vishnusavestheday

i used to have a reddit page called /r/itsallbullshit where i would extensively lie about reality but i don't really like drying my uterus out with the pretentious bullshit-awareness-acceptance-tripe-bullshit not that there's anything wrong with dry uterus.

alright i'm seconding this post, you are boring and you know you are boring them. why else would you post? what did you expect to do with a girl from class? hit it off? and you developed no actual repertoire or social chemistry of teasing or playfulness? even if you have deep conversations with a member of the opposite sex, they don't see it as sexual. neither should you, unless you see an actual conversational segway to make it so. even when you say something deep, women typically find you boring unless you have fire in your soul that sparks you to them as a spontaneous being that makes the present moment fun. you're just a shmoe to them, and you probably don't know how to look at women with actual disgust cause you got shit to do and you don't know how to feel like you do

Whenever I've came down from a psychedelic, I am always commenting one liners. I notice this in a lot of other comments as well. "I am" "It Is" "Love" It's such a weird subconscious practice people perform as an underhanded gesture of knowledge. no hate, just noticing

12/25/2022 Merry Christmas! Today I was going to talk about something seriously frustrating, damning even. I felt inspired on the topic of Religious Sexual Continence, Fornication, and "sinful" sex. I wasn't raised Catholic, but a while ago I bit the bullet and wanted to be accepted into the church community with confirmation-- the whole 9 yards. In my studies, I have become more and more acutely aware of the Catholic doctrines dictating sex. I just wanted to journal today to bitch about priests being virgin idiots who never get sex, so they are unrealistically harsh on humans. Quite a change of pace for me. I wanted to delve deeper into the Catholic church because of its ease of access and continent encouragement, but insofar as actual sexual activity, I am getting to the end of the road. According to Catholics, it's a sin to ejaculate anywhere other than a vagina-- with the exception being wet dreams. Unacceptably, the exception defines the church's sense of conscious accountability. I wouldn't even be opposed to the sex-before-marriage oath, should I had enough time to really grasp the partner I'd be looking for. Back to ejaculations though. How does God really explain the point of wet dreams? The stupidly shortsighted problem with Catholicism is that it instantly attaches "meaning" with virtue and "meaningless" with sin. If you'd look online to try to find an explanation for wet dreams, you will not find an answer sufficient to recontextualize the reasoning God would put in place to design us for this "base" experience. I'm all for retaining male seed too-- I see a purer purpose and meaning in life. I just don't understand how what some celibate priests have to say about my sex life has to do with Godly connection in a relationship. Okay, I'll try for the sake of argument. My best guess is that the priests just don't want to be sex counselors. That's me being a realist. They don't want to hear on Sunday that Charlie's wife was giving oral. Here's the worst part. If I'm laying in bed with my wife right next to me, but we do not have sex because she and I are refraining from having more children (in accordance with Catholic belief), and I have a wet dream to reset my sex drive, how am I actually being faithful to the expression of manhood that I should be? How is the hormone regulation involving my personal chemistry bettering the worship of God if it takes me away from the presence of my wife? That's an entirely different caveat as well! Wouldn't sleep-induced orgasm in a relationship cause emotional disconnect and bring the relationship away from Godliness? This is why I do not believe these virgin Catholic priests. Furthermore, the only alleviation of sleep-induced orgasm according to Catholic belief IS the orgasm of procreative sex. The church doesn't accept divorce. The church doesn't assume any responsibility for the frustrating paradigms it ensues upon its believers. Why? Because that would, among other metaphysical trespasses, assume that a priest is acting as an individual-- not as Christ himself. I suppose I was taught a better basis of sexual connection than these ever-virgin priest conceptions could realize. I don't even want to go to the same heaven as them. I want to go to the place where vegans go when they die. But I don't care. I just want to be able to go to Catholic mass whenever, go to Buddhist temples when I want, meditate how I please. God can send me to whatever reality he finds me most useful honestly. I'm an unfaithful believer. I'm just a Jain monk in extreme disguise. But I always get so excited about apostasy. It only takes about 10 minutes and them I'm settled back in wanting to have a common ground with other Westerners. Yes, I am a psychopath for insisting on wanting to be Catholic. I am only religious for common ground. Or I'm absolutely in love with God regardless of what is to be believed otherwise. Eh, what's wrong with garnering good graces? Merry Christmas.

