Observations:

Actually taking a shower naturally results in me temporarily stopping my consumption of fairly-pointless internet media, which usually results in me having the kinds of deep, existential thoughts that I’d probably be having much more frequently in a healthier environment, which often results in 1200-word arguably-purple-prosed-but-I-don’t-care diatribes about thought processes.

Using this particular writing voice (that is, the one with the multisyllabic words and the incredibly long sentences and all of the parentheticals and repetition for flow and whatnot) makes me feel fucking amazing.

Nothing else these days makes me feel “fucking amazing.” Or anywhere close. More than “good, I suppose,” for the most part. It’s this kind of mood when I feel like I really have potential as a person, which hasn’t really been a thing for me since like 2012. But hey, I’ve still got this thing in here somewhere.

After writing everything below, I felt like I should add a foreword of some kind describing what it’s about to get you not to skip it on account of it being 1200 words. I don’t really have anything though, besides “I liked it a lot and it describes my brain, and maybe it’ll make you think about yours.”

——

There’s a thought I’ve had a number of times but haven’t yet tried to talk about or write out about, like… the ways in which people come up with morals? I’m sure this is pretty basic-level psychology and ethics stuff, but I haven’t taken any classes of that sort, so here we are. It goes something like this (and the point is at the end, btw):

When we have disagreements with other people about fundamental moral beliefs, we have to understand it in one of fairly few ways, right? Like, either (1) the other person is just evil, or (2) they’re misguided or have made an error but ultimately have the right values (or at least the ones I have), or (3) through their experiences they’ve come to differ in fundamental beliefs from me and their argument is, in that lens, totally consistent. Right? If you’re going to engage at all in a disagreement, you have to pick or come to understand one or more of these (or, I guess, you go with the first one by default.)

So you kind of have to have some kind of mental model of how people think of the world and come to have opinions, so you can take a guess which part of the model is causing the disagreement. In more plain terms, when it really matters, you need to know what caused the other person to be wrong, yeah? Like when the other person is like, “we need to deport all redheads” or “my kid shouldn’t be treated for this collapsed lung” or whatever.

And the first obvious distinction to make is like, “values” vs. all the other stuff that’s situational and on top of them. Like a value could be fairness or loyalty or hard work being rewarded or something something family or everyone having a say or selflessness being good or the reduction of human or animal suffering or, I dunno, insert stuff about faith. I’m not sure where the line should be drawn, but my working theory is that values are the stuff you feel like everyone reasonably ought to share (even though you know not everyone does)? Again, I’m sure there’s a chapter in a textbook about this. So by argument (2), all the other stuff is just disagreements about the right way to get to the same fundamental place, like how different people would “fairly” split a cake different ways, or how different experiences of religion would lead groups to differ on how to best respect the history and meaning of Jerusalem, or how to reduce the suffering of a dying pet or relative. But that’s background.

Coming back to the mental model thing, my mental model is based on 2 specific things: first, I believe that despite values or goals that may differ, facts and logic never will. Hence if you can understand and accept the premise behind someone’s values -> logic -> belief chain, but show them a logical fallacy in their thought process, or if you can show that the facts they were using were incorrect, then you’re right and they’re wrong, full stop. I’m sure this is obvious, but the corollary is that that’s the only time I think you can really say that, and if you’re going to make an argument that someone is wrong it has to be on those grounds. That’s why I make the distinction between (2) and (3).

(To be clear, none of this is to tell you something you didn’t know. But ever since I can remember, I was an existential kid; I often wonder about why I’m thinking or doing literally anything! And when I get in an argument or try to persuade someone of something, I do my best to make my thought process as thought-through as possible to give the highest possible chance of actually learning anything; otherwise what’s the point. And if you want to be confident about why you’re arguing something specific, you have to have thought about the mechanics of convincing someone of something. And so it goes.)

