To become lost in knowledge

Expanding knowledge.
The more I understand,
the more I am confused.
All I have really learned,
is how much I do not understand.

I gain knowledge,
yet remain confused.

Why?

I am too different.
I am unable to understand.

I don't have an anchor.
I fear I will become lost once again.
Floating in the breeze,
lost among the clouds,
unable to see
the world beneath.

Why I don't feel loved.

It's really quite simple: My flaws are a deep part of who I am, and everyone wants to fix me.

I didn't really understand it when I was younger, but I do now: Everything people have all praised me for, exists because of everything people condemn me for. My flaws aren't just a part of the whole package. They are largely responsible for why I am who I am. I wouldn't be me without them.

My high perception? My ability to notice and remember details most don't? That's because I'm very sensitive to stimuli, and it's why I hate taking showers or baths and have crappy hygiene.

My high intelligence and knowledge? That's largely because I can't focus on anything I'm not interested in. I can't make myself do work, and when I try, my mind just wanders. So what I do manage to accomplish, is I end up thinking about, and contemplating everything that ever happens to me. Everything I see or read, or hear gets thought about over and over and over. I end up thinking about everything far more deeply than anyone I know. The whole reason I am smart, is just because I never stop thinking. It is also why I can't work. I can't set myself a goal and expect to accomplish it.

People will say they love me, and in the same breath wish that my flaws would be fixed. Which just sounds like all they really love is their idea of me. Some perfect construct that doesn't exist, and never will. What they want is my potential. Not my reality. They don't want me, just what they think I could be.

Diary 20131110

The indomitable power of despair.
I don't mean the power of inflicting it.
The power of possessing it.

Willpower.
Why do I have willpower?
Why am I so much stronger than the rest of my family?
Discontent.

The inability to be content.
Disturbance.
Despair is all that binds me.
Holding me back from imbicilic rage.

I am not content.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

I watch.
I do nothing.
I cry.
I do nothing.
I laugh.
I do nothing.

There is one thing I want to do.
They tell me to stop.

////////////////////////////////

How can I tell my story?
What is my story?
Do I even have a story?

////////////////////////////////

I still don't know what it is I am trying to do.
Fix the world?
Save the world?
Condemn the world?
Break the world?

When something is broken, it isn't destroyed.
Instead, it's changed, drastically.
Yeah. I want to break the world.

Sometimes, fixing a person,
requires breaking who they currently are.
Otherwise, how will they become someone new?

Destroying pillars that support the current corruption.
Leaving a system that collapses.
Ruins that can be used.
Build.
Build again.
Again.
No matter how many times it falls.
Build.
Build again.
Again.

Don't rebuild.
Just build.
Again,
and again.

Build.

//////////////////////////////////

It is not despair that makes me strong.
It is despair that lets me be strong.
Without despair, my strength, would break me.
It already did.

How many times?
I can't remember.
I don't remember all the people I've been.
I only remember who I am now.

No. It's not can't. It's won't.
Remembering...
Not something I will do.
Such things. I will not let them return.

It broke, because I wanted it to.
I don't like who I was.
I don't like who I am.
I don't like who I will be.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.
Break.
Build.

That many times?
Maybe.

//////////////////////////

Why am I writing again?
I don't know, but I like it.
I like it when I write.

Silence is lonely.

//////////////////////////

My mind became full, that's why I wrote. It overflowed.

//////////////////////////

Perhaps it's not my story I need.
What I need to write is the story of who I want to be.
I don't know that story.

To change, I must find that story.
Or make it.

Who I really am.

I am not who I wanted to be. I am not any of the things I tried to become. No matter how much I make myself care, I cannot override the one desire, the one rule, that governs my behavior.

I can make myself care enough to suffer, but not to act. The only drive that I possess, is a desire to dream. My interest in reality extends only as far as it can inspire new ideas and dreams. I am unable to spend significant effort on anything that does not directly fuel my dreams. I spent my whole life trying to be someone who works hard, and earns their place in life. I spent my whole life failing. I finally understand why, and it leaves me right back where I started: Hopeless, useless, pointless. An existence without value. Even my care for others merely acts as a restraint, to prevent me from deliberately harming others. It cannot motivate me, except when action takes no effort, making it seem fake.

Me

I do not understand why people struggle so hard to live. What makes it worth the effort, and pain? Why is it so important? What drives them? And why do they insist that I must want to live too? Why is life so important to people? I doubt I will ever understand.

