jjer94

de-enshittification. A couple of days ago, I was disgusted by the fact that I was on my hands and knees, sucking cocaine-laced horse manure through a straw. Yesterday and today, I've decided to do something about it. I started by deleting X and Youtube on my phone. If I'm going to watch Youtube, it'll be on my laptop. And X is cancer, so I'm not even going to bother partaking anymore. With both apps off of my phone, I have no more incentive to bring my phone into my room at bedtime, forcing me to read books. I need to be careful to choose books I will find enjoyable, or else it'll feel too much like a chore. I'm currently reading a book on the history of Jesus that my friend lent me, but I also feel called to read Isaac Asimov's Foundation series. Last night was the first night in awhile that I didn't go on X right before falling asleep, and I woke up in the middle of the night in a pool of sweat. My night shirt was soaked to the point that I could almost wring it out. I think that's my body beginning to release all of the excess adrenaline and cortisol in my system. We'll see how I sleep tonight with my phone out of the bedroom altogether. I watched a video this morning that reminded me of Cory Doctorow's brilliant term "enshittification," which describes how massive online-centered corporations like Meta and Amazon have made their platforms increasingly unpalatable. They start with seemingly good intentions and provide a valuable service, and then they slowly abuse the consumer with increasing ads, fees, and detrimental algorithmic changes that ruin their service. What if by living in this system, we all enshittify ourselves to a certain degree? In my 20s, I started with a pure, authentic vision for how I wanted my life to unfold. I took the Life Purpose Course and thought big. Then, in taking action on said vision, I rubbed up against the systems in place that make actualizing it more difficult than anticipated. Then, I became more inclined to take shortcuts, or whore myself out in subtle ways just to pay the bills. Those ventures have grown and demanded more of my time and energy, so I've directed time and energy away from my authentic self and original vision. Before I know it, I've enshittified my own lifestyle to cater to outside demands, making it increasingly unpalatable. This journey I'm on, then... this Journey back to that Someone I knew... I could call it de-enshittification.

digital circle jerking, or, my last innuendo post title, or, give me back my soul. Over the past three years especially, I feel as though my attention, my time, and my very body have been siphoned. Maybe some of you can relate. I began with "vedging" after a long day of work, checking for updates on all of my higher consciousness places on the Internet. I still read books in the morning and in the evening before bedtime. Since I started living alone in mid-2022, I began leaning more on podcasts, audiobooks, and Youtube/IG for my social needs. But gradually, platforms like Youtube became muddled with algorithmic slop. The kind of "content" that doesn't actually engage any higher faculties but just fills up brain space and mildly entertains. Instagram's feed was no longer exclusively posts from the people you follow; it became random force-fed 30-second dumb fucking clips from strangers. And gradually, the higher stimulation of these videos reeled me in (no pun intended) more and more. I joined X, which is basically digital brain cancer, replete with the most disgusting content imaginable, a step behind gore porn and actual porn. I eventually stopped doing yoga. I stopped traditional meditation. I stopped reading books. I stopped journaling. And I became a studio goblin who, after ten-hour-plus sessions, retreats into his digital slop slot machine to turn off his brain. Real social interaction, or the thought of it, has become a chore (more on that in another post). In laying all of this out, I recognize that my increasing pessimism towards life and humanity is probably not just from personal tragedies, but in large part from exposing myself to all of the corporate-endorsed, Better-Help-sponsored, human-exploitative, AI-influenced, semi-plagiarized, psychologically rapacious horse shit that we call "social media content" and its algorithmic recommendations. It's like I started with eating vegetables at the dinner table, and within the span of a few years, I'm down on my hands and knees in the horse barn, sucking up cocaine-laced manure in a straw, too drugged up to even notice that it's shit. Or if I do notice, I'm too drugged up to even care. Fuck this. I've had enough. Enough!!! If I don't take a stand now, I will lose myself completely like one of the fatties in the floating chairs in WALL-E. I want my fucking soul back.

