Just letting the few who might care that posts will probably be increasingly sporadic around here for a while.
I don’t want to get too into it, and I’m sure you don’t want to bother reading too into it, but long story short, for now and the near future, I’m trying to get as far away from computers and “the internet” (whatever that means) as I can without becoming a hermit.
I realized a while ago that this laptop I have is like a parasite in my backpack. I feel it leeching onto me wherever I go and demanding I focus my attention on it even when I could have done a million better, healthier, more enjoyable things in the fascinating Real World which I too often forget exists at about a 25 degree head swivel from this Macbook display. I’ve wasted far, far too much of my youth in front of a goddamn screen trying to numb the pain of adolescence or smugly reaffirm an elitist façade by pursuit of esoteric knowledge that has added nothing to my fulfillment and blocked my self-actualization at every turn. As long as I have unfettered access to the internet on a laptop, it will continue to absorb the vast majority of my time while my life - my fucking life - withers and crumbles away. Attempting to temper my addiction has not worked. As my good friend Karl has told me for a long time, “I’m telling you broski, you need a revolutionary shift in your mode of production.” I don’t know why Karl talks like that. He’s kind of weird.
More to the point, I’m packing this wonderfully reliable Macbook up in a box tomorrow and shipping it off to a place that will give me scarcely above $200 for it, and I couldn’t be more secure or happy in this decision. I’m sure I’ll miss reading the cool blogs on here that I follow every day, and indeed all of the great conveniences that owning a computer bring, but to be brutally honest, I have my life waiting out there, and that’s one thing that’s just a little more important than Tumblr. The only catch is I have to ditch this thing before I can meet it. So I am.
It’s time for me to grow up. This is how I’m going to have to do it. Best wishes to all of you.
The Decemberists are an immoral, liberal, Indie-rock band from Portland, Oregon. Their members include Colin Meloy, Chris Funk, Jenny Conlee, Nate Query, and John Moen. They played a concert for Barack Obama, and endorsed him for the presidency. 
They are known for glorifying rape, suicide (most often by drowning, and some songs simply involve death by drowning, without suicide being involved), and various other sinful acts in their music; the songs “We Both Go Down Together” (rape and double-suicide), “The Landlord’s Daughter/You’ll Not Feel the Drowning” (rape and apparent homicide by drowning, in the respective parts of the song), and the entire story arc of the latest album, “The Hazards of Love,” is based around rape, intercourse, homicide, infanticide (although at least the character who so gleefully sings of his childrens’ murders is the villain, although lead singer Meloy takes undue joy in the song) and the eventual double-suicide of the main characters by drowning. Apparently they also suffer from a severe lack of originality, as well as a severe lack of morals.
When asked whether he felt his music could corrupt those who listened to by glorifying rape, homicide and suicide, leader singer Colin Meloy said that he “didn’t care”.
”—Conservapedia, literally the only thing in the world that can make the Decemberists seem awesome
the softest shit youve ever seen in your life. softer than a pillow full of marshmallows. softer than terry cloth. softer than million thread count disney princess sheets on tempur pedic mattress. softer than a huey lewis and the news reunion tour. softer than the chinchilla coat i wore while i was writing this. softer than a fuckin non-alcoholic appletini with a goddamn cranberry juice chaser
Here’s why we’re losing: when a completely unfunny neanderthal lobotomy patient like James O’Keefe somehow gets enough electric current running through his primitive little Stegosaurus brain to hide a camera and say dumb shit about Islam, we get absolutely terrified and throw in the towel immediately. Fuck that.
Ya’ll surrendered when there was absolutely nothing to surrender about. Shameful
“[W]e we ended up at the Arcade Fire’s private thing…they didn’t think they were going to win, so they didn’t do any special party. We were over at the hotel, at the very end of the night, and it was fun and all that. And then we went back to see some family members, and everybody was saying “Oh, you were at the Grammys? Did you see Mick Jagger? Did you see Elton John?” I was like “No, but get this - we were at the party given by the people who won the whole thing, the Arcade Fire!” And they were like, “See, I don’t know who they are.” All of the family members were really unimpressed that we were hanging out with the people who won the entire competition. There is that to consider.”
watchmejumpstart said: that worldview seems kind of needlessly self-defeating to me. like why not recognize that you derive meaning from, to use your example, the alleviation of suffering while understanding that meaning is a subjective phenomenon?
I do not recognize that, because I am not deriving meaning from the alleviation of suffering, nor from any other activity for that matter. We can talk about deriving pleasure from a given practice, or deriving satisfaction, or engaging in sublimation, or distraction, but the word ‘meaning’ as used in the original context refers to a trans-personal grounding principle that serves to justify existence as a whole (i.e. objectively), of which I feel there is none. If you reduce meaning to a subjective phenomenon it becomes indistinguishable from the aforementioned terms, and we are merely engaging in a discussion about hedonism. I am not rejecting the notion of ‘meaning’ as phenomenon of subjectivity - that is in fact precisely why I hold any notion of meaning to be a farce, because it is generated by a fictional construct (the subject) as a sort of second-order meta-fiction to justify the originary fiction of itself. The whole essence of subjectivity is this kind of infinite regress of nested lies within lies ad infinitum, a tangled web of fictions that obscures the hollow, selfless void at the center. Self and meaning are smokescreens conjured up by the will for the purpose of affirming itself in its mindless reproduction: without this smokescreen, a sentient being with enough intelligence (i.e. a human) would recognize the arbitrariness of existence and cease to give a shit about its own survival. This is obviously a grave problem from an evolutionary perspective, hence why our belief in the self and in our mythologies and theologies are so stubbornly entrenched - they are basically biological phenomena.
My approach to life is a methodical unraveling of this web of lies and an attempt to engage directly with that void at the center, however unattainable this may be (as I am still a living, willing creature and therefore my body has an interest in remaining within the lie). This approach is the foundation of my ethical system. I do not think an ethical life can truly begin until one recognizes oneself as utterly superfluous to this world, literally a drain on the system. Your body is an obsessive and gluttonous hunk of matter hell-bent on reproducing itself at the expense of others. There is no deeper level of significance to it beyond that. An acute awareness of this allows you to start making less demands on others and doing what you can to help them, because you recognize that while subjectivity and meaning are illusory (mere sorcery of the will), the pain and suffering that bodies cause other bodies is objective and real, not to mention meaningless and absurd. I engage in this struggle not as a method for deriving meaning, but as a way of utterly rejecting meaning through a kind of starvation of the will. I can see why you would take this to be self-defeating - it truly is. However, needlessly self-defeating I think is unfair. I think this defeating of the self, this saying fuck you to nature and the entire charade of existence is absolutely imperative if we are ever to create a just society. The most morbid community in my eyes would be the most compassionate and the most equitable. It would be drained of meaning and thus devoid of all lies and tricks. People would realize that there is nothing better to do than to give and to help one another, as anything self-serving would register in this community as obscene and absurd.
This would be the absolute limit point of evolution, the exhaustion of the whole enterprise. We must go there. We must realize there is nothing to be gained from this exercise and abandon our stake in the game.
“I don’t speak square language. Me and squares and the game goofy motherfuckers and the don’t-knows and the motherfuckers that ain’t never been in the life or even hit a block or been on no corners or been in any type of sticky situation or nothing they ain’t gonna never understand me. They squares. I don’t speak their language. That’s why they don’t know what I be talking about.”—E-40, in an interview you should read.