Loneliness...

The ache, the pain. A hole that will never be filled.
Believing that all things can be solved, if I just figure out how, I seek out knowledge.
Yet what I find, only makes the problem ever harder.
In my pursuit of perfection, I only end up ever further from my true goal.
I have lost a lot in my quest for knowledge.
Knowledge, and wisdom, isolate me. The hole was forged of loneliness. Yet my actions only make it bigger.
I am even more alone now, than I was at the start. Surrounded by people who cannot see the world that I see. A world that only continues to grow larger.
I seek ever greater knowledge, wisdom, and understanding, to bridge the gap. Yet doing so makes the gap even bigger.
The more I know, the more distant I become from everyone else.
Building a bridge, becomes ever harder.

All I can do is continue. Hoping that someday I will find a trick or secret that will let me share my world. A way of showing others, what my real life is.

20110402

Perhaps wisdom is perception. One is wise when they fully understand their options, and choose accordingly. What I seek to teach, is wisdom itself. I have no idea how to do this. I only know the first step is Zen: self observation, and disconnection of sense and action, allowing one to choose.

For many, wisdom comes from experience. Upon attaining fluency, they begin to notice what was once invisible to them. This leads to observation and the opening up of options and choice. It is probably the slowest way to attain wisdom. Most of the martial arts stories I've read follow this path: master the art, and from that mastery, develop wisdom.

I believe foolishness comes from ignorance. If one does not understand the consequences of their actions, or the full range of options available to them, it is difficult to choose wisely, if a choice is even possible. Much of the suffering in affluent countries comes from foolishness. If we could teach people wisdom, much of this suffering could be avoided.

Random Writings

A dream unfulfilled.
A belief in helplessness.
A desire to die.
A fear of failure.

Bound in torment,
afraid of escape,
What awaits me,
on the other side?

I seek an escape,
from the binds that blind me.
I cannot see,
but I want to.
What is it, that I cannot see?
What is it, that I am looking for?
What, will become of me?
Me, who cannot see?

I must build something I have never seen,
using pieces I never had,
to find an answer, I never knew,
discover a truth, that might not even exist.

200903160351

The fantasies that I dream. The ideas dancing in my mind. The movements and connections deny my efforts to tame them. While I dream of becoming these things, in truth I wish to create them.

The fantasies of my mind, the ideas I fail to capture. They are not beyond reach, I merely lack the patience to build them. It is not that they cannot exist, but that I do not give them life.

The future of machines. A world of wonder, a world of games. The reason writings elude me, is I lack a story. A transhumanist world, where all options truely become available. What will humanity do? They fight, they play, they reason, they invent, and they continue to discover.
The natural mind is now well understood. Though few stay natural for long. Augmentation has yielded a race of cyborgs. It is not always easy to distinguish between reality and fiction, since so much of reality IS fiction. People live in worlds of their own making, with personalities and cultures constantly changing and complicating themselves faster than science can keep up with. New technologies arive every day, spread like wildfire, and just as swiftly, fade from view.

To create a story, requires an understanding of their minds, which I don't believe I can achieve. Their concepts and ideas would be so different from what we have now, that it is like trying to predict something which is unknowable. After all, even my description of it, is only given from our viewpoint. The views of those inside that world would be so different as to be beyond my ability to imagine. I have only the tiniest hint of what such an experience might be. Vague ideas and wild imaginings of concepts that would have no anchor within our own understandings.

200901072315

What are the new things that I see?

Champions online is yet to be released. The ideas I gain from reading about it, provide interesting ruminations about possible game designs. Unfortunately, I fear the game itself will prove far less capable than my mind might dream of. I suppose that's to be expected. My imagination always outpaces reality.

City of Heroes continues to impress me. I find new ideas about what makes a game good, and each time find that elements of my discovery are already implemented. The one thing I feel is missing, is the connection between the player and the world. The whole fiction seems disconnected, needing no player action to proceed. Whatever you do, the story remains the same. I'd rather just read a book.
That makes me wonder, is there a market for small booklets with the stories of CoH? Like, each story arc could be sold as a small booklet, and maybe one page biographies for various characters as well. If it were priced at a dollar or two, it might sell. I suppose it'd have to be a PDF file at that low a price though.

Perhaps the ultimate aim of story based games is to become a form of cooperative story telling with the player and the game as participants.