproductive instincts, but from any other perspectives, it was interesting at worst and beneficiary at best. There are a bunch of people who tell good and bad Tinder date stories, however I haven’t heard a single one up to date that could match the level of renovate a bathroom on a tinder date. The bathroom turned out to be something both of us are showing with pride and I have learned about the ins and outs of tiling. It was also refreshing to see when a relationship between two people is based more in rational thinking than dragged by emotions, as it was the perfect contrast for my ex girlfriend who basically managed to turn a life of success into a quagmire by giving the executive powers to her unhinged emotions.

What have we learned?

When a bunch of things fail to be turned into happy factories, let it be hedonism, creativity, hard work, sport or other kinds of hobbies, all kick in the feeling of “geez, I did that, but the I have to get to the next level to evade boredom and constantly levelling up is hard work” so doing literally anything gets turned into a chore. Shitting and washing ass can feel like a chore, just like hanging out with friends can so one inevitably pulls out the good old question of “is my brain just unable to make the happy stuff and if so, what’s the purpose of living?”. After talking with quite a few people who contemplated suicide, or people who lost a loved one to suicide, one thing was clear from the get go, I will not hang myself. Based on the frequency of suicide by hanging I can only conclude that people either have a huge imbalance between being emotionally driven or just simply being very sick and incapable of any rational thought. Why? Death by suffocation combined with the rupture of the spinal cord sounds like the worst thing ever. On the other hand, driving into a solid concrete wall at any speed near 100 km/h is guaranteed death. Driving into a solid wall at 200 km/h is massive overkill and it could be proven as an accident which could make lives for relatives easier if tricky life insurance policies are in place. Finances aside, there are other policies in place for reasons like seeing the misery of those who get left behind to live and let all the people who I consider idiots to outlive me. Like seriously, if some have been labelled as idiots by some metrics of mine and they outlive me, it means that my metrics and the logic based on those metrics was flawed, proven by my very demise.

So yea, what do you do when relationships don’t work out, you can’t seem to obtain them and self destruction is also off the table? Well, since we’re all caged to some degree due to the pandemic and I already raised my alcohol tolerance to stellar levels, it was the damn time to get myself busy. To really dig into my job and to force myself to do tasks that I have just passed to someone saying I can’t hack it, to start reading stuff, to start learning stuff to start exercising and most important of all, to create routines. Routines are awesome. If nothing makes sense, at least that nothing is done on a regular basis and the very fact that nothing amounts to anything if done on a daily basis is kind of a feet and gives a chance to dopamine production.

I have also learned that having sex after a hiatus of 10 months doesn’t improve things as much as I thought, which is good, because it also means that things do not degrade a lot from prolonged abstinence.

Where to now? I guess I’ll just try focusing on myself rather than trying to please others by forcing myself into the “normie puzzle”. I’ll leave myself open for options, since it would be rather counterproductive to Sméagol hiss away anyone who tries to approach me, but it might happen nonetheless.

And one last bit before I cut this writing short at the 11th or so page... If you’re interested in me, do something. Playing the get hard card just plain simply won’t work. If I don’t get any feedback like in a 50-50 distribution style I’ll feel discouraged and move on. I’m also plain stupid when it comes to decoding slight hints (as I’ve hinted at multiple times in this text). Be blunt about it, otherwise it might go totally unnoticed. Last but not least, if you’re not interested, please don’t fekking smile at me and more importantly don’t touch me. I know, theoretically that people can be nice with one another without wanting more, but it doesn’t work for me. If you do that, I’ll reach out to spend more time together, you’ll gonna reject me and I’m going to throw you on the pile failed attempts that is getting ever more poisonous and has a high chance of totally wrecking my mood by the time someone genuinely interested would come about.

I might also try to get more disciplined since it took me more than five months to throw up these characters. I sincerely hope that I wasted your time in a way that some part of what I wrote resonates with you, maybe helps you or you found it amusing at least. Peace out.

Update: some things have changed since I wrote this piece, I got new pieces of information and the story of my craziest adventure got a healthy boost. However, if I were to re-write and edit this text in accordance to all those things, it is highly possible that it would never come out. As one of my favourite hot rod builder puts it “Lower your expectations until you reach your goals”.