Here's my current least enjoyable, most memorably traumatic hellscape. I coped with it for a while, it's far better than some extreme times in my life, definitely. Still, it's the most clear to define of my memory and has clear insight. Imagine that you are conscious of one possibly different world. This is very specific, and I will disclose that it's not what I believe anymore. Nonetheless, here it is. Imagine you can consciously assume other people in your mind. Most people do this anyways, not a big deal, right? Now, make it a big deal. Imagine celebrities know you, know your problems, know your love life, your sexual desires, etc. Imagine you share a fated telepathy with a woman. And in order for you to find this woman, you have to have faith in your moral actions to make your way and ready the path for the fateful day you begin to date, court, marry, have kids, grow old, etc. Like a matchmaking maze filled with life decisions, only knowing you were promised somebody, specific or non-specific. Now imagine you go homeless for the express hope that this reality to leave you alone. You're boycotting life. Imagine that you effectively want the world to stop judging you morally. Instead, the world will worsen you and your begging mentality. My attitude was too smug and condescendingly unassuming to remind myself that the world thinks of me, not merely do I think of the world. Imagine this fated telepathy woman still checks in with you after you've gone homeless just to "let you know" mentally that she's out fucking all types of guys to reach your social hierarchy level. Because you're lowest of the low. Not to make you jealous, no. Just to make all other avenues of your thought process collapse and make fun of you as your thought processes turn into her fuck buddies. And I'll take it back to me. Imagine that you thought you were a smart person in the beginning. Now you are on the street, believing it will make you wise. No shit. By the time I was finished, I was grown up enough to know that most of the time the world won't give you any chance to prove to it how smart you are, especially when you go out of your way. But I remember once I'm homeless that I'm a staunch religious man, I'm strong in belief. How right of me. Except that the world knows it's the only card I have left to play, idiot. Nobody else would be as aware as me of the games I play. I gave it an embodied expression each day. I expressed the pain of getting almost everything not quite right in my drawings, my poems, etc. But I dealt with it still, even though the petty fornication jealousy narrative continued for months. It was so ingrained in my everyday that I can remember it all with only a word. Kali. I hope that people are extremely fucking harsh to my story. They shouldn't like what I've been conscious of. They shouldn't believe I'm even sane on this planet. I shouldn't have been blessed with such a wonderful capacity to bear such shame. I should be judged as amoral, unethical, irresponsible, shameful, un-insightful, lacking, base, and toxic. That's what's clear to me about myself. Frankly, I'd rather be this way. TLDR: I hope this don't make sense to you. When others express they don't know what I'm saying, I'll relish in the fact that I know I am speaking consciously. Toodles. Till next time.

