jjer94

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.

Previous chapters: spiritual tinnitus. *Old man Jenkins voice* How long has it been? Fifty years? Certainly feels that way. Like I've lived a few lifetimes in the past few years. I've been exploring the wild and revelatory vicissitudes of being human, embracing human needs and human obligations. More than half of my twenties was spent avoiding being human, i.e. spiritual bypassing. I used Leo's content, this forum, psychedelics, a whole 'lotta books, and even food to avoid the confusing, difficult world of human affairs. The main remedy that pulled me out of my spiritual circus was renting my own house. I have a host of different responsibilities and adulting things that I need to stay on top of. Survival has stared me straight in the face, and I stare back with equal reluctance and resolve. I literally cannot afford to sulk anymore. The past couple of years have been a test of the "Divine Masculine," I guess I could say. Pressing on when metaphorical weights were tied to my ankles. Developing a work ethic. Managing rejection. Believing in myself when the people around me were doubting. Having a willingness to take risks and look like a fool. Solidifying my sense of purpose. I'm proud to say that at age 30, I have finally found "my thing." My zone of genius. It's been staring me in the face for ten years, but I've been fighting it every step of the way. "There's no money in music," the average Joe says. "It's a competitive industry. Keep your day job. Music is nowhere near impactful as being a teacher, a healer, a therapist, or really anything else." Yadda yadda yadda. To a certain degree, that's all valid. But I've reached a point in my life where doing anything other than what I'm good at and feel passionate about feels like a waste of time. So if it means going the starving artist path, then so fucking be it. Fortunately, it hasn't been so bad. I've been blessed in so many twisted and peculiar ways. For instance, I was Instacarting at the time of the shooting in 2021, and consequently, the CEO gave me free mental health services as well as a large sum of money. I ended up saving all of that money, so by the time I made my way back home, I had a fat stack to invest in something. Someone offered to rent me an entire house with all of the amenities for a killer rate, and I accepted. I then used all of that saved money to invest in acoustic treatment, a new laptop, plugins, furniture, etc. for a music studio. Be Light Studio unfolded so serendipitously that looking back feels a bit surreal. Since then, I have been teaching myself music production and plan to start an LLC once I get my ducks in a row. I've spent the past year self-producing an album, and as of a few days ago, I finished it. I plan to release it in Mid-October. In between the album, a number of locals have asked me to produce their music, so I already have a growing clientele. For a while, I doubted the whole thing, reverting to my idea of becoming a healer/therapist as I already have a couple of certifications. But joining an orientation zoom call for a master's degree in counseling, I knew immediately that I would hate myself if I pursued that path. Turns out that I've been using those aptitudes in other ways. Maybe I'll write about that in another post. For the past few years, I've worked part-time at a local juice bar. But thanks to all of the live gigs I've managed to book, I am now officially financially independent. I have to live like a monk, but I'm wealthy in freedom. I never thought I'd reach this point. In most of the other parallel realities, I am likely dead by active or passive suicide. But in this reality I'm pursuing my passions and making money from them. Go figure! I could say more, but I don't want this post to be too long, and I need to get my day started. But I feel drawn back to this forum because I feel that in the midst of all of this human stuff, I've lost the plot. I've hit a level of burnout that I've never experienced before, which has caused me to backslide in my habits. I've become addicted to my own adrenaline release, whether with chronic Youtube content consumption, my right hand, or late bedtimes. While I've achieved so much in the past couple of years, I feel like I've lost myself in the process. I've lost that zest to learn more, to push myself towards higher virtue, to stay above the noise. I guess I have a case of spiritual tinnitus. So it's time to turn down the volume on distraction. My hope is that writing, whether here or in my own journal, will get me back on track. My goals for this off-season (i.e. fewer gigs and more time to myself): Replace mindless Youtube content consumption with audiobooks, books, journaling, and songwriting Either write one song or learn one cover song per week Continue working on clients' projects Transition from using my right hand with a screen, to using my right hand without one, to ideally using my right hand only once per week at most Re-acquire my stretching habit and begin to myofascially release my god-awful posture from too much guitar playing Acquire a regular aerobics habit (likely long walks) Re-acquire a regular strength training habit At least eight hours of rest every night, with an ideal bedtime of 10pm and wakeup at 7am I have other goals and more to say, but for now, this will suffice. To anyone who is curious enough to read this — I wish you well!

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.

