epistemic crisis

When I step outside the house, I'm strung out, but it's a peaceful fret because this place is in a nice part of the woods, big trees that sway in a way as if they're communicating messages that I can't understand but can kind of feel, even though I'm really bad at feeling them. Bad, but not completely numb.

Am I too stupid to be schizophrenic? Is he?

Self aggrandization is one way of seeing how he's being. I'm trying to keep all possibilities open, it's polite, even respectful maybe, and also being right-sized, cause little old me don't know shit, especially right now. Really feeling the epistemic crisis. I appreciate his diplomacy in certain areas, amid the gregarious spewing out of assertions, as if he really is a shaman like he says and has some ESP that can suss out the no-go zones with me, or he might call it synchronicity, or I might call it lucky. Is the vestigial catholic in me so obvious but I can't even see it? Or is he just wielding cheap manipulative tricks that psychic charlatans do? Sometimes I get paranoid and overly guarded, lest I fall prey to some scam or simple power move. Anyway, it's probably some third thing I can't think of.

We're watching youtube vids about new ways of making microprocessors. Wondering if I'm watching AI. If so, it's sophisticated slop. Are we getting sloppy? I figure it's probably human created, but look how paranoid I am! I can't vet this stuff he's saying confidently about graphene-photon chip lithography, or how he was the true author of The Holographic Universe but graciously allowed his old acquaintance to write the book instead. And I don't wanna take anything on faith. But I won't assume crackpottery either. If I was more inquisitive in a certain way, I'd have an urge to fact check, but I'm not. Maybe I like it to stay in the ether, savor some mystery. Dubious about debunking.

I do lack curiosity in some sense. I'm too fascinated with my internal life, sadly. Well, this will pass the time, til I have to drive T to the ferry... This torturous exalting luminous fog. This is why I obsess over my inner life, trying to make it everything.

He said he liked my energy. I was happy to hear that. But now my energy has completely changed. Makes it hard to cope. Drilled down into my brain so far that I'm hamfistedly fumbling around with the root code like an imposter surgeon. Paranoia. Physical paranoia. Unable to cope. Nope. Now I'm crazy and you're the one that has to deal with me. See how you like that. In the clench. Deterioration.

I can take control again. Maybe. Struggle mightily over a thousand years for the handle. Intolerable tension in all tendons. Fucking baby sit me. Give me baclofen. That's how we can even out our debts.

It's too trite to use the words beauty or horror, those words are bad, hack, disgusting in a stunning way, breathtaking. Forgetting to breathe or there's an epistemic crisis and I can't know if I'm breathing or not. Not remembering to drink water. Peeing and wondering how I could not have shriveled up into a dehydrated trisolaran by now. Remembering to drink water. Taking a token sip and forgetting again. Thinking I should eat. Taking a few token bites of something random like a grape and then a granola bar.

The option of wearing your heart on your sleeve...

or, managing people's perceptions for your own convenience...

That is the question.

Whether it's nobler in the mind to commit suicide figuratively by getting so open and vulnerable that you lose control over how you're seen, how you see yourself, the questionable nobility of that dubious risk, a specious definition of "suicide", making the word mean almost everything, and therefore, nothing. Cheating death by taking away the sting of it through re-definition. A weak strategy, doomed for quick failure. I dunno - I flow - I come - I go - like Igo from the meetings who probably won't join the party.

"Yeah, I really like that. It's one of those ideas that I heard a thousand times, but I'm hearing it in a new, more urgent way now for whatever reason."

Shit, maybe he is a shaman after all. These thoughts are making me nostalgic for my Robert Anton Wilson era. Things are too weird these days, like McKenna predicted. The Mandela effect is strong.