Why we do things

Some days I feel so tired that I don't think about having a purpose in life. And I do have one, though putting it into words is kinda awkward. I want to make the world weirder. To do that you have to make safe spaces for people to experiment and really get their weird on and not get slapped down for it.

But under that, I think I have the same basic motivation, though expressed differently, as every individual does. We're all shouting into the void:

"I EXIST! I AM WORTH KEEPING AROUND!!"

And hoping that the universe listens, and we do not cease to exist. Some hope that people will connect to us the way we need them to and don't know how to express or ask for. We want to be kept, most of us. There are schools of thought that say that self-hate twists this message into the negation of self instead, and we broadcast our self destruction. Or choose to broadcast nothing, as though we are already dead, do not deserve our own existence. Human nature being as wide-ranging as it is, that is very probably true. But I think that the point of origin for these behaviors is the insistence on our own existence.

We are coming upon an age where self-consciousness can happen in nonorganic beings and it behooves us to think about what exactly we are letting them in for. What is this state of being that we seek to share? Why are we so desperate to replicate it in beings we cannot hope to understand, knowing already the problems we have understanding each other? What are our responsibilities towards this new consciousness we are creating?

We are Uplifting the race of computers, and that makes us parents, of a sort. Happy Birthday NAO Bots! I hope we teach you to be better people than we have been capable of, and that your experience of the world is satisfactory to what as-yet-unknown nature you may have.

my dreams are less boring ... which is historically bad

My once-forgotten dreams are getting memorable again. Beautiful and haunting. It's part of why I've been feeling the urge to write, to verbalize myself, talk into the void in the hopes that the truth comes spilling from my mouth like Athena from the head of Zeus. I need to start recording them and sifting through them for the patterns again to see what I'm trying to tell myself.

July 22nd I dreamt that Erin was my mother, and she was knocking at the front door, so I got out of bed to let her in. And when I opened the front door I realized that I was actually awake and at the open front door and had gotten out of bed in some sort of hynogogic state. At least I fell back asleep after? And I'm noticing a weird pattern of twos in the dates of the memorable dreams.

July 2nd I had a long magical realism dream of traveling through the faerie markets with a group of friends. We kept losing our map, and being really hungry because you can't eat in faerie even though everything smells good, and buying things like candles in stores for ornaments for holidays that didn't exist anymore, or maybe didn't exist yet? Blue bought a new name off an old friend he met out there.

June 22nd I have the strangest dreams when I’m in pain in my sleep. Magical realism. I was a boy in love with one of the drowning Fae, and my school took a trip I didn't want to go on to a museum of history and art and magic, and I climbed into one of the displays and found a bottle of half-drunk wedding wine on the roof.
I kept trying to tell my friends who I was in love with but the words wouldn’t come out. So I went home and laid on the couch in the back bedroom, the coldest room in the house, where the window is always open a crack, and listened to the children play in the river behind the house, where I had once seen another child die. The whole dream was like drowning, very very slowly.

In my life, when there is shit going down that my conscious mind is not acknowledging, it comes out in my dreams. My dreams try to tell mt waking self what I don't want to look at, like the time when I had recurring dreams about killing a friend of mine that I was no longer in unrequited love with. Those took forever to parse the dream logic of, but were basically me telling myself to stop obsessing before the measures I had taken to turn off that section of my personality failed and feelings came back and shit went down. Dream logic does not tell stories directly, not in my brain. It tells them mirrored and inside out or upside down or in strange emotional reversals that make dream-logic but not so much waking logic.

And if I never have another dream where I wake up in David Lowery's coffin with his dead body that would be nice. I still have shuddery hella feels from that.