Thanks, @Privet!! ================== my love. I had a ridiculously busy week/weekend, from finishing the album and sending it to streaming platforms, to co-hosting a songwriting workshop, to four three-hour gigs in three days. This weekend was a windfall. I earned more tips on Saturday than the base pay I charge for a single three-hour live music performance. Huge wins all around. Though after coming home, eating dinner, and escaping into a movie for a while, I feel quite empty and wistful. Lately I've felt as if something should be there that isn't. And when I say "something," I really mean "someone." I met "my love" in October of 2022. I'll call her Elizabeth for anonymity's sake. I remember seeing a picture of her online and thought to myself, "Who the FUCK is THAT!?" The moment reminded me a bit of that scene in Big Fish where Ewan MacGregor's character is at that circus and time literally freezes when he sees the love of his life. Though at the time, I had already learned about the complexity of relationships, love vs compatibility, the unlikelihood of "love at first sight," soulmates being built moreso than found, overlay, the limitations of online connection, childhood trauma influencing who we choose, limerence, etc., part of me still believed in the fairytale. Part of me still believed there was a person that would move me to the core, that I would just "know" right away, and the dating process with her would be just a confirmation of that knowing. Sure enough, we organically began connecting online, and then we video chatted. Our first one lasted around seven hours. Same for the second, and the third. She entranced me. To this day, she's one of if not the most beautiful human I've ever seen. Everything about Elizabeth delighted me, from her wavy hair, to her sweet smile, to her quirky mannerisms, to the way she spoke, to her perspective on life, to her aspirations and her values. We dove deeply and fell deeply for each other. It was the greatest love I had ever known. The kind of love that didn't feel transactional for me, where I felt compelled to support her just for the sheer joy of supporting her. I had never before experienced that kind of love towards a human, only towards my pet guinea pigs. Unfortunately, many problems stared us both in the face. For one, I'm in the United States and she was in Canada — a several-hours flight away. People say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but it can also make a relationship grow more strained, especially for someone whose primary love language is touch. Another major issue was chronic illness. She was bedridden, barely able to function and care for herself in her day-to-day. My inner idealist held out hope that she would recover, as she was on the same healing protocols as I am, and I have healed many of my own symptoms. But things only got worse for her. She told me that she couldn't date and had to focus on her healing. We tried being friends; in other words, I tried lying to myself about being friends with someone I was actually head over heels in love with. Long story short, in May 2023 I came to the reality of the situation and realized that I had to step away from the connection completely. I couldn't get over her and since then have thought about her every day in one form or another. The limerence of our unactualized love became my addiction for several months. And then, in November of last year, I received a call from one of her friends telling me that she had passed away unexpectedly. I remember sitting in my car on that overcast afternoon, absolutely dumbfounded, going through the stages of grief — telling myself that it wasn't supposed to happen, raging at life, trying to rationalize it, and then bawling my eyes out. She was only 34. How does one grieve the love of his life that he never even met? That remains a mystery for me. Since then, I've struggled to share this story because I don't feel most people understand. Some say it was limerence, that she was a walking red flag, that I fell in love with the idea of her, that I was playing out my childhood "rescuer" role, that it was an escape from a real relationship, that it would have never worked. And while most of that is probably true in one sense... in another, I felt what I felt. She touched me on the deepest possible level. Soul to soul. I had never felt so seen and understood in my life. And she said the same about me. Just because it would have never worked in reality doesn't mean that what was, wasn't real. Having since met in person a few people with whom I had initially connected online and having confirmed that my impressions of them online accurately matched my real-life experience of them, I strongly believe that. Before we stopped talking to each other, she sent me a long letter along with this poem. It hits me differently now that she's gone. I miss you, my love.

After lurking on this thread, I thought I'd throw in my two cents as a short, average-looking, broke, kind of effeminate dude. On a more macrocosmic level — the statistics don't lie. The majority of men under age 30 are single. Many of them have checked out of the dating game altogether and instead have opted to date their right hand and the computer screen. I've met some of these men. Their reasons for checking out are manyfold and multi-factorial. Richard Reeves does a good job of describing many of these factors, including women academically outperforming men. Emerald claimed that most women are equally attracted to men at their level*, which according to Reeves and most evolutionary psychologists needs an asterisk: *or slightly above. They say, women like to look up to their man, whether financially, physically, intellectually, or otherwise. Red/black pillers say the same thing and use the term "hypergamy" to describe that phenomenon. A difficulty for us men is that the modern dating scene (dating apps especially) highlight the shallow things (i.e. height, financial status, looks, etc.) and don't do a good job of emphasizing the foundational things that are way more important for a healthy, mature relationship (i.e. shared values, compatibility, etc.). A lot of us get lost in the losing — the lack of replies, the rejections, etc. — and then we turn to the red pill ideologies to self-soothe and direct our resentments outward. I think that's a valid thing the women on this thread emphasize: Directing our resentments and blame towards women doesn't help the situation and ironically makes us less attractive as a potential romantic partner. In my experience, the kernel of truth in all of the red pill stuff is that on the surface, we are biological beings, and a lot of the shallow factors like height and status will get us in the door for dating. Where red pill falls short is that they don't teach you how to sustain a healthy, mature relationship. They don't teach you how to keep the fish happy, only how to catch the fish. They don't talk about the supremely nuanced world of compatibility. They don't tell you that you can bypass a lot of the shallowness of dating by building friendships with the opposite sex, joining meet-ups, following your purpose and meeting people along the way, etc. My personal experience has equally validated and invalidated the mens' perspective. On the one hand, I've dated some women who have blatantly told me that I'm not masculine enough for them, and have gone on to choose someone else who's taller and "more confident." On the other hand, I have dated women who say that what they appreciate the most about me is that I feel things deeply and make an effort to actually see and understand them on an emotional level. Nothing about the money I make, or my height, or my looks. So I think there's validity in both what the women and the men are saying on this thread. When it comes to dating advice for women though...it's probably a good idea to get that from a woman

