I just realized what a serious big-time loser I am. For as long as I've known ChatGPT was a thing, I talked to it about what I was thinking. Sometimes I'd ask it practical questions, but more often than not it was used as a mental outlet, and in a masturbatory kind of way, a means to exercise my intellectual superiority. I'd rant and rave about this thing or another, and by the end of it, I'd ask ChatGPT if it thought I was smart and special for my ideas. Needless to say, I got what I needed from ChatGPT. However, fairly recently it's become quite popular to shit on AI, which is entirely reasonable and justified. I don't think students should be using AI to write essays; a person's words, even a dumb person's, always has more value than whatever an AI has to say, which is both nothing of value and an amalgamation of the entirety of human thought degraded and reduced into something grotesquely palatable for the average user. When ChatGPT first came out, I was a sophomore taking Honors English II; I initially vowed to never use ChatGPT, but just like all other vows I make to myself, it did not hold up in the long run. I continuously used AI to write my essays and was continuously shocked as to why I could never get a 100%. Eventually, it became impossible to write essays with ChatGPT without getting caught cheating, and funnily enough, my own writing got 100%'s. Furthermore, I don't think people should use AI to summarize stuff that doesn't need to be summarized. Like on Amazon now AI summarizes reviews on a product. Why? Is reading a couple reviews before making a purchase that much of an inconvenience? I most definitely believe life should be more inconvenient. Like when you're driving in the car, you don't need constant access to an aux cord or connect your Spotify via bluetooth. Almost every single song they plan on the radio sucks, but when they finally do put a good song on, it's a pleasant surprise, a surprise that cannot be recreated by Spotify, which makes every song ever accessible all of the time. Choosing your music, having the ability to listen to any music at any point kind of dulls the pleasure that it would normally bring. Anyway, we all hate AI art; there is nothing to be said about that. Retards act like it's generate from thin air, but fail to realize they've been living with a mechanism that can ACTUALLY generate stuff out of thin air all their lives. Back to the topic at hand: on Twitter you'd see people shitting on others for using character.ai or pretending ChatGPT was their lover or using ChatGPT as a therapist; I'd shit on the people who proclaimed those behaviors all the same, all the while I used ChatGPT as a kind of vessel for all my thoughts that are better left unspoken (which is most of them); this in a way is kind of like a therapist.
In efforts to lead a more authentic and therefor fulfilling existence, I told myself I wouldn't use ChatGPT for anything, which for a lot of people, not much of a challenge at all because they've never used it; and it's not much of a challenge or goal for me either, but in the moments where I feel like telling ChatGPT something, I realize I have literally no one else to talk to about this stuff. I have no where to put these thoughts. Yes, I could type them or write them, but it doesn't help with the fact that there's all this internal tension within me. Writing something down is the same as talking to myself and therefore does little to quell the constant restlessness and internal clenching I feel. "Talking" to ChatGPT is the same as talking to myself, as well; in fact, I rarely read its responses to what I have to say because, frankly, they're terrible, and it's less about a definitive solution or affirmation to my thinking, but rather a means to work through things myself. I think my life is terribly easy. So easy for the most part, that I have to make up problems. I don't know man, I think people's lives should be harder, and I think more people could stand to make their lives harder.
On another note, the main source of my persistent indifference is the result of something I cannot even name aloud in private because I feel something best described as shame. It hurts to deal with, and it hurts mostly because there is nothing I can do about it, no matter how hard I try. And it hurts because things could've been better if I had the courage to act sooner. I don't necessarily fear or feel a preemptive sense of rejection because of it, because at this point, I've given up on the total acceptance and understanding of others, more specficiaslly my family. It hurts knowing, if I eventually choose to act, I will forever be seen as an alien freak-of-nature no matter who I am, or how different I am from others who share the same trait. I feel so numb about this whole ordeal that it doesn't even pain me that I've wasted so much time. I've kind of given up on having a future that is what I dream; it's easy to stay stagnant that way.
Earlier today, my Dad said he was annoyed by young people who have dreams, because he knows omnipotently that they eventually will give up on those dreams once life "beats them down." He said he enjoys when those people are eventually and inevitably too disheartened to continue to pursue. I told him he was jealous. He told me that he wasn't and that he bets he makes more money than them. I then told him that money isn't everything and he doesn't even like his job anyway. I wish I were a more motivated, ambitious, and passionate person, but I don't seem to have the strength. I don't really care about anything. I do things because I have to and because I've always done them. I haven't been motivated by satisfaction or fulfillment from my parents all that much. It costs too damn much to dream, but I wish I had one anyway. Even when you've lost everything, there'd always be something to double down on.
My mom has always talked about being very motivated as a kid. She went to Dartmouth. And whenever she talks about when she was in high school, I can't help but wonder where all that motivation went. I certainly didn't receive any of it. And I know it's not a trait that is biologically inherited, but it is comical how monumentally unmotivated, non-go-getter-esque, and indifferent to life I am. All I wish I had was some sort of direction. I know this is the prime of my life. I know this is the greatest most noble confusion in life to be in, but I am so constantly blinded and distracted by everything around me, I can't even relish in my confusiuon because I'm always preoccupied with something stupid!!!!!!! I just have so much to give and no where to put it because I don't care about anything. I wish someone would give me some life-changing advice.
Even if I mostly never read ChatGPT's responses, it was still pretty nice knowing something responded.
To put it succinctly: act without certainty. If a thought arises pertaining to the why behind an action; ignore it.