Anyway, the second specific thing is that, partially by choice and partially not, I am one of those people who tries to assume that all humans do share most values, if you drill down far enough. So yes, I think we all want the same things deep down. I think people do bad things for sure-still-bad-but-understandable reasons. I see people who think or do horrible things as “basically the result of what would happen if, from birth, I lived your life, not that that makes it at all okay.” I try and identify when people do stuff out of fear and think, “they must be scared.” I try not to ever forget the humanity of people I really fucking hate. Pretty much no one lives their life trying to be a dickbag, and those who do must have had a pretty unusual set of life circumstances to think that’s a good idea, yeah?

—

…but all of the above stuff is my thought process 99% of the time. That’s the background noise in my brain. If I’m a computer, that’s Windows (or, if I’m lucky, MacOS), not the program I’m actually trying to run. That’s not what I made this post about, at least originally. The point of this post is to point out that sometimes I realize that all those values and stuff don’t really exist.

Because, like, why do I think we should reduce the suffering of the misfortunate? Why do I think everyone should have a voice in decisions that affect them? Why do I think the punishment should be proportional to the crime… oh, wait, no I don’t, whoopsie, I think the punishment should be optimized for reducing crime in the aggregate and that only a calculated unfair act deserves a calculated unfairness in return, because the correct value that we share is the betterment and fairness of society, and the common assumption that a small-scale simplistic system of justice makes that happen isn’t an accurate fact on which to base a moral argument WHOOPS ANYWAY MOVING ON…

The answer, of course, is because it feels right. I had formative, emotionally deep experiences where people suffered, and it was unfair, and they had no say, and it felt bad and it felt wrong. And I extrapolated my values based on those feelings, and those feelings were put there by chemicals in my body that humans have evolved such that we would form a productive and long-lived society. I may feel like logic and facts are fundamentally right, and I have no choice but to use them, but morals are fundamentally… just what happened to work for humanity to survive. We don’t have to choose to prioritize them, or to believe them.

But I do. And I recognize that too is because it makes me feel good to do so. (There’s no getting around, from an existential standpoint, that you’re made out of the same chemicals as everything else, unless you believe in higher stuff.) And I’m okay with that. “My religion is that the most fundamental feelings I’ve experienced are worth following” is a statement I’m totally comfortable with.

And if a disagreement boils down to that? Well, I’ll go from there.

This kind of goes in the same category for me as as Little Lady – Ed Sheeran feat. Mikill Pane (TW teen sex trafficking, violence, abuse). They’re both songs that:

Tell a story you can’t stop listening to. It reminds me of folk music. I’m always surprised by how little this seems to happen outside of the folk genre.

Use unambiguous language, spoken clearly, so the full experience of comprehending the narrative doesn’t involve web searching for the lyrics. Again, this seems strangely rare.

Incorporate an acoustic adaptation of a tune I already knew and would listen to on repeat on its own, hitting the parts of the brain that love familiarity and love variations on familiarity. 

Speak about a life experience that I know absolutely nothing of. I can’t speak to the authenticity or lack thereof of these stories. I can’t speak to whether they’re problematic or valuable. I don’t know what I can say about that, really.

When I was little, I listened to a ton of folk music. And I guess I’m curious what the modern version of that is. Obviously the cliche is that each generation doesn’t understand the next generation’s music, but I think the specific things I’m looking for are a melody and a story. Maybe this, uh, melodic rap? is that genre (besides, of course, Ed Sheeran et al.) Curious if any of you have favorite songs I might like based on that.

I kind of feel like handling stress is like exercise; there's a tolerance you can build up for it to an extent that you can also lose if you don't keep it up.

ffmpeg.exe -i input.mp4 -filter:complex “[0:a:0][0:a:1]amix=inputs=2[a]” -map “0:v” -map [a] -c:v copy -c:a aac output.mp4

Converts videos recorded with Nvidia Shadowplay’s “separate audio tracks” option to have a single combined audio track (without changing the volume of either), without loss of video quality.

To clip the beginning/end off a clip, use LosslessCut.