spiritual flint and steel. Reading older entries, I'm surprised I'm not cringing much at what I wrote back then. In fact, I'm looking back on most of what I wrote with fondness. I'm supremely grateful for the person I was back then, who, despite facing seemingly insurmountable levels of emotional and circumstantial difficulty, pushed through in hopes of a better tomorrow. Yeah, I'm a little more mature now, but that soul kernel still remained throughout the older writing. In some ways, I have lost the spark, and reading old entries has been like a spiritual flint and steel on my soul. My prophecies, especially the ones in December 2017 and September 2020, came true. Pursuing music has also been a direct path to self-mastery due to the reasons I described, and I have the direct experience to confirm that. Since 2020, I have made a few male friends, found new male role models, and became part of a local community that has been conducive to my maturity. As of the summer, I am financially independent. Even with these advancements, I still live a hermity kind of life, but I don't berate myself for that anymore. Hitting 30 in April, the biggest change I've found entering my fourth decade of life is that I feel more of a palpable freedom to be authentic. I've lived enough to know just how difficult life is for most people. That most of us are barely scraping by and are too focused on ourselves to really give a damn about the quirks and flaws of the average person. And I've survived enough life to know that even "mistakes" that feel astronomical at the time are infinitesimally more trivial than we realize — which is substantiated by the fact that we are still alive. Living more life, having so many different experiences, some good, some bad, and surviving them all — it's made me more comfortable in my skin and more flexible to handle whatever life throws my way. It's chilled me out. It's solidified my sense of self more. Would I be who I am now if not for all of the struggles I've endured? I wonder about that. And then I wonder if that really matters, because I'm here. And then I make myself a smoothie.

@Michael569 Likewise, Michael!

Hey y’all. As a lot of you already know from the news headlines, there was a mass shooting that occurred yesterday afternoon in Boulder, Colorado. Ten people were killed, including a police officer. They managed to apprehend the shooter, a shirtless incel guy who used a patrol rifle to shoot his victims. I was in the store when it happened. At first, I stupidly thought that the loud bangs behind me were from machinery or something, maybe a garbage truck outside. But then there were three, four, five of them, and then shouting. I didn’t bother to even look behind me. I was on the right side of the store near the emergency exits. An employee at the deli counter shouted at me to get the heck out of there, so I ditched my cart and bolted for the doors. More gunshots, can’t remember how many. As I ran to my car which was parked in the middle of the lot, I ran past an immobile body on the street that didn’t look like it was breathing. I managed to get in my car without any injuries, and then I proceeded to take pictures and film some of it before driving to safety. I am home safe now. The video clips will likely be in the news, and I can’t show them here due to size limits. But I attached a pic of the view from my car as cop cars piled into the parking lot, as well as a pic of the outside of the store, where a SWAT vehicle was parked. Thinking back on it, my body had such a dissociation response to the incident that it felt like my sense of self completely eroded and all that was left was a body, running away from something dangerous. It almost felt like a dream or a video game, like if I were shot I could just respawn or something. I can't sleep, as I'm still processing all of it. I am so heartbroken, and I'm shocked that something like this could happen in a primarily Stage Green bubble. My thoughts and prayers go out to everyone in that store and everyone else who was affected. I seriously could have been one of those ten people, but I was one of the lucky ones. I also just moved to Boulder a few days ago, and I was using Instacart for the first time yesterday. Who knew that grocery shopping could be so dangerous... Jokes aside — this opens up a huge can of worms for discussion on all things gun control and mental health, so I figure that since I was on the scene, I would start a thread. What are your thoughts on this event and the issue of gun control? How do systems connect to this issue? How about mental health? Covid rules? What do you think should be done to prevent these sorts of things from happening?

Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: a journey to anywhere. Chapter 4. Just when I thought that I passed the spiritual threshold - that this whole enlightenment journey would be a breeze from here onwards... Oh boy was I wrong. I was so, so wrong. Reality tends to forcefeed humility to those on the spiritual diet, and I'm nearly choking on it. Every single day, I am humbled to the utmost degree at the sheer beauty and complexity of this world. From the wild-foraged coral tooth mushrooms to the quirky humans stuck in psychological homeostasis, this infinite place has an infinite number of things to learn. Every time I think I know something for certain, Reality says, "Nuh-uh, JJ. Here, let me show you that the opposite is just as true." And then I'm like, "Well...shit." A week ago, I moved to my Elsewhere - an intentional community that's also an outdoor school. Even in a week, I have learned so much about communal living and so much about myself. In particular, I never realized how selfish I am. Helping the people around me, giving without receiving, doing mindless chores - all of these have pushed my ego buttons. Ego wants to have it like before: self-indulging in psychoanalytical woe-is-me bullshit, receiving without giving, and being lazy. But now, I'm too busy to think too much about myself. I'm thinking about how I can serve others. And whattya know - I definitely feel happier than I did at my parents'. As an INFP, I struggle with concrete goal setting, so I aim for ideals. I wrote down a few in my journal a couple days ago, so I'll paste them here. Here's what I want to learn in my time at this community: I want to be totally relaxed in conversation and exude the energy of "I am worthy to listen to; my words matter; I am comfortable with myself." Right now, I am not totally relaxed in conversation, and I exude the energy of "I am unworthy to listen to; my words don't matter; ignore me." I want to be flexible with requests from community members. Instead of internally groaning whenever someone asks a favor, I want to be willing and receptive to help. I want to learn how to establish boundaries. To say 'no,' to redirect, to stand up for myself in a respectful way that benefits everyone. I have the habit of being a doormat. I want to have some sense of humor, to be able to react quickly with humor in a conversation. That means practicing "yes and", caricatures, and the fake-out. I'm normally a pretty dull conversationalist. I interview more than I converse. Finish the health coaching certificate. Work at a wellness center in town. Work with clients that I resonate with. Something I haven't talked about yet: I've been working on an online certificate for the past several months. Deepen my friendships with two people in particular. Deepen my relationship with the leader of the community. Have some of his zen rub off on me. Learn his ways. Banish epstein-barr and strep from my system using the Medical Medium heavy metal detox protocol. Clear skin, clear hearing, clear thinking. I've cut my animal protein consumption in half and doubled my fruit and vegetable intake. I feel a lot better. Write one song per week, keep learning covers. Keep writing on the forum. I feel more aligned than ever, but I still have no idea what my purpose is. So I'll just keep on chuggin' along and follow the bread-crumb trail of the Universe. I'll voluntarily continue this process of self-uncovery and surrender. I'll take this journey to Anywhere.