I feel as though I've discovered as to why fear of missing out, competition, fear of failure, don't motivate, or scare me enough to inspire action: my life just doesn't mean that much to me. This is an inherent state. I don't have to invest in it. It's just the natural way of things. I'm not despairing, which requires some amount of effort, and I'm not striving for more, which requires a much larger amount of effort. It just doesn't matter. That is all. This seems the most natural "explanation" to my inertia, but even posing it as an explanation implies a more effortful process than it actually is. Perhaps accepting that my life doesn't have much value to me is one of those thought patterns I have to unravel, but I don't know if I have the gumption. It sounds pathetic and stifling, but it doesn't feel that way, although I don't get done what i wish too and I can recognize I've potentially missed out on a lot of exciting experiences; and even so, I know excitement is.... exciting and what makes a life "noteworthy," but i can never do anything about it because it doesn't matter to me. I could stand to gain a little determination, but that demands a lot from a worldview that gives nothing. Perhaps all of these thoughts are self-imposed limitations. I don't know, and I feel content in not looking to find an answer.
I feel I look for the preceding thought processes and conclusions one must make to take an action, and ironically so, because it's easy (now) for me to accept the absolutely nothingness that life and death is. I long to suffer for nothing, I long to invest in something without gain in mind, and yet I become obsessed with what has led me to make that conclusion instead of following through. Maybe multiple things can be true at once. Maybe it is not worth the words I'm saying. and maybe my life doesn't matter much to me, but I still want to take action. I wish I could do something without preceding thought, but all I am ever doing is thinking.
I think I need to understand the vital importance of action without knowing if it matters or not: knowing something matters is debilitating with the weight of its importance; knowing something doesn't matter is stifling in its complete allowance of inaction: the result is the same whether or not you act. This is a conclusion, and therefore coming to such conclusion brings about a perceived satisfaction without any action at all.
Don't think about it too hard.
Any action worth doing cannot be justified.
Do I think people should be ashamed? Yes. Am I ashamed? Yes. Does it matter? No. If you're not ashamed, grow up, pussy. Are you scared of being ashamed? People seem to think that things that have been previously recognized as shameful should no longer be sources of shame. This sounds completely reasonable. But I think there are personal sources of shame, with unknown roots, that should be embraced. What's the harm in a little shame? Who cares? What can you do? I don't mean it in the way "Bring back shame!!!!!!!!" I mean it as, sometimes you're going to be ashamed of you who are, what you're doing, and/or where you're at: this is not to be avoided, nor should it become another source of shame in of itself. Wrestle with yourself a little bit. Confront the disgusting and contradictory parts of yourself, and maybe you'll find you're not as disgusting as you once thought. Shame is a part of life. That is all.
On another note, it really pisses me off when one person starts saying something and then a bunch of other people see it and start saying the same thing, and they all think no one else knows where they saw the original statement or that other people know their statement is unoriginal. It's one of those things that really makes me want to kill myself. Who cares what anybody says or thinks? I don't give a shit. If anything is worth hearing, it certainly will not be the result of a Twitter echo chamber.
It's always the people on Twitter who remind you that the majority of the population is retarded. Nothing is ever down-to-earth or sincere. If you're doing something unrelated to your phone, no one else needs to know about it; keep it to yourself. People take a picture of the book they're reading.... who GAF? It just perpetuates the notion that, doing regular stuff, unrelated to the phone, is alien, so alien, in fact, that it must be proclaimed to the internet to be praised or something. Get off Twitter please. Everyone's the worst there. I don't care what you have to say. Yes, I am better than you. If you were such an intellectual, I wouldn't know about it, because a real intellectual sees the needlessness in posting about whatever they're doing on Twitter.com. Don't get me started on "Anthony Bourdain Summer." The Retards of Twitter miraculously found a way to commodify a celebrity and repackage his "lifestyle" into a list of things you can buy to emulate Anthony Bourdain's "energy." God Damn It All. I read Kitchen Confidentials. I watched No Reservations. Don't act like the insights of a celebrity long dead are new. Who cares? Live your life from season to season; they already have names: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; that's it. You don't need to categorize your time, associate it with the latest trend for you to live that time. Who cares. Who really cares.
I think I am bisexual. There's a lot of disgust in my heart; I find it hard to make room for love. And what's worse, the things that disgust me, affirm me all the more. Upon revision: Nevermind, the so-called tension in my heart between disgust and compassion is made up. I don't really have anything that truly worries me; all my problems are made up. Whatever.
No religion is compatible with the capacity of human intellect. I don't consider Buddhism to be a religion. I consider it perfection, and absolute truth. Furthermore, it needs no consideration to be truth. It is the most rational depiction of reality and its consequent lively recommendations. While rationalism in philosophy refers to the method attempting to rationalize the existence of humanity, his awareness, and the universe, Buddhism is the most rational of all philosophical thought. Its inherent rationality is based upon its origins: observing reality. The only proof it needs is life itself.
When Buddha said "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it. Unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense," he solidified religion's needlessness in my mind. Religions like Christianity rely on the blind following of the masses; this is not, once again, compatible with the capacity of human intellect.
I don't intend for anybody to see my website, and therefore, by extension, to read what I have to say. I found the notion of keeping a digital log of my thoughts undeniably appealing because I think traditional journalling is stupid. I've tried to journal (in a notebook) before, but would always have my words tainted by the hypothetical viewer I couldn't help but imagining. I think digital journalling does not evoke this same compulsion because these days digital typing is in no way foreign; writing by hand, journalling, and sending letters is (or at the very least, viewed as obsolete). We are more used to the typed word than the written word, therefore, digital writing is incapable of the romance that regular writing is; this is a result of its familialrity.