When I was first homeless, the nights weren't too bad. I had my own space in the cool Los Angeles air, summer night. Nice, peaceful. Finally I could meditate in silence and on the obviousness of the problems ahead. First, I was homeless. My parents and family were worried sick most likely. Secondly, I had to eat. Panhandling was not an option. I'd just eat out the trash. Or steal. Thirdly, I had to stay active. I had to wash my clothes. Usually in the fountain nearby with soap. Fourthly, I could visit the guitar store every day. That was always fun. Fifth, I could go to mass to remember what day it was. Sixth, I could write poems, draw, and read all the time. This I did most frequently. I went through 8 sketch pads and 5 notebooks alone that summer. See? Obvious problems, obvious life. Perfect. And I could actually understand street culture! What a blessing. Can't be a homeless poser, after all. I never did any drugs harder than DXM while on the streets. I never bought weed, but I found copious amounts in bags in trashcans and near houses in public, literally unguarded. I found pristine rolling paper packs, made tobacco cigarettes, spliffs when possible. It was sick. I tried drinking alcohol in the grocery store once. I seriously disrespected myself with that choice. I've never had alcohol stronger than kombucha since that Ralph's experience. I must have walked 7 miles a day at that point. I loved the clothes I wore. I loved walking in the cannabinoid street-beat haze in my black faded cotton blazer trying to make words sound interesting to myself. That's another thing. Other pedestrians become like infinite situational props. As long as you don't disturb the peace too extremely, you can get away with many bizarre things. It's strangely clarifying as well. The homeless underground engage in this group conversation similar to the allegory of the cave. Every word you hear on the street other homeless people vibrantly understand differently yet similarly every day. Alright, back to Hosea and Gomer. I hadn't even read far enough into the bible to know I was being shown the nightmares of a man who already lived. Hosea had a wife who cheated on him with many men. She was promiscuous and mothered many children in his home who were not his. Then again, Hosea just remembered that God had prophesied to him that he had to marry this girl despite her flaws, this Gomer. He knew what he was getting into, he just wanted to see it through. Just for the sarcastic forgotten humor I could have, I followed a ghost of Gomer out of my home to hangout in Los Angeles. In the end, Hosea ends up finding his wife chained as a slave. The slaveowner is basically selling her. And he tells the slaveowner that it is his wife. The slaveowner replies, "she can be your wife, if you pay for her." Quite disgusting and demoralizing. He pays for her, loves her all the same. The end. This story I could not find when I was homeless. I felt lost and haunted that demons actually attacked me on the streets, berating me with femininity. I was attacked on all sides by the demonic belief of evil women. Seriously, it's a hell I'd have to unpack. But I gained quite a bit of insight from it. Specifically, that biblical stories define scandal. Furthermore, to a conspiratorial degree, scandals today can be critically derived with critical spiritual story awareness. How did I end up knees down praying on the asphalt on an empty street in the Los Angeles midnight? I could not find the Hosea and Gomer story. I started thinking, "Maybe it's Dante and Beatrice. Maybe it's Romeo and Juliet. Maybe it's Shiva and Kali. Maybe it's me being a loser thinking about some celebrity too much." It was all of these things. When life grabs a hold of you like this, it doesn't just show you the edges of your contemplated world, it shows you the shame of everything you are thinking about that you define as what is. I didn't want to be thinking about this more than I already was mind you. The possibilities of my hopeful future began to dwindle. By then I had set up camp, I was temporally safe by most means. I could be as I pleased. But my possibilities dwindled. Why? Because I couldn't answer myself. I couldn't explain this ONE narrative. How would I define this hell? I'll explain it in the next post.

12/22/2022 I had a desire to write this entry in my journal, but I decided against it. There's no point in being forgotten here or there anyway. At least here my handwriting isn't the issue. I was listening to the songs my cousin and I bonded over before she took her own life. Specifically, it was "Teenagers" by My Chemical Romance. When I visited her home in Colorado a week after she passed, she had illustrated the opening lyrics of the song on a tombstone drawn on the walls. I was so unaware. I was so blissfully ignorant. The contemplation brought me to a deeper place. One of wishing to have encouraged more about the realization of life. I wish I had recommended psychedelics to her. I wish I felt more safe to vocalize my enthusiasm for these chemicals. She might have been excited for a future that included psychedelic experiences. I wish I was more transparent to her about the nature of psychiatric medicine in the family unit. She and I were the only adolescents in our family tree to have dealt with accused mental health issues. I should have told her so many things about how I coped with much of the psychiatric abuse. How I coped with assuming the "allegedly effective" patient treatment games with people in order to dissuade further medication. Instead I didn't, and she must have assumed that I never did that. She assumed she was alone in believing anti-depressants don't work. Then again, she and I were in different mentally troubled bubbles. I was generally a stylistically divergent, countercultural, religiously extreme A-plus psychonaut in highschool. She was a suicidal B student who felt pressured to go to extracurriculars and church. I might not have had any chance to tell her any different, no matter what I said. Still, the last time we met, she and I were distantly friendly. I had started on my journey to sobriety and God. I had already been about a month sober from all smoking by then--green and brown herb. In that, I didn't want to tempt myself or my teenage relatives to take drugs because of the risk of social danger I'd put myself in. Now, weighing the odds, the world wouldn't know the tradeoff I'd make anyway. There is a dynamic here. Desire to share psychedelic experiences juxtaposed with private integration that deepens personal initiative thought. If I shared my every realization on psychedelics, or felt "safe" to do so, I'd be wasting my time. I keep thinking about when I was homeless too, a summer back. 2021. What a passionate race that was. I remember when I prayed in the middle of the road one summer night, spooked from the God-fearing hellscape I narrated to myself. Only a few weeks ago did I piece together the names that were Gomer and Hosea. I'll share it in the next post.