balls deep. Tonight is one of those nights where the temperature outside dips into the subzero fahrenheit and the quiet consumes me until I'm balls deep in heavy thoughts about life — both my life, and life in general. If I were to be honest with myself, I would admit that I have progressively become a worse version of myself since "the love of my life" passed away in November 2023. Before Elizabeth's passing, I had this wide-eyed wonder, this idealism that seeped into everything I did. I had hope, high visions for the future, and the gumption to follow through on said visions. All of that died along with her. What's left is a wiser, more skilled, but ultimately dumber, weaker, and more pessimistic version of myself. Sure, I've accomplished things that deeply satisfy me. I've built a music production business, I've actually reached a level of proficiency with it that is nearing the caliber of my inspirations, I've completely stabilized my mental health (contrary to how this post seems) thanks to diet and other approaches, and I've conquered some of my decades-long fears. But I've burned myself out from overworking, and now my impulse control and attention span are completely shot to the point where I can barely read a book these days. I still struggle with certain vices. I've become a shut-in who doesn't reach out to people anymore except for business purposes. I'm becoming accustomed to the idea that I will be single for the rest of my life. Living on this planet has never been easy; every generation has its opportunities and its setbacks. But no matter how much the self-help people will insist that there's a silver lining for everyone, there just isn't. You can try to make the best of any situation; that's a great habit to have. But sometimes, shit just happens, and life is brutally unfair. People you love, really great well-meaning people, can die. Some people can work their asses off as much as a CEO and only make 0.0001% of what the CEO makes. Some people don't have the temperament or disposition to "work smart" or grind. Some people are born ugly and get completely overlooked, while some people who are dumbasses but born beautiful get tons of opportunities. So many destructive things in the world — our broken fractional reserve banking system, environmental degradation, factory farming, murder, genocide — so many of these things are simply due to the free will choices of particular people, and the cultures and systems in which these people inhabit. So much destruction from free will that it makes me wonder, why would God even grant the illusion of it? Free will might be the cause of all of this destruction, but it's also an essential component of love. Sure, I'm writing in a forum where the general consensus is that on a fundamental level, love is everything and nothing, love is God, love is surrender to life and all of the so-called "bad" things like rape and genocide. But I'm not a moral relativist. If it's all love, then there's no grounds for preference of one thing over another. I do believe in free will, even if it's just an illusion on a fundamental level. And that free will is the choice between that which is towards love, and that which is away from it. That which encourages unity, and that which encourages separation. A choice between good and evil, on both macrocosmic and microcosmic levels. If we couldn't choose, we couldn't understand love, because to love is to choose unity. I just wish more of us made that choice every day — not only for others, but for ourselves.

Holy shite! Careful, there. And keep on truckin'! Funny coincidence...I was looking up Joker scenes on Youtube a couple of weeks ago. The LOTR/HP pic...is that suggesting LOTR has more depth than the HP series?

Damn straight Thank you for the kind words of encouragement. They remind me of this LOTR quote I saw the other day: It's worthwhile to try if you haven't! From my view, the problem is that when the pendulum swings too far into purity culture territory, NoFap can turn into a form of spiritual bypassing. Guys will also focus on the numbers rather than the fruits that come from abstention. I'm also one of those low sex drive men, so I know where you're coming from here. Most definitely. I suspect musicians do this without even realizing. Ever since I was a kid, I've always listened to music primarily through the inner brain. For instance, my first favorite band was Sigur Rós, whose lead singer sings in complete jibberish. Only recently have I begun to pay more attention to lyrics and song structure. That video you shared was fascinating. I never thought of listening to music in that way, and how music penetrates every layer of the brain. Also, frisson being fear... so when you listen to music that gives you the chills, your body thinks on a primal level that its life is threatened What a trip. NoFap or something else? Post away, friend.

