The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

This axiom has been firmly embedded in my brain since a nine-year-old boy saw a li’l movie at the drive-in which climaxed when a half-alien sacrificed himself to save a starship.

Which is fine. These are great words to live by! The joy we create with our generosity of spirit is truly a beautiful thing.

Yet, I lack balance. I need to find that third way. Years later, I am still struggling with awakening my repressed selfishness. Even though I know repressing anything breeds unworthiness and self-loathing. And leads to repressed sexuality.

I’m currently reading a book my friend Patrik recommended called Sex at Dawn. Nearly every page blows my mind, in that agriculture, society, religion, and policy have always (and continue to) stripped the egalitarianism they claim to want.

I’ve been taught selfishness is wrong. Yet society tends to reward the selfish. I share, but I want and need. And my wants and needs tend to be ignored.

The following passage from the book compelled me to share:

It is difficult for members of a modern individualistic society to imagine the extent to which the Canela saw the group and the tribe as more important than the individual. Generosity and sharing was the ideal, while withholding was a social evil. Sharing possessions brought esteem. Sharing one’s body was a direct corollary. Desiring control over one’s goods and self was a form of stinginess. In this context, it is easy to understand why women chose to please men and why men chose to please women to expressed strong sexual needs. No one was so self-important that satisfying a fellow tribesman was less gratifying than personal gain.

This text threw a spotlight on my sexual repression. I fail to express strong sexual needs—especially to the girls I like!

And who knows why I’ll talk about sex to girls I am not attracted to, yet not the girls I adore… I think unworthiness is the key to this mystery. I’ll save this for another discussion… unless someone here thinks they are related.

Aren’t sexual needs selfish? Is this why I am unable to express them to the true beauties in my life? Am I using the less attractive as an outlet?

And most importantly, is there a solution to my anguish?

What i'm listening to:

good for you
Olivia Rodrigo
SOUR

I haven’t felt like this in so long… it feels so. Alien.

I swear to God, I never fall in love. Then you showed up and I can’t get enough of it.

Oh, who am I kidding. I always fall in love. Yet I don’t believe in love.

Damn.

Who even am I?

We’ve been talking all of… fifty-three days. And you’re still here. And I haven’t fucked it up yet—albeit not for my lack of trying.

You’re still here. You haven’t said “No” to me.

Not once.

Mmhmm.

I haven’t believed in love for a long, long time. I still may not.

Yet, something is here. You called it a vibe. Yet, you like me. Even if we don’t know what to do with this vibe.

Then, tonight, something happened. You are consuming my thoughts. Yes, I still love girls… practically all of them… and you’re at the top. I adore you. I will always adore you. Even if this goes sideways. (I hope it doesn’t.)

I don’t even know what to do right now. Yet, I hope you’ll stay with me. For a season. We only have a season. We should enjoy it.

God damn it.

Don Williams saw it coming. And Boz Scaggs.

I like you.

What i'm listening to:

Look What You’ve Done to Me
Boz Scaggs
Urban Cowboy

How do I get?
How do I get to sleep?
Please let me sleep?
Poetry, that'll work

Come, sweet slumber
Enshroud me in thy purple cloak
Hmm, doesn't even rhyme

It has been a while since I have been up and/or wide awake at four in the morning.

Six hours of sleep.

Yet, I feel fine. How I’ll feel later on remains to be seen, but for now…

When did six hours of sleep become… enough? Is it?

Overall, I think I’m in a good place. I am not depending on pancakes to handle bouts of insomnia.

Yet, occasionally…

I have been talking with someone new. She is fucking lovely. Seven weeks in, and we’re still talking. That may be a new record for me.

And when I don’t think too much, it’s glorious. It’s like we’ve known each other forever.

It may be safe to say, that any madness is coming from within my own head. How do I put my ego to sleep? Forever.

After all, if she didn’t like me, she wouldn’t still be here.

What i'm listening to:

Paranoimia
Art of Noise
Re-Works of Art of Noise

I want to read. Or write about how life isn’t fair, or about my recent trip. Or write to some friends who may be able to guide me through my current internal battle, before I screw it up with this girl I’m talking to. Or watch girls in bikinis race snowmobiles on a 10º day to raise money against breast cancer. Or watch the (Mis)Adventures of Hank Moody for the thousandth time. Or see and spend time with my Dutch treat.