Pretty sure this should work to also have relative volume control:

ffmpeg.exe -i input.mp4 -filter:complex “[0:a:0]volume=0.5[1];[0:a:1]volume=0.5[2];[1][2]amix=inputs=2[a]” -map “0:v” -map [a] -c:v copy -c:a aac output.mp4

I should make these into scripts but I’m lazy.

Hm. On reflection, I think the reasons I don't think of my (I guess?) mental illness with the same gravity I often do others are like... a) because I'm not *that* [negative emotions] and b) 

Wait, hold on, I screwed up the logic there. Take two:

Hm. On reflection, I think the way I think of my (maybe) 

Wait, the logic was correct. Take 3:

Hm. On reflection, I think the reasons I don't think of my (I guess?) mental illness with the same gravity I often do others are like... a) because I'm not *that* [negative emotions] and therefore b) the actual result is just that I don't do anything, which is sometimes regarded as a problem of character rather than a problem of brain chemicals and whatnot.

But I just realized that the second kind of results in the first. I know I'm very fortunate to be given a life where not going to school or having a job or leaving the house or doing anything that has to be done is, at least for now, devoid of consequence. And usually I think of that as the indication of a problem of character, and (in various amounts depending on how I'm feeling) treat that problem of character as an indication of a lack of problem of, I dunno, brain chemical imbalance and shit.

But, while I can't be sure what my life would be like if I was given the "typical western 24 year old" level of responsibility, I can try and imagine it. And I'm pretty sure that, in short, if b) if I had to actually do anything, then a) I'd fall squarely into the "*that* [negative emotions]" category. And I'd probably/hopefully be more... active? in pursuing professional help in that case.

Short version: I wonder if, if I were less spoiled, I'd have to seek professional help to avoid self-destructive behavior. Usually I think of my reluctance to consider self-destructive behavior as a sign that it's not that bad, but maybe that's wrong.

Different wording: avoiding everything you have a deep and irrational distaste for doesn't change the fact that having a deep and irrational distaste for almost everything is not ideal, and the kind of thing you fix.

More different wording: Avoiding everything you dislike is possibly a problem of character. Disliking so many things so much, and having a semi-genuine preference for not existing over doing them, most likely isn't, and the first masks the second, it doesn't invalidate it.

I think that last one is pretty good.

I think one of the problems that comes from having been a “gifted” child has nothing to do with how people treat you or what people expect of you or what challenges you are or aren’t handed. It’s the way you look at things. Like, when you’re used to feeling like you have all the answers (which no one does), then when you truly do need to change, you don’t see a path upward. I never saw myself as perfect, but I also—and of course this is ridiculous, but I was young and stupid and “intelligent”—didn’t see myself as flawed in ways that were materially fixable*. I thought, what I have in my head is more than is typical in a bunch of ways I care about, so that’s probably as good as I’m getting. Essentially, “I’ve got this going for me; no point pressing my luck.”

I think that makes it sound like I had a god complex about everything, which isn’t what I mean. But like, when you’re used to being treated like a math genius all the time, and you do decently well at a state math competition but of course get destroyed by the kids at nationals whose work you can’t even understand, you have no reason not to subconsciously see everything else that way. You think, “I am already at the target level that my peers are instructed to obtain, and I do not have the foundation to become an order of magnitude better. This is about where I will stay.” And that, to be clear, doesn’t prevent someone from undergoing personal growth... but it makes it damn hard to believe personal growth will work. And that tends to.

I am all the anecdotes. I’m the deadbeat kid. I’m the terrible boyfriend. I’m the spoiled brat. I know these things, and I don’t know them in a self-deprecating way (anymore). I’m not proud of them, but I’m proud of knowing them, because that’s the first step, right? In a movie, I’m either the unredeemable guy the girl leaves or the protagonist who has a redemption arc yet to come. Only difference from the usual is, I didn’t have too little childhood success to believe I could be anything more: I had too much.

I’m still full of myself, actually. When I ponder whether I wish I didn’t exist, I think, “well, that would be a waste.” But that one is actually true. Right now, though, I effectively don’t exist. And while doing something dramatic would be a pretty likely movie-logic to start a deadbeat protagonist’s redemption arc, I’m definitely smart enough to know that’s a terrible idea. And I don’t want to, anyways.