post-nut sunbathing. On day ninety-two of celibacy, I chose to relapse. Curiosity got the best of me. I promised myself I'd go for ninety days, and that's it. I wanted to see what would happen to my body, mind, and spirit after nutting. Immediately afterwards, I felt a deep emptiness. Not the spiritual kind of emptiness that's full, but an unsettling kind of emptiness that's haunted me long after the deed was done. I suppose I could call it biological emptiness, since my balls were drained of their juice. I think of Austin Powers, when he loses his mojo, or Spiderman 2, when Tobey Maguire's Peter Parker loses his powers for a while. I can still function, but that extra boost of biological motivation is almost completely gone. The lust, those fantasies in my head... I thought maybe they would subside a bit, but they remain at the same volume as they were before. The discomfort of full balls is gone, but that discomfort was well worth the price of admission for the celibate experience. I much prefer how I feel when I keep my balls filled. It's not as magical as the NoFappers describe, but it is a more powerful way to be in my opinion. I remember looking at the cum shots on my toilet after the fact, noticing their shine as if they were alive — in the same way that a freshly picked apple is alive. And with the subsequent feeling of emptiness, I thought of a drained battery. I just voluntarily drained juice from my own battery for the sake of momentary pleasure. I succumbed to the biological trick that is my reproductive impulse — the bait-and-switch activity that promises to give but only takes. Every guy has had post-nut clarity. But it's a whole 'nother kind of clarity when you nut after several months of abstaining. The contrast is like walking into bright sunlight after spending months in a cave. I have a feeling this kind of clarity will last me much longer than the nut. In my experience, when enough contrast is had, good habits no longer need discipline to maintain, because you fully understand how worse you feel when you don't do the good habits. I feel way more inclined to stay on the celibate path, because I feel worse after nutting. Not just on a biological level, but on a spiritual level as well, as it feels out of integrity for me to look at porn and even masturbate to a certain degree. I suspect I will relapse in the future, but as it stands now, my path is mostly celibate.

ripping the band-aid. Around eight hours ago, on day seventy-eight of my celibacy journey, I broke things off with my long-distance girlfriend. Last night, she shared with me that she wants to be a mom someday, and she's not open to physical intimacy until she's physically well enough to do so, and she's married and knows for sure that her partner will support her if she accidentally gets pregnant. A perfectly reasonable perspective. Unfortunately, the way things are looking with my line of work, I won't ever be able to financially support a family, let alone another person. On top of that, I don't really believe in marriage as an institution, for reasons I might address in another post. And on top of that, while things could change, I don't want kids, also for reasons I might address in another post. Her sharing what she shared was very helpful in my decision. It had nothing to do with her as a person, as I adore her for who she is. It had everything to do with incompatibility. Ever since losing Elizabeth back in November 2023, I've felt numb in the relationship department. This breakup is no exception. I feel a stirring in my stomach and notice I'm more aloof today, but that's about it. No grief. No anger. No guilt for breaking up with her while she's in a flare-up. (It was either rip the band-aid now or hold off on saying anything for who knows how long, frying her nervous system in the process.) I've had stirrings to relapse, but I made a promise to myself to go ninety days celibate, and I am going to keep it.

the testicle from the tree of penis. Over sixty-five days of no earthworm jim. I wish I could say this journey has been a smooth ride, but I've had more than a few bumps along the way. I almost ran over a crocodile with boobs, a massive snake hissed in my face a couple of times, and I've had to navigate around a number of bad drivers. For the first forty days or so, the temptation came and went in waves, which was manageable. Now, it's there more than it's gone, and it lingers like a three-bean chili fart. Sometimes it screams in my face, like last night. I've had some close calls: peeking at images and videos without touching myself, touching myself without peeking at images and videos (does that count as relapse?). But no orgasms except for in my sleep. This journey has been both pleasurably and painfully revelatory. I've learned about the power of free will — that I have a lot more self-control than I thought I did. And I've learned that sexual desire is inescapable, especially when it's still uncharted territory — which brings up questions around my mostly non-sexual long distance relationship. I've been struggling more and more with the reality of distance, and how difficult relationship satisfaction is in this scenario, especially when there's no reassurance of when exactly we will bridge the gap (she has chronic illness and we're unsure about when she'll be able to travel). Even with the strongest of soul connections between a couple, geographical distance or timing can still be straws that break the camel's back. I also recognize my own childhood patterns playing into it — how because my mom was not entirely "there" for me when I was little, perhaps that's partly why I am drawn to women who are not entirely "there" for me. But who knows. Either way, my celibacy journey has revealed some uncomfortable truths that have been worthwhile to confront. Onward to ninety days!!!