Indeed, it’s been a long time since I’ve chosen not to take an audience. And to sit with a wet towel wrapped around my eyes. Wondering what, if anything, I can take.

And it’s been even longer since I’ve experienced snow blindness. I believe it was in high school. Either skiing, or snowmobiling. And it is miserable.

All I want. Is to sit. With my eyes closed. Forever.

And I still see, what appears to be headlights approaching from behind. Nothing but shadows thrown in front of me.

Protect your eyes, kids.

Who would ever have thought I’d use these blindfolds on myself?

What i'm listening to:

Seasons Change
Exposé
Exposure

Life truly is remarkable.

There is so much beauty out there.

To admire.

To take in.

To plug in to.

Incredible. Simply incredible.

I am still reading. A little.

Books affect me more than they used to. Some, it’s like their written about me. I find that alarming, not comforting, that either so many people have the same problems, or that I’m so damaged.

As such, I find I process what I read more. Which is good, I think.

After all, in the five years since I’ve been reading extensively, I find I am not retaining as much as I’d like. My eidetic memory is turning into swiss cheese. Decaying.

Which might be a relief. If only I could forget some of my sins. Yet, I suppose that’s why they are sins. We. Must. Atone.

However, this year I didn’t read solely for the sake of reading. And I find that this year’s books—especially ones that affected me—have also stuck with me.

Am I actually growing? It will be interesting to see…

For the record, here are the books read in 2021:

1. The Way of Men - Jack Donovan
2. Reality Unveiled - Ziad Masri
3. The Mist - Stephen King
4. The Obstacle Is the Way - Ryan Holiday
5. Men Without Women - Ernest Hemingway
6. Live First, Work Second - Rebecca Ryan
7. Son of a Wanted Man - Louis L’Amour
8. American Eve - Paula Uruburu
9. The Infinite Game - Simon Sinek
10. Private Dancer - Stephen Leather
11. A Dreadful Man - Brian Aherne
12. The Trial - Franz Kafka
13. Revival - Stephen King
14. Lost in the Meritocracy - Walter Kirn
15. Riveted - Jim Davies
16. Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls
17. Women’s Infidelity - Michelle Langley
18. Death of a Citizen - Donald Hamilton
19. No More Mr. Nice Guy - Robert A. Glover
20. Women’s Infidelity II - Michelle Langley
21. I Should Write This Stuff Down - Bruce Behymer
22. The Five Love Languages - Gary Chapman
23. Outwitting the Devil - Napoleon Hill
24. Falling Angel - William Hjortsberg
25. Iron John: A Book About Men - Robert Bly
26. Under the Sweetwater Rim - Louis L’Amour
27. Anne of Green Gables - L.M. Montgomery
28. Idlewild - Nick Sagan
29. The 48 Laws of Power - Robert Greene
30. The Trumpet of the Swan - E.B. White
31. The Albuquerque Turkey - John Vorhaus
32. Curse of the High IQ - Aaron Clarey
33. Firestarter - Stephen King

Today is the day.

I suppose it’s only natural to have a lot to process over this. To feel numb. To mourn.

Mourn what, exactly?

The end of a colossally bad decision? One that ultimately proves the last seventeen years never happened?

At some point, I may want to talk about it. Even sooner, I suspect, I’ll want to celebrate freedom.

Freedom from the shithole.

The shithole I ultimately had to pay someone to take.

Good riddance.

Take a day to mourn. Bask in the comforts of strangers. Celebrate. And move on.

In a week, it’ll feel like today was the best day… regardless of how it feels today.

The world is still here… even though primitive human emotions still hold sway over rational thought.

What i'm listening to:

I Have Nothing
Whitney Houston
The Bodyguard

You broke my heart. In an instant. When you asked. For cinnamon rolls. To go with your chili.

You’re so beautiful, but it’s not going to work.

Bill: So-crates — “The only true wisdom consists in knowing that you know nothing."

Ted: That's us, dude.

I am back.

Out of necessity.

Writing is one thing I do for no one else. No one, but me.

Perhaps I write to keep myself sane.

Yet, do I need to “publish” it? No, I don’t NEED to.

I am more likely to, however, if I keep the journals in this platform.

If I drop my MacBook? The entries are safe. If I misplace my written journal? The entries are safe.

If I forget to pay my internet bill? Well…

That may be the price of sanity.

So, I’ll continue to write. About nothing. Or something.

And burden my handful of readers. And bots.

You’re welcome.