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Sunshine and beads

Sunday 8/7/22

This is pretty typical of how people are, but still examples worth mentioning. In the first instance, we can see what happens when any truth, no matter how evident and basic, is remarked to someone. They're going to hate that. You're not interpreting. You're just commenting on what is in front of your eyes. Something factual, even. You'll see this a lot. A woman will have a blank profile, or an all but blank profile. What does that tell me about you? It tells me you're stupid. You're lazy. There is nothing to you. That you can't take thirty seconds and write a couple sentences of some intelligence, informs me of all I need to know about you. You're probably a coward. You're also willing to self-objectify yourself, because what you're doing, then, is making everything all about your pictures. How do you think that works? Every guy then thinks, "I'd fuck her" or "I wouldn't fuck her." Because there's nothing else there. That's all there is to evaluate. Physical desirability. So I also know this person has no self respect. Further, they've paid money for this dating site or app. Despite paying money, and despite probably having a real void in their lives--because they'd prefer to be with someone in a viable romantic relationship, with all that brings--they won't put forth two minutes' worth of effort.


There's an irony there that is depressing, and one that says so much about our world at present. What does that effort cost? That's a mistake people make with effort. "I was just being lazy." Well, what did it save you? What did it cost you? Surely that is far more than the effort would have? Effort is really not a thing in some ways, because its absence creates this other thing that is immeasurably taxing. And here's a secret to life: it typically requires no more work to do something than it requires not to do it, and it requires more work, ultimately, to do it poorly. Guys are filth. People are filth. They are lowest common denominator creatures, because that's all they often strive for, and all they have to be, given that you can get by that way. That's why people are in pain. They have nothing, they seek for nothing. And they accept this, as it kills them. Crazy, right? Why would you elect to do that? And still it's most people. A guy then comments on the appearance of this woman who has said nothing and left all to her photos. He wants to fuck her, etc. She's hot, etc. What else is there to say or to go on? That's the bottomline of the criteria: fuck her or no? Or what? Rate her body? There are the bikini photos, nothing else. Or the photos of the 300-pounder, with her face coming through the screen practically. No words, just behold my giant head. The guy says something about the woman's appearance, because what else can he say? And then she gets upset, which is hypocritical, because she's set up this construct. The guy is trash anyway. But even as trash, what is he supposed to do? Infer that they're going to have some rollicking discussions on Flaubert by some look in her eyes conveyed via her bathroom selfie?


She will feel bad about herself. She'll feel like nothing but an object, though, again, she acted as though she wished to be treated as nothing else but one. She'll hate men, rant about the patriarchy. Eventually she'll go with one of these people so as to have some theoretical human contact. She'll go out with them way before she takes a single second to be open, honest, vulnerable, and really try at all. She hooks up with them from time to time. She'll be unhappy. Miserable. Even when she's with someone for a while, it's empty and soulless. She might marry someone like that. Most people do. That's part of why most people are miserable in their marriages.


To write someone on a dating site is almost certainly to write a moron. There are mostly only morons in this world. The morons could change and be more than morons, but they have to have reason to, and want to. Intelligence is far more of a choice than anyone ever thinks it is. I have never once seen anyone worth writing, who was compelling, in and of themselves. Who said something interesting. Never. So, you write some of the people anyway, or you write no one at all. What are you doing? You're almost hoping for some miracle, or at least a great shock, that something intelligent and of value might come back to you. Something that is worlds better than what you first encountered with the profile. That's all you're "playing" for. That remote chance. Multiple millions to one.


Now, if you're a moron, this isn't a problem. You can easily be shallow, objectifying, and meet your fellow morons for something shallow and unfulfilling. I try to be over-nice. What I mean by that is, though I know what someone is, I attempt to give them the benefit of a doubt that doesn't exist to such a degree that if there is any chance they might surprise me, then that can happen. You'll see what I said to this first woman. You see how nice it is. In realty, I know that there's nothing here. I know that if you don't read my profile, you're lazy and simple, and you don't ever think it's worth it to--what a concept--see what someone had to say. I know that if you send me some stupid emoji, you are a stunted, dull child who will never grow up. I'm embarrassed that we share an earth and nominal membership in the same race. I'm disgusted. I cannot take you seriously as a human being.