1008 hours. Today marks six weeks of pure celibacy. No porn, no masturbation, no orgasm. How do I feel? Meh. I think I'm coming back to a baseline more than anything. Since producing my album last year, I've been on a non-stop, high-octane workaholic speedrun. Only recently have I been slowing down, thanks in part to my significant other. (Still going strong with her, by the way. More to say on that in a future post, perhaps!) Part of that slowing down has been unhooking from adrenalizing activities, which includes masturbation. Next step has been unhooking from my phone, which has been harder than expected. I've successfully kept it out of my room for the past week, but I still am glued to it until I'm ready to konk. My sleep has improved as a result, for which I am supremely grateful. However, I notice that when catching up on sleep, I wake up absolutely exhausted, feeling like I can sleep another three days straight and still not be fully caught up. I hope this is temporary. I used to eat the same things and have boundless energy and focus. But now, I'm a mushy potato with sandbags for legs. Celibacy has helped retain what energy I do have, but I wish I had more.

perks of being a monkflower. Sunday will mark four weeks of pure celibacy — the longest streak I've ever had since I started masturbating back in 2013 or so. Why am I succeeding this time? Several factors come to mind: Sleep. I'm making sure I get around 7-9 hours of quality sleep, as poor sleep negatively affects my impulse control. Ideally, I'd like to not have my phone by my bedside, but that's a habit I have yet to break. Diet. I eat a plant-based diet based on a foundation of glucose and mineral salts from produce and drink 32 oz. of celery juice every single day. I've been eating this way for over six years and it has worked wonders for my health. It encourages me to eat more consistently, which prevents my body from depending too much on adrenaline. Sex is an adrenaline-based activity, and the more you run on adrenaline, the more you'll crave it. The same goes for drinking caffeine and alcohol, extreme sports, doomscrolling, and too many other things to list. Relying on wet dreams. I rely on wet dreams for sexual satisfaction. I find that my dreams' sexual scenarios are more satisfying than any porn or fantasy in waking life. When I allow wet dreams to happen, my cravings in waking life go down significantly. Having a full life. I'm a busy man. When I have a lot going on, I'm less likely to do the not-urgent, nonimportant activities. QUITTR. Simply investing money into a porn-quitting app has worked wonders. Now that my money is on the line, I'm more inclined to follow through on quitting. Age. Being in my 30s now, I feel ready to move beyond certain habits that no longer serve me. The fear of feeling that shame once again for relapsing has been a strong deterrent for me. Free Will. I remember in one of his books, Peter Ralston says that we often overlook the power of simply choosing to stop doing something — that we don't need to overanalyze it. I've decided that I will no longer partake in porn, so that's that. This has been the #1 reason for my success. I'm not out of the woods yet, though. I have two other habits I want to shift: 1. Staying up late, and 2. Content addiction in the form of binge watching Youtube. I want to replace #1 with going to sleep at 10pm and waking up at 6:30, and #2 with books and journaling. Since losing Elizabeth (see previous posts), all of my habits went out of whack. But as always, I recover. Slowly but surely, I am making my way back into the light of monk life.