Human and full. Well, howdy, partners. It's been a long-ass rodeo since my last visit to this forum. I thought I'd give an update, to those who are curious. Life has unfolded in an effortless way the past several months, and all I've had to do, paradoxically, is put in some effort. But it's not really a paradox as much as it is a language game. The effortlessness comes from noticing the opportunities that the Universe throws my way. The effort comes from choosing the most expansive, integrated options as much as possible. The word "integration" has been a theme of the past couple years for me. I've become well-acquainted with parts work, which rests upon the idea that the psyche is not just one singular entity but rather a collection of many different parts, all of which have different needs and desires. The task is to make sure all of those needs and desires are heard and accounted for in a way that doesn't undermine any of the parts. I've also been deepening my breathwork practice. I'm currently on day 29 of a 30-day breathwork challenge as a part of a certification. Once I'm certified, I'll be able to work one-on-one with clients. I've already facilitated one session and find intense meaning from holding space for someone who has releases and revelations. My plan is to have breathwork facilitation as another income stream alongside working at the juice bar and playing music. Which, by the way, is going swimmingly. My voice has improved a lot over the past couple of years in conjunction with all of the self-love and healing work I've been doing. Again, I've learned that the less I "try" to hit notes and the more I focus on the fullness of my breath and the fullness of the moment, the more my singing voice sounds the way I want it. I'm still in the process of searching for a new living space, but I found a place that shows some promise. I've been making all of these new friends, a few of them homesteaders, surprisingly. Given what's been happening in the world, I've acquired a newfound interest in self-reliance, and the idea of planting some veggies this spring feels more and more appealing to me. After plenty of time and space to work through relational wounds with my therapist, I'm on talking terms with my ex again. I feel so genuinely happy that she found someone else that seems to be a better fit for her. I really like the guy. Of course, there's tons of other feelings that came along with that, but I'm glad that things are starting to mend between us. Things have honestly been the best they've ever been in my life, from community to dating to family to work to purpose to self-love. I have so few things to complain about these days. My life feels so human and full. I guess that's partly why I haven't felt the urge to come back on here. My worldview has also diverged quite a bit from Leo's. I haven't watched any of his recent videos for the past several months, nor have I felt the desire to do so. I've also become more and more of a private person, wanting to separate my personal life from the online sphere. I'll also be honest...part of the reason I'm up at one in the morning writing this right now is that I have a ball of anxiety in my solar plexus, and the idea that other people could be reading this feels soothing to me, LOL. I'm anxious because I put my neck out for someone I'm dating by sending a long heartfelt text, and she didn't respond at all tonight when she usually responds. When I use my felt-sense and tune into the ball of anxiety, what comes up is the fear that I'm too much. I have so much love to give, I sometimes wonder if it scares people away. As a feminine-leaning man, I feel very deeply, and I have a lot of nurturing energy. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm going overboard with her. I've only dated her for a couple months, so we don't have a label yet. But damn. I really like this one. The attraction and chemistry are there, and there's also a ton of compatibility. I have a shout-from-the-rooftops kind of feeling about it, and maybe she senses that on a subtle level, and it's overwhelming her. Or maybe my perception is totally off. Maybe she just didn't want to respond, or something came up. At this stage, who knows? What also comes up is a recognition that this is my stuff. I didn't ask for a response. All of this emotional charge is mine, and I'm still not quite at the stage in dating yet where I can bring up little things like this. All of this feeling of too-muchness or not-enoughness is just an invitation for me to redirect that energy into nurturing myself and my already full life without her. To not text her back until she texts me back, and focus instead on my music and my other things. Dating is so much easier now that I feel a strong sense of purpose with what I do and have lots of friends that I can go to when I'm feeling under-resourced. Anyway, that's all she wrote! If you're wondering where I am or what I'm doing these days, you can find my most recent stuff on instagram and my website. I don't plan to be consistent on this forum anymore. To the lurkers and ones I connected with here, I send you my love and good tidings for the journey ahead! <3