Generally speaking, though, it’s hard not to think of change coming from outside of yourself and your routine when trying to change yourself and your routine has never led to a change of anything, so far. But, again, “I am already at the target level of ability to do this intellectual pursuit,” says that persistent voice of experience. “If I can write this introspective Tumblr post, and still not change, what more could a therapist do?”

A lot, obviously. But it’s one thing to know it, and another to feel it.

*Within a limited subset of relevant things. Trying to be specific got too complicated for a quick post.

There is so much to learn in the world from even the seemingly mundane.

Twitter thread about PC gaming.

I wonder if sometimes I sound like an industry professional, as opposed to a deadbeat kid who never leaves their parents’ house.

Sex is as important as any other facet of the messy, complicated, multifaceted galaxy of what makes us human. To isolate it out only makes it scarier, breeding misinformation, confusion and shame.

I definitely do not have this (though I can’t do faces, which is super annoying). But it’s fascinating to realize it could be this way.

My dad used to wonder, "is the universe a just place? Or is it just a place?"

A meaningful moment for me, that I'm sure the other involved party doesn't remember and that very well may not have existed, is when back in 5th grade, my friend and I realized in a discussion that life isn't inherently fair. That, essentially, Aesop's fables don't magically come true.

Well, I still think that's true... with an "unless*." Life (the experience) isn't fair unless life (the collection of organisms) make it so. The universe is just a place, unless we live our lives in order to make it a kind one.

I guess the lesson to take from that, would be: when it feels like life isn't fair, look not to fate or to chance or to god, but instead to other people who want that to change.

(*Accidental but very fitting Lorax reference.)

The thing about writing for me is that it’s kind of the opposite of addictive.

Of course I shouldn’t, and do not, expect anything else to be like computer/video gaming, where enormous amounts of effort are put into making the experience one you wish to continue with in an ever-increasing way. But things like reading about and learning about technology, and making enormous spreadsheets, are other things I find addictive in the same way despite it being no one’s job to make them that way for me.

Fiction writing, though, is interesting to me because it’s the relatively rare (sorta) task that’s enjoyable and rewarding for me, and yet the more minutes I spend on it, the less I want to continue. It’s just draining. I ponder each sentence enough that I have to take little mental breaks every half-paragraph or so. And while I think a lot of my lack of success with things that aren’t incredibly easy is a lack of persistence in the face of adversity (I have lots of posts on this blog about that), I’m not sure that fully explains it.

I’m sure a lot of it is that I’m trying—not consciously, per se—to make a finished product on the first try, which I know from countless explanations is not a very successful strategy the vast majority of the time, i.e. the pot story*. I believe that to be 100% true. (I’m going to try NaNoWriMo, one of the embodiments of this quantity over quality principle. I am not doing particularly well**.) But I don’t really know how to write quantity over quality in fiction, unless it’s literally writing complete gibberish, and that’s not enjoyable and rewarding. I have an imagination, I can create a story with that imagination, and either I can figure out a set of words to represent that story in writing, or I can’t. I have a bit of flexibility to pick close-enough words and not get bogged down in refining the details, but not a lot.

On reflection, I probably do just need to relax my definition of what counts as telling a story. The example I was thinking about while writing the previous paragraph was a character speaking (I’ve been doing a ton of dialogue lately, which is super fun), and spending a lot of time on the stuff that’s not in quotation marks. I imagine a whole scene like a painting, as I described in my previous post, because that’s what I enjoy in a story, and so I must figure out how to make that painting into words that someone else could turn back into a painting (not the same one, of course, but that’s part of the beauty of it). Which is like translating between languages, I assume, but one language is words and one is an imagined version of reality. Which is draining, of course.

But NaNo isn’t about that. NaNo is about using “he said” as every line between dialogue, or just skipping the quotation marks and writing the dialogue down as the entire thing if that’s faster, and by god I bet it is. You can add all of that other stuff later, and that part will be addicting, because you already have a story.