groundcock day. Aaaaand we're back. So strange. On a logical level, I know perfectly well how certain habits ultimately lead to my feeling less happy and at peace. And yet I fall into them, over and over and over again. A useful acronym I've found to diagnose myself when I backslide is HALT: Am I... Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired? If I'm one of these four, I have less impulse control than I normally do and might slip into bad habits again. And if I'm two or more of these four, I have a recipe for Groundcock Day. For the past couple of months, I've consistently been one or more of these. I've had some good runs, especially with the celibacy. But I've gone no more than three weeks at a time with that. And while I have books by my bedside now, I still go on Youtube and other social media much more. That also feels like Groundcock Day, because it's the same old low-brow shit, yet it's so stimulating. Coming back here is my attempt to pattern-interrupt. I'm putting my foot down. Enough of making myself miserable and being half as productive as I know I can be. I want whats good, and real, and true for me. I want to come back to myself.

crotching tiger, hidden dragon. Yay! My balls haven't exploded!.. Yet. Fourteen days have passed since I last released down there. I relapsed on election day because the candidates turned me on too much Jk. I relapsed (fortunately in the shower without a screen) because it was all so overstimulating and my adrenals were firing. If I didn't release on 11/5, I would be on day 24 of celibacy. Here's what I've noticed so far. All of the things I hoped to gain from this practice that I wrote in the previous post are coming to life, subtly but surely... I'm beginning to relate to women more as humans than as sex objects. I don't suspect that objectification will go away completely anytime soon, as I believe it is a primal feature of the male psyche. But I'm noticing it's running more in the background than in the foreground. Fewer sexpectations. I feel more liberated because I need less from the opposite sex and I'm seeking them less as a means to an end. To me, that's a moral win. My crotch is buzzing. I feel such an intense pulsating life force emanating from my balls and perineum. I find it uncomfortable at times because I haven't yet established enough outlets to utilize it. Almost as if the retention itself is like a biological drill sergeant pushing me to exercise again. No wet dreams, but plenty of intimate dreams. This one shocks me a bit. I had more wet dreams while I was sexually active than I do now. I have yet to have a wet dream. Greater connection to self. I feel more connected to myself and my body in a way that's hard to explain. The life force from my nether region is emanating throughout my body and invigorating me, giving me a baseline zest for life that I haven't normally had. Which makes sense on a biological level. Sexual fasting signifies to the body that you're not spreading your seed and fulfilling your biological duty, so your body will then assist you in becoming more sexually attractive. This is the longest I've gone without touching my wee since before college. I feel proud of myself for following through, and I have strong positive regard for this practice so far. I have a feeling my starting this habit will create a cascade effect into the other areas of my life and provide a foundation for me to get back on track. So I plan to stick with it for as long as I can.

unplugging away. If I'm going to build something real and beautiful with this new girl, I need to address an elephant in the room: my right hand. I want to unplug from porn for several reasons: It's a big time sink. It fries my adrenals and depletes my life energy. The industry exploits most of the women. It desensitizes Earthworm Jim. It trains my brain to objectify women moreso than interact with them as people. I feel guilt and shame nearly every time I use it. My original goal at the start of this journal chapter was to stop porn, not masturbation. However, after listening to this audiobook, I'm tempted to go celibate for awhile to see what it's like. That means no sexual activity whatsoever, not even with semen retention. Here's what I hope to gain: Desexualizing my brain. More life energy to direct towards creative pursuits, physical exercise, and the new relationship. Greater spiritual connection. Greater focus on my life purpose. Greater self-esteem due to higher integrity with my values. Give my adrenals a rest and spare my zinc reserves. I've known about celibacy for a long time and its potential benefits through books like Think and Grow Rich, but I've hesitated to try it until now for a few reasons. One, I wanted to have sex. Two, I was worried about wet dreams (turns out they're okay to have unless you're trying to be a hardcore celibate). And three, I wanted to make sure I wasn't spiritual bypassing. But having turned 30 and had a few sexual experiences, I think I can do away with all of it for awhile. At least until it comes up down the road in my relationship. The book I linked says that ideally, a man should orgasm no more than the frequency that a woman ovulates, i.e. once per month. So I want to shoot for one month of chastity. So far I'm on day 3. Let's see how this goes...