Previous chapters:

shitty and happy. I've had such a peculiar month. On the one hand, I've experienced brand-new hurts and dove into my deepest wounds; I've been neurotic and confused; by most metrics on the outside I have "backslid"; my expectations around fame and fortune have shattered. Yet at the same time, I've felt so deeply happy that I'm not sure what to do with it. It's a happiness in knowing that even when I'm going through all of this, I know I'm not a bad person. I don't need to beat myself up for any of it because I am enough as I am. And in the safety of being enough, I've noticed that things unfold at a much healthier pace for me. I had a phone call with the girl I dated in Colorado, the one who was living with her ex, who said she was sure that she was done with him and moving on. She's back with him. I respectfully ended my friendship with her. My ex has yet to respond to my text. She completely ghosted me and posted some passive-aggressive poetry about leaving me "where I belong" and how she's not ready to remember the ways I was good to her. I blocked her on all social media, but an event linked to her new music page that she started on September 29 which now has 100+ more likes than my page...a page that I've had for seven years. On top of that, she covered a song by a dude I hung out with once while I was starting my musical journey who is popular in my state. In the description, she was basically licking his feet by writing, "he's the best." At one of her live performances (which I probably shouldn't have attended, but I wanted to support her as a musician), she played that same song and said, "he's going to be famous someday." I just checked Facebook tonight and found that another young musician chick I jammed with back in 2014 (and almost made a move on; turns out she's queer ) was on TV and is off to LA to do music. I have this sense that she's really going to be famous someday. I would have thought I'd be more triggered. Other people "surpassing" me in certain ways is my big wound that rests on the feeling of not being seen or valued. With all of the stuff with my ex, I felt a primal rage, no doubt. I tantrumed on the bed and wrote some nasty things in my journal that I should probably delete. She's shown a side of herself that appears to have genuinely malicious intent, and it feels like shock and betrayal to my system. But the emotional charge to all of this is manageable. Of course, there's an immature part of me that can't help but think, I have busted my fucking ass off to get where I'm at now. I've dodged my own death, literally, around half a dozen times. I've written songs that speak from the core of my being. I am a kind person. I have unique gifts and perspectives to offer. I know my zone of genius is songwriting. And this is how you reward me, Universe? When will I be recognized? Then I remember: If it benefitted my growth, I would have it by now. If I had it prematurely, I wouldn't be able to receive it. All of this has been a gift for me in the art of self-love. Real self-love. The kind where there's literally nothing but me, a teddy bear, and Spotify. Where I sit with the ideas that I may never be famous; other people may surpass me in popularity; everyone I know could abandon me; someone I love the most could betray me on a profound level; I may never resolve my neuroses; I may never change. Can I dare to love myself as I am, even if all of those things come true? That's what I've been prioritizing, and it's transformed my perspective. As a result, I've taken manageable steps to meet my needs; I've stumbled into part-time work that I totally love; I've made so many new friends that I'm wondering if I'm an ambivert; I've been supporting myself where I'm at rather than where I expect myself to be; I've been creating more from a place of authenticity rather than a place to impress; and I am so much happier. All of this happiness, blossoming out of a steaming pile of shit. So peculiar.

a homogenized mixture. My time back in the Northwoods has been a homogenized mixture of deep, grounded, profound joy, fiery rage, and heart-shattering grief. When I pulled into my hometown while blasting Bon Iver's self-titled album through the stereo, I wept so hard. What a relief it's been to be in a geographical location where I truly feel safe and at ease. I think there were maybe one or two ten-minute stints total where I felt truly safe and in my body in Colorado. But the moment I'm back in the Northwoods, my body seems to recognize a deep sense of safety, and I'm able to be more in rest and digest. Within days, my skin has turned from pepperoni pizza-face to smooth and spotty. I think many factors contributed to my acne in Colorado, both physical and emotional — worse diet; poor digestion due to inability to relax; feeling like I don't belong; and repressed rage from the trauma that I carried. With contrast palpably in my grasp, I feel like there's no place I'd rather be than here in the Great Northwoods. The peace and quiet, natural settings, familial support, down-to-earth people, and small-town vibes are qualities that I've come to value highly. I feel so grateful to be back here. I also cried upwards of five times yesterday. I texted my ex a couple of days ago to let her know that I'm back in the Northwoods. I texted with a tone of levity because I didn't know how else to communicate. In retrospect, it came across as kind of pompous and inconsiderate, and I wish I would have been more frank. Well, it doesn't really matter, because she never responded. She completely ghosted me. The following day, I stupidly checked her Facebook and read a post where she related removing tooth decay at the dentist with removing toxic people and things from her life (I blocked her shortly thereafter to spare my sanity). I took it to mean that I am the equivalent of tooth decay. So the person I called right away after the shooting in March, who responded with so much love and affection, who is the most attached I've felt to any one person in my life, whom I love deeply regardless of anything...ignored my text and deems me as toxic as rotting calcium. I couldn't handle myself. I drove to a secluded spot and went totally apeshit, screaming and flailing and sobbing and feeling like the ground beneath me disappeared like some trapdoor. I had to reach out for help to my therapist afterwards because I felt totally unhinged, like some screws in my brain had come loose. He helped to ground me. He suspects that these primal reactions I'm having are due to deep developmental trauma, and a mixture of self-soothing and community support will be sufficient. He also shared his own seventeen-year struggle, and how he had to humble himself with menial, back-breaking labor for some time just to come into himself. I cried once again when I heard his story, because I realize that what I've been missing in my journey is humility. Less focus on the end goal, more on smelling the roses and being there for myself through thick and thin. To slow down. To congratulate myself for the small wins and dance my way through the grindy jobs and the times where I am a complete nobody (like now). Like that Matt Kahn quote in the first post. That night, I watched the movie A Taxi Driver with my parents and cried once again. It's a movie based on the true events of a reporter filming the 1980 riots in South Korea in protest of martial law. Seeing the graphic images of bloodied college students in the hospital struck something deep in me. What I took away from it is that my rights are really privileges, tenuous at best — and what matters most are the connections we have. The tragedies of that movie resonated with my current tragedies, and I cried some more after the viewing. This morning, I checked my ex's website and found a new poem about how she is careful to "leave me where I belong," and how our love was like gasoline. Surprisingly, I only cried twice today, with no mental breakdowns. I picked up my guitar, learned a new song, and bought new music-making software. I also had a job interview with two wonderful folks at a juice bar that went fairly well. So it's been such a strange combination of happenings today. Things are moving pretty quickly. I feel A TON more stable now than I did in Colorado, even with total stinginess from my ex. From here, I suspect things will continue to be a homogenized mixture of joy and struggle.