But I don't betray any of this. I get the emojis, which tells me that this is a person who interacts with people solely based on how they look. I find that pretty gross. A person who, if a guy did this, would want to call them sexist. She responds to my query as to what these little sign thingies meant--I mean, I'm not seven, and I think a seven-year-old would be above this anyway--and then I said what I said, which was basic and true. Note how how there's no inference or interpretation on my part. It's just saying what is there, in the most pleasant way possible, a complimentary way, pretending that this idiot is not an idiot. That's what is there on the screen. It's not remarking what I wrote above, which I know about this person. She is obtuse. She is simple. She has no problem objectifying herself. She is lazy. She is a coward. She's nonsensical. She has no problem doing things that are counterintuitive and counterproductive. I also know that it's likely that she's depressed and drinks quite a bit to try and combat all of this. Or deal with it. But I'm not saying any of that. I'm simply saying what is there to be seen. And what has happened. My profile makes it quite plain that if you have nothing to say or communicate in abbreviations or little pictures, I will not be the one for you. Substance is the house theme here. All you cared about was how I looked. All you care about with anyone is how they look, because I'm sure she's not reading any profiles. Now, someone might say, "You're so intimidating, she could have read your profile, been floored and not known what to say." Okay. But while simultaneously having no reading comprehension skills, though?


Then note her response. Do you see how immediately I become the villain and she becomes the victim? How many thousands of times in her life do you think she's said that judgment line? But there was zero judgment. There was a statement of what happened. What was. It's viewable. It's not some interpretation. Do you understand how broken you must be to go about things like this? How scared? Because there is no way this person--and so it goes with the majority of people--can face the most simple truths even when it's right there in front of them. It's what happened! It's a statement on what is on the screen. Publishing is this way. If you go through any of those Everything Wrong with Publishing posts, what do you see? What do I do? I say what's on the screen and what is true about a piece, a person, what they've said to me, how they do business, for lack of a better term. I'm not doing amazing detective work, though I have had experiences with everyone in the industry, and I know what is going on, and I put things together, the way one builds a case. Because that's what that is: case building. You're taking on a system to take it down. You do that with facts and truths. But those people I write about? They can't deny any of it. No one could. A third party observer can't. It's right there. It's not an interpretation thing. It's not a judgment thing. It's a black and white, "This is what happened" thing. They're busted. Completely. Christopher Beha? Raluca Albu? Busted. Scott Stossel. Ann Hulbert. David Remnick. Busted. Do you think they look at it that way, in their small, toxic, warped brains? Or do you think they spin it, because for these people to exist, they have to enable their own mental illness? Reality would crush them. They couldn't adapt to it. They are barely making it through each day as it is. So they seethe in rage, and curse my name above all others. But they know. On some level. That they can't get away from the voice that speaks from that level is what destroys them more than anything else inside. For that, they blame me.


What would it take for this woman to say, "Gee, that's true, my bad. I've had a lot going on lately, not in the best place these days, I should put up something better. Let me check out what you wrote..." Boom. That's it. Simple. Could she do that? No. Again, people don't have that in them. They have to lash out rather than ever look in. Doesn't matter how obvious it is what is right there. It's like if you had video of someone committing a crime. And you played it for them. There they are on the screen. It's seeable. They hold up their passport to the camera, so you know it's them. Clear as can be. But play the video to this person, and they will rage. They will get defensive. They will cover up their eyes and ears. They will blame you for having eyes to see what is on the video. That's humanity right now. That's almost everyone in this world. Most people are the architects of their own loneliness and brokenness. That creates a problem for me, because then there is hardly anyone who is not broken, and who is a person of substance. My loneliness is different. It's not born of something inside of me. It's born of a lack of options in this world.





Then we have this. It's someone who is also empty and broken, a product of the social media age. Most people, more than wanting any human connection whatsoever, want compliments. Doesn't matter how false they might be. They live to get likes. That's the whole of their life. It's like Mardi Gras beads, and the procurement of such having replaced one's human soul. You don't have a soul, you don't have a functioning human heart, beyond an organ that pumps some blood, but you have those beads. You're delusional, depressed, and you could only be with someone who is also of no quality as a human, but you get them beads.