Makes sense. The only concern I have is that I might not find that enjoyable or rewarding or addictive. But! That might be just what I need: something that’s not that much fun, and not that easy, but not that hard and not that draining. Remember what I said about persistence in the face of adversity? That sounds like a persistence in the face of adversity thing. Rather than a persistence in the face of melting your brain thing, which persistence doesn’t tend to win.

I’m still gonna be sad about my poor mental images, though. You won’t know it unless I succeed, but if I do say so myself these are damn good. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to disagree.

*Have you heard the pot story? If not, here’s the pot story: a pottery class was split into two halves. One was graded on the quality of their best pot. The other was graded on how much pottery they made. The second was more successful at making quality pots because they learned from their mistakes and iterated.

**Word count of this post up to here: 737. Word count of my NaNo draft: 1021, and that was excruciating. Nonfiction writing is an order of magnitude less work because I think about concepts in english phrases, so there’s no translation sep besides (absolutely terrible, btw) typing.

One thing I’d really like to do (here, have a third aside to a post! (even with a parenthetical, and another to point that out, because my brain is absurd)) —

...that didn’t work. Anyway, one thing I’d really like to do is just speak about the mental pictures and have that converted into words. Somehow that’s always much different mentally. But a) the tech to do that automatically doesn’t exist, b) I’d rather not transcribe myself, and c) that wouldn’t make the kind of product I want even if done perfectly. Verbal stuff is just different. However, if there was a National Tell A Novel Length Story In Podcast Form And Yes This Is A Real Thing People Like Listening To, however, sign me the absolute fuck up.

(Yes, recorded tabletop is that. Yes, I would very very very much like to do recorded tabletop if there was an actual audience for that. Hi, arguably fifth aside to a post.)

(Sixth aside: total word count is now 952. So close to beating my NaNo in half an hour.)

I wrote some things about myself here.

Comment by ColorfulMind: This commencement address makes me happy because John Green, without a single doubt, intended it as a response to David Foster Wallace's commencement speech at the same college in 2005.

He first talks, in his own ways, about the mundanity of life that so captivated This is Water, and then he goes off of that and responds directly to the Wallace thesis that liberal arts teaches you how to think with his "it teaches you how to listen".

I listened to David Foster Wallace’s address, This is Water, more than 4 years ago. I also shared it with a great degree of reservation (and a trigger warning) on this blog. It is spectacular, in a way, but it only tells part of the story it seems to be trying to tell.

This is Water is about going from misery to the brink of something better and more meaningful and more valuable. But it stops just short. Wallace says:

It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, loud, slow, consumer hell-type situation as not only meaningful but sacred, on fire with the same force that lit the stars-compassion, love, the sub-surface unity of all things. Not that that mystical stuff's necessarily true...

What I wanted, and have wanted, was a version of that idea that went far larger, a version of that idea that went from misery to understanding, to hope, to love, to community, to thankfulness for the gift of existence. In short, I wanted to hear the argument for the sub-surface unity of all things. I wanted to hear This is Water, but positive, but hopeful, but with the added principle that connection with others is what is sacred, the idea that a meaningful life comes not just from the self.

I would give bonus points if it were reasonably funny. (I would give, in retrospect, bonus points for it being part of a body of work teaching those ideas to people for more than 10 years.)

Well, 2 years after I wrote that post, John Green delivered exactly that. I might not have noticed it if I hadn’t seen that comment, but once you see the connection, it’s unmistakeable. 4 years ago, I wrote:

I don’t, in fact, believe that it is unimaginably hard to be alive and alert and empathetic. I don’t believe it at all.

[...]This is the sort of message I want the ability to create and communicate - and parts of this speech are the sorts I want the ability to refute and replace.

John doesn’t believe that, either. And what he wrote does that job of refuting and replacing those parts beautifully.

At the end, John talks about thanking the kinds of people who you want to be when you grow up, who have been vulnerable to you and to the world in order to show you kindness. Well, y’know what? That’s who I want to be. Thanks, John.