The conductor's burden. Once upon a platform, I boarded a train That required no ticket — A free ride that I could take for granted. I used two seats (One for my dirty feet) Rolled up my sleeves And made use Of the amenities That its conductor so generously offered — Windows to another world; Warm air to soothe My frayed nerves and weary soul; And a place to rest my body Warts and all As I wondered Where in the hell I wanted to go. The what-if’s Of exotic destinations consumed me As I consumed that train And its rickety rails Faltered at every junction. Even so, the conductor Did not mind my ambivalence. She pleaded that I stay Until the train Turned to dust and scrap metal On that northern countryside. I quickly hopped off the train at the next stop In an escapist act of desperation As the conductor clung to my coattails In an escapist act of desperation Until her Every Last Finger Clung to the air. I wandered the western countryside With a sigh of relief, Looking for thingless things And mindless mind-stuffs That escaped my grasp Like watery mirages On a desert road. I tried my hand At being a conductor myself, Providing ticketless passage for folks Who took two seats (One for their dirty feet) And made use Of the amenities That I so generously offered — Windows to another world; Warm air to soothe Their frayed nerves and weary souls; And a place to rest their bodies Warts and all As they wondered Where in the hell They wanted to go. One by one They made a mess And hopped off my train Shortly after boarding As I clung to their coattails In an escapist act of desperation Until my Every Last Finger Clung to the air. Left with nothing But thoughts of Retreating to Antarctica I finally understood The conductor's burden — A tenuous offering to let someone board with no ticket and in return receive no courtesy no reciprocity and no guarantee that you will see them ever again.

A journey to where? Chapter 6. I am currently writing this in a bedroom right next to a busy highway. The engines vary — some are whispy and others assault the ears like a firecracker. There's no sense of predictability in it... just like my life right now. I am utterly shattered. After five months of attempting to find my place in Boulder, CO, I have ended my journey here with heartache, betrayal, failure, trauma, and jadedness. In three days, I am moving back to Wisconsin. Back with my parents. Back to square fucking one. The past month, I've been regularly suicidal. The past two weeks, it was so serious that I had to ask for help. I opened up to my parents for the first time about it. They received me the best they could...and their best was more than sufficient. They didn't judge me; they just want to support me. Same with my brother. That's been the most healing part of the past year — it feels like something shifted in my family, and now they're much more empathetic and curious about my emotional states. I can't begin to describe just how horrible these past several months have been. Some things I may not share for confidentiality's sake, and other things may take multiple posts to share. In the meantime, I wrote a blog post that summarizes a lot of what happened. While this may not be the case, I feel as if I've backslided to my 2017 self. I'm in the same cycle of retreating back to my parents' house, except this time at least I haven't nearly fasted myself to death — I've only nearly thought myself to death. So my next question is — where? I feel like I've tried everything. Nothing has been sustainable. It feels hopeless to live in this world, in this system. It feels like I could die and the memory of me would fizzle out of people's heads like dust in a desert. I feel useless, unwanted, and totally fragmented. (Note: this is not a cry for help. I have support systems.) This next leg of my journey will involve processing the trauma of these past five months; reconnecting with myself; integrating the abysmal failure that was this time in Colorado; getting crystal clear about what I need every single day; returning to the psycho-emotional state I was in before leaving Wisconsin; and prayer. Lots of prayer. In this state, I can't make guarantees about anything; I can only take everything a day at a time.

Yo! I wrote a little article on this topic that you can check out here. Writer's block is inherent to the creative process, but there are ways to work around it. Best of luck!