plugging away. Amazing how things can shift in a matter of a week or two. For several months, I've been getting to know a woman online who reminds me a lot of Elizabeth and is in a somewhat similar situation with chronic illness. I didn't have much hope with our interaction due to the physical distance and all of the inner stuff I described in the previous post, but the sincerity of our connection kept me from giving up. Come September, a local ex came back into my life and expressed interest again. For several weeks, I was feeling lost in a choice between these two women. Long story short, I recently had my first video chat with the one who reminds me of Elizabeth and was blown away by the connection. That alone gave me the clarity I needed. I gracefully stepped away from my ex again and now have some momentum with the other one. (Side note for the men: A great metric for determining whether a connection with a love interest is genuine is to ask yourself in post-nut clarity if you would still hang out with them ) Only time will tell how this goes. A lot is working against us, but I would rather have a strong soul connection and deal with logistical hurdles than be with someone for shallower, more convenient reasons. On another note (no pun intended), I recently purchased a new microphone that I was planning to buy next year but fortunately was able to afford it this year. I should have bought this thing years ago. It's insanely versatile and would have upgraded my album. But alas, my album was recorded mostly on a bottom-of-the-barrel AT2020... In the meantime, I've been plugging away at new projects and exhausting myself once again. My lack of sleep is the main culprit for my poor impulse control and thus poor habits. Since I started this journal again, not much has changed in that department. But now that the white season is approaching, I'll soon have a lot more time to focus on my well-being.

emptiness and yearning. So what's been the fallout of losing Elizabeth? I've heard that men and women grieve differently. Women tend to seek emotional support from others and grieve openly, while men tend to retreat within themselves and use activity to grieve silently. I'm not surprised that I took all of that grief and invested it into learning music production and creating an album in dedication to her. It was useful for me, I suppose. Now that that's done, however, I'm left with that emptiness and yearning once again. I feel as if a large piece of my soul has died. I have become mostly numb, and I feel a massive wall where my open heart used to be. While I have since accepted the reality of the situation, interactions with other women are just not the same, even ones who closely resemble her or have similar values. My numbness and heart-wall has made it really difficult for me to open up again, as if subconsciously my body system knows that to open myself up to love again would mean to open myself up to that unimaginable pain of loss. This is partly the reason I've been relying on a habit with my right hand; it protects me from that risk while partially satisfying my sexual needs. This is also partly why that habit has been difficult to kick. Since the loss, I have become increasingly cynical about the world and have gravitated towards red-pill-leaning ideologies regarding romantic relationships. I see at least part of the reason I gravitated towards someone like Elizabeth was because I could be her only option. Otherwise, I believe I'd have none, because deep down I knew I couldn't offer any of the things that women actually want — the things that usually get a man past the threshold of her consideration, such as financial viability, confidence, lifestyle, and status. Up to that point, the way I've approached relationships was through deception — pretending that physical intimacy was not as important to me as with other men. In other words, the Nice Guy. Throughout the years I've been the emotional support animal to many women, secretly hoping that by just being in their proximity and giving emotional intimacy, I would have at least a sliver of a chance at acquiring physical intimacy. Spoiler alert: That never works. Since discovering that about myself, I've made a conscious effort to curtail that pattern and instead have focused on becoming sexually valuable the old-fashioned masculine way: through grit, hard work, bluntness, risk-taking, and a sense of purpose. But deep down, I just feel bitter. I'm not only grieving Elizabeth — whom I felt I truly loved for who she was and felt she truly loved me for who I am — but I am also grieving the loss of the idea that human love in the context of a relationship can be purely unconditional. I feel bitter towards women in general, whom I feel are only beginning to notice me because of what I offer, and I feel bitter towards myself, because as much as I believe I can love a romantic prospect for who she is, I also want (and don't want) things from her. Perhaps that bitterness is also mommy issues, the hole in my soul where childhood emotional nourishment should have been. I can only wonder. Part of me wants to opt out of the relationships game altogether, but I can't not want what I want. So I'm a bit lost. But I believe in time I will heal and figure it out.