I like this answer. Typically, if something is bothering me, I first gently probe the idea with "Do I truly want to bear this as suffering? Do I really want to identify with this problem today?" Sometimes we have to just be calm enough to approach ourselves, realign with our values, then let troubles pass.

Maybe try letting go of spiritual bypassing as a problem and holding to strict guidelines that define the present moment. Aren't you also holding certain the consideration that spiritual bypassing is inherently limiting?

Any thoughts? I think Leo should go goth next Halloween. I painted my thumbs white and black, while my forefingers are black and white. When I clasp my hands, the blacks and whites are separated. I could do the thumb magic trick so that's a big plus. I'm pleased that I can pull it off honestly. It's like I'm getting away with it.

@Leo Gura Is an artistic guidance, concept critique, or aesthetic judgement discussion forum possible for this site or practical? Members could post whatever media they've created or arranged and people could critique, engage in discussion about the effectiveness of what they're going for? Possible examples: pictures of an outfit asking for best accessories, a post of a half-completed painting requesting for support of their climactic idea by asking for recommendations or articulation? Accomplishment of vision? It might be a fun switch-up on the site to post stuff like that Too impractical? Back to the drawing board for me, then. Sketchpad in my lap as I type, lmao.

Seriously though, why is there no style advice on this forum? Or vision consulting? This forum seriously lacks an artistic guidance subtopic

@Tyler Robinson that's quite the look. seriously arousing ideas, frickk.

Hahaha I received some positive disbelief from the other choir members at mass this morning actually. They're all in their 70s anyway, fun group of farts they are. @Tyler Robinson I've been trying to schism from my hippy image recently. Quite radically so. Shaved my entire body--legs, arms, and all-- for the first time ever the other day too. I look quite leaner than I expected in all regards. I'm not yet at the point of desiring lipstick or makeup, though. Still, I also pluck my eyebrows now instead of shaving the inbetween with a razor like a dunce. Trim over the brows too. Cut my own hair today, with some assistance at the back of the head. Men's maintenance standards are abysmally low. I have taken this for granted and undercut myself for so long! I can't quite disbelieve it. Men are giving women excuses not to be with them left and right! @Yarco I did get a formaldehyde free, vegan nail polish, but your comment is so open-ended I'm sure that I didn't choose a holy-enough product. @BipolarGrowth Those are too long for calisthenics or guitar. Acrylic nails are effectually enabling useless behavior in people to continue to not use their hands, haha. NEVER

I confess that I joined an astral projection discord that claimed to give binaural meditation programs that gave my consciousness access to anime videogames by laying in bed and closing my eyes. I don't know why. Here is the post. I am snitching because I was innately curious and morbidly sarcastic to whatever spirituality the guy was following. After asking a series of questions on the post and on discord, I left the group within a few days. I don't want to be banned for engaging with possibilities. I'm am a spiral dynamics tier beige grifting dumpster diver for spirituality. Lord have mercy

Yeah, consciousness is like the RAM of a computer, if the RAM was depressed and sorrowful and the computer was a shining abundance of things not able to be plugged into a wall.

This ultimate perspective sounds almost like the bullshit you've always known, even before spirituality. It's got to be some sort of primordial level of bullshit. It precedes *being itself* to bullshit this deeply. Very intriguing. Imagine if you could just bullshit your way through spirituality by taking drugs and jerking off and telling other people about the realization of it. Just imagine if it could be possible. Because it just could be and nothing might change it. If I was God, and I was accountable as God and God alone, being accountable would just be an illusion! Then I wouldn't have to be accountable! But I would still get to be God, of course, just not with the things that I don't want. It's an illusion, the things I don't want and only those. That's just the way I would be and nothing would alter the course of my behavior. That's spiritual. Right?? As if you don't know.