a merry-go-round back to earth. Just as I re-live that rejection trauma over and over again, I re-live the recovery over and over again. I swear, nothing trumps the resilience of the human spirit. When a part of us is hurting so bad that it wants to die, and we give it some time and love, it will return to a baseline of sorts. That's what happened this afternoon and evening, at least. I told the other roommates about the incident yesterday, and they saw me and heard me. We talked about how we know he's not a bad person for being inconsiderate, but we need to talk to him about what it means to be psychologically safe in a community setting. Hopefully he can be receptive when three other people call him in. The three of us connected, just like in the beginning. Even the female, the one who asked me to not sign back onto the lease, the one I called the "abuser," validated my perspective, supported me, and opened up to me. I was utterly floored when I went into the kitchen and she started engaging with me, asking me questions about my life and sharing that she herself comes up with melodies in her head. Two months in, and she shares that! We were all connecting genuinely. Then, tonight, the other one invited me to go climbing. Invited me! Actually wants to hang out with me! The one who friendzoned me? Said the same thing. Said that I'm "smart, kind, considerate and talented," that we have the potential for a great connection, and she genuinely wants to connect. Now all I need to do is re-define the relationship and be okay with just being friends, which is actually slightly relieving because I saw my own subconscious patterns latching onto her in the older dysfunctional "rescuer" ways. I also didn't mention this because it's slightly overwhelming, but I may have four dates over the next 2-3 weeks. On top of that, I bought a freelance writer online course to begin my journey towards better side income. I launched a Patreon. I'm learning new songs for busking. It's all moving, albeit in an overwhelming way. In times like these, I really buy into parts theory — the idea that our psyches are multi-faceted. We all have different aspects that need different things and come out at different times. Some are more mature and protective than others, while others are shadowed and immature. I see it in myself, and I see it the most in my roommates. Some days, I look at one of them like the devil. The next day, he's an angel. They act really mean one day, then really kindly the next day. One day, she's the abuser, the next day she's a friend and an ally. It's so complex, the way we all interact with each other — how different parts come out at different times. And how we trigger each other because of that. I guess what I'm trying to say is — we are all devils, angels, villains, and victims at the same time. Nobody clicks perfectly with anyone else all the time. We all push each others' hot buttons. And we all do unexpectedly healing things for each other, too. We are all just human. And the more we own our humanness in all of its contradictory insanity, the more compassionate and forgiving we can be towards the humanness of others.

Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4:

a merry-go-round from hell. This was one of the most agonizing weekends of my life. It started with being friendzoned by a girl that magnetizes me. I forgot how horrible that feels. I had that with literally every single girl I had a crush on in high school and college. I should be paid to be a professional vagina evader at this point. So that was a powder keg to my nervous system, and I couldn't really sleep that night. The next day, I prepared to go busking, only to find that my car was broken into. Fortunately for me, I didn't hide any money in the glove box, because the glove box contents were strewn about the passenger's seat. I got in my car, and three minutes into driving, I braked a few feet away from a car crash that totally obliterated the front of this car that ran a red light. The dude came out of the car relatively unscathed, but his face was all bloody. I had to keep driving, because I was holding up a line of cars behind me. When I arrived at the main street, I set up my new busking equipment that I bought a few days ago, and for 3.5 hours of playing with a looper pedal, I made a third of what I normally make for less than three hours of playing without a looper pedal. Feeling discouraged, I dragged my way home like a bag of bones, exhausted yet completely wired with financial fear. I couldn't fall asleep till around midnight, and my body woke me up at two in the morning. I was in stasis for several hours. My brain felt (and feels) atrophied from the adrenaline. I stayed up for a total of twenty-two hours that day. I had a men's work group process for most of the day until dinnertime. I went with one of my roommates. It was very similar to the Sacred Sons group process I did at their retreat. Someone's in the middle of the circle, re-enacting an old wound to create an opposite experience, often using someone else to roleplay their mother or father. This time, I focused on my feeling that nobody really cares about me or wants to hang out with me or invite me to anything; that I'm insignificant, worthless, unseen, unheard, all of that. I used someone to roleplay my dad, and within minutes I was on the floor in a puddle of screams and tears. Maybe I'll make a separate post about that. But I mention the wound because a gallon of salt was about to be poured on it. After the group process, I felt the dignity to bring up an issue to my roommate about inclusivity. I didn't really feel acknowledged or included when his other friends were around. The rest of my roommates and a couple other people had the same complaint. But instead of considering that with five other mirrors saying the same thing maybe there's something he could own and flex to accommodate, he instead dumped it all back onto me. He said it's 100 percent my issue, and I should be more initiating. There's an element of truth to my issue with initiation, and I've been making a conscious effort to deal with it. But I also have invited him to things on several occasions, and he's turned them down every single time. Then he said that I give off the energy of "no one wants to hang out with me," and he doesn't want to hang out with that. Translation: I don't want to hang out with you. He said this a couple hours after I was screaming and writhing on the floor with the belief that nobody actually wants to hang out with me. Later in the evening when I was all alone in my car, I had a mental breakdown. I screamed, cried till I had no tears, kept crying, flailed like a fish, and said "fuck you" to the Universe more times than I can count. And then, out of desperation, I called my brother, and he was the most validating and supportive he's ever been. Thank heavens for him, and for my mom, who also was extremely supportive today. But I have nobody here, now. One roommate told me they don't want me to sign back on, another one flakes on me, and the other one doesn't want to hang out with me. This living situation has miserably collapsed — me along with it. Today, I've been crying more from the loss of connection. On top of that is the fact that I moved here only two months ago, the shooting, my financial stress, the dating shit, and the lack of community, direction, and quite frankly, hope. I am utterly crushed. Exhausted. Devastated. Reliving the trauma of friend groups ditching me, over and over and over again, like some sort of merry-go-round from hell. It's like I have a fucking post-it note on my forehead that says, "Ostracize me." On a logical level, I know that rejection means that it's just not meant to be and that incompatibility is a reality. I just feel so discouraged. Where are the people with whom I have genuine compatibility? I know I'm worthy of nourishing relationships with people who actually care. And I no longer want to waste my time with people who genuinely don't want to spend time with me.