I'm insecure, but I'm gonna say it anyway, because it's degenerative to believe anything posted in this forum. You are not having sex with anybody by taking a drug. You're just lost in the dream. When I was younger, I used to take acid and then masturbate in bed because I couldn't sleep. So I would get a quick one out. And I still couldn't sleep. So I went again. It turned to this nasty cycle, 6 times in the same trip. Believe me, erectile vasoconstriction from acid and after 6 ejaculations feels like spirits are biting your inner tube. And I still did this over and over on other trips. _)_)_ It took me a while to get over how much cyber presence I received ogling at specific women. It's really a step backwards to appreciate masturbation on drugs. Once I began integrating these psychedelic experiences, I profoundly realized that Puja (devotional worship) is not exclusive to gods or saints or holy symbols. One can conceivably fill their imagination with any idols or waste of time persons they want. And you actually can peak into their existence on that plane. You can figure out their sense of consciousness, their relatability, their persona, etc. That's infinite consciousness. In a way I don't want to know if people listen to the pornstars' voices in their heads when they watch. But eventually --and not out of fear-- it's the Heart that craves the holier images and presences. Just because it can.

this entire live album is seriously deep. do you have any other recommendations?

thanks! i'll give it a listen.

Let me put it this way. Sometimes, like after work, I am thinking about a coworker I just worked with. Then I am suddenly relating to them in that we both got off of work. We're silently bonding, and even growing closer. It's like telepathy that can't be proven. It's definitely loving; these telepathic experiences generally make me smile. I'm not asking about whether or not it's completely provable that two people or more are thinking of each other at once in integration. I'm just seeking some sort of validation that this might not just happen to me. Thanks.

@Eyowey Yeah, lol I've been having lucid wet dreams nightly after an Andrew Tate video (LMAO) that just encouraged mindful recollection before sleep. I know, it's cringe to say, but gotta give credit in this laughable manospherical NNN thread anyway. Literally just asking "What was I thinking about" throughout the day and with the head on the pillow to stay lucid has been a more effective reality check than most others. Especially if you are already mindful!

@Tyler Robinson It's boring, ordinary, and completely naïve to believe men are deserving of artificial sexual success and everything will just work out for us perfectly this way with no repercussions. I think it's really good of you to encourage us to try to abstain though.

@Kksd74628 Yeah, I got a cool sense of being equals with people I didn't expect. I got a deeper perspective of how "contemporaries" think of each other, in that they undoubtedly have ongoing dialogues that goes without saying a lot of the time. I definitely gave up on it working as "telepathy" on some other level, because giving up on it kinda opened the box for me in the beginning anyway. You can't have it "work" for a different benefit than what it is. Nowadays I don't really want to bother these spirits of consciousness because it unravels my sense of time management. Every now and then, I remember from the dialogues certain insights that come true like prophecy that I couldn't understand before. Telepathy usually works the best when you have no horse in the race. The beings award your humility with puzzling knowledge just to baffle you for years to come when they come true.

@Tyler Robinson Alright alright alright. Since June 21ish I've done semen retention. I've relapsed 60 times. I got so frustrated that I deleted the app to last another 14 days. Then I relapsed again and then redownloaded the app. But this was really behind the scenes to the fact that I quit all forms of smoking. I returned to an actual plant-based diet after floating on other people's non-vegan pantries. I began to follow cooking more seriously, I went out of my way to find actual real life vegan friends. This year I've lost 55 pounds and gained 15 pounds of muscle since before my obesity. I went from 160 pounds (May 2021) --> 229 pounds (April 2022) --> 175 pounds (now) Consider I spent an hour masturbating for each relapse. If I spent an hour every morning masturbating, I would have wasted about 90 more hours just spilling my seed if I never started counting days at all. If I listened to you 5 months ago and didn't quit masturbating I would not have taken myself seriously. I would have something to cling to. All for what? Would I have 90 hours of extra mindful meditation and motivation to run and do pullups if I spent that time masturbating? I run 30 miles a week now. I would have 90 hours of doubtful sexual pride and malice towards evil patriarchies. How the fuck does that help me feel better? Human Progress>Sex Positivity