hardening artist. I wish I could say that these past two months have been glorious. That I've risen from the ashes of the shooting, made new friends, started new practices, found monetary success in my craft, and found the flow. There's been some of that, sure. A month ago, I went to Convergence 5 in person and had some mind-blowing healing out in the desert...only to return to the same issues back here in CO. I may write a separate post on that. I've been on a couple of dates, one of which was abysmal, the other of which was more ambiguous but enjoyable nonetheless. I have another one lined up for Sunday. I've made some acquaintances and have been fairly socially active. I even went busking last week and made $125 in less than three hours of playing on the main street. That was pretty cool. I've also been to a couple of open mics with the same sort of reception — I got some high compliments. But I still feel pretty miserable. For one, I was having issues with one of the roommates, the only female of the house. My other two roommates were having similar issues, and their friends even warned them about her. With all of the issues in the house, she is the common denominator. She's not a bad person, she has some capacity for self-reflection, and she has a lot of redeeming qualities; there's just a lot of weird dynamics that hurt. At one of the house meetings, one of the roommates said he wanted her to move out, the other one in a two-faced way defended her, while I also wanted her to move out. But she wouldn't budge. She asked me to move out at the end of the lease. She said that she can't connect with me in the way that she connects with the other two. I felt an equal sense of relief and anguish. Relief that I don't have to live with this person. Anguish that someone with qualities similar to my dad rejected me...and that the other two roommates are signing back onto the lease, even given all of the issues. It feels like betrayal. Like I spent all this time and effort to build a genuine connection with the other two roommates, only for them to side with the "abuser." And I BET the moment that I move out, they will flake, and I will not hear from them again. Just how that's been the case with pretty much every person I've hung out with out here. Just how it was in childhood, with literally every single friend group that I tried to join. Once a floater, always a floater? I know logically this is not necessarily the case, but it feels like nobody actually cares about me — like no one would actually reach out to me to ask how I'm doing. I almost fucking died two months ago, I've been trying so hard to make new friends, I'm financially drowning, I moved halfway across the country knowing one person who has since flaked on me — and the two roommates are just acting as if everything's hunky-dory. The female gave one of them the lease to sign, right in my face, as if to rub it in. So there's that. Then there's the issue with money. Everything here is so ridiculously expensive. Living as an artist feels near impossible. I have to wear a million different hats, and any sort of support costs too much money, and I spend half my day worrying about how I'm going to make my financial quota for the month. It's wearing on my body. I can't think straight. I can't create as effectively. I'm breaking out again. I'm having anxiety attacks and trouble sleeping. Not to mention that both Instacart and Doordash have become so oversaturated that it's almost more economical for me to learn new skills in my room than deliver poison to people and tear up my car in the process. (I think there's hope in both freelance writing and Twitch streaming as side income. More on that in another post, probably.) I feel so alone in all of this, even with a therapist. And the saddest part to me is, I have to pay someone to have an unconditional secure attachment. I don't even know if he would want to hang out with me if there were no money involved. That's what I want, ultimately. For once in my life to be able to lean on someone without feeling that nagging sense that I owe them. For them to do it out of the sheer desire of wanting to help me. Of seeing my value. Of appreciating me as the human that I am. But other than in my last intimate relationship, I have yet to experience that in my life. Everything's just been covert fucking contracts and having to prove my worth to be part of something, only to be forgotten shortly thereafter. I feel like I'm candle wax, melting to the fire of the systems. I can only hold out for so long before I'm a hot puddle on the floor. And nobody wants to hang out with a puddle of wax — they want to clean it up and dispose of it. The systems don't value artists and philosophers. They want me to submit to them and join the rat race just so I can "earn" the right to have food and shelter. What kind of a sick fucking world is this? I have to pay money to have basic shelter? And if I don't, I'm on the streets? As if by not being simply human I don't deserve basic shelter? And the things that I provide are somehow less valuable than that of an investor who for a living literally shuffles money around for companies that exploit people and rape the planet? The rage... I refuse to submit. I refuse to sell out. I don't care if I die trying. And at this point, it feels like nobody else would, either.

Of course, this probably won't work for everyone, but I figure I'd share this because no one else has yet. https://www.medicalmedium.com/ Mr. Ghost spirit guy — the strange dude who constantly peddles his books while marketing to chronically ill middle-aged women. It's really easy to disregard him because of his hubris and the way he talks, but I've found that his perspective is still worthwhile to study. I've done every diet under the sun — vegetarian, vegan, paleo, keto, carnivore, primal raw meat — you name it. And the medical medium approach has been the only one where I've actually seen healing over the long haul. Especially with the celery juice and heavy metal detox smoothie. Wow-wee, those two pack a punch. I didn't follow him for a long time because he seemed too much like snake oil, yet his approach is really straightforward: fruits and veggies. He claims that all vinegar pickles the liver, the focus on "gut health" is misleading, autoimmune diseases are actually viral in nature, and that lectins/oxalates/antinutrients are not actually antinutrients. You can listen to some of his old radio shows here:

This... It's fascinating to watch him because of his narcissism and lack of self-awareness. It's also fascinating to watch sv3rige for the same reasons. Intriguing points earlier on the stage red backlash.

@Ethan1 Wow, you bring up some really good points here, especially the one about emasculated men. Good work on the diagram. @aurum Thank you ?? I'm with you on all of that.