Authentic

3:51AM—and I wake up, and hardly have I started!—yet, do I feel I have finished, but I am not close, not at all, and do I have more to get off my chest.

For what anguish!—lies in this tormented soul of mine, and shall I find vent in creative outlet, and I shall write and write past the pain and past shows of prowess and immortality, merely to find in my soul one last boundary to cross separating frail mortality from Divine conquest—and it is over my own spirit, the “worst parts of ourselves,” that I look to find conquest, as I told my father just a day ago.

And like my heroes!—in Newton and Nietzsche shall these eyes burn bright, he who scorched the Earth with his intellect, connecting dots always existing, patterns there, the whole time, but merely to give them life in equations, and I in words—and the latter, with that fire in his heart!—who blazed, and lit aflame every man and enemy in sight, and should I leave one untouched, I should do him a disservice.

For I get so lonely!—and I write, nonetheless, and each piece, do I send to a friend or two, or three—and I have separate threads with separate friends, following up on different themes, and I try to connect to them, but I try and I fail, because I sense in my writing there are heights that they cannot reach, and thus, do I in each one, lower myself further, until I crawl upon the Earth like a snake on his belly.

And Newton, did he never touch a woman!—and Nietzsche, perhaps, too, but in my time have I conquered many and feast, and how depressing, but we shall get to it, all in due time.

So!—on the theme of friendship, and why is it important?—to me, and when I was in University did I once have a best friend, and we were “conjoined at the hip,” paraphrasing, so did say another who watched and observed us, surprised to find one of us without the other, and I once did visit his home, his family home, and I stayed the night and met his parents and his family.

And we joined the same fraternity!—and we spoke late nights and texted daily, and we did this and that together, and I knew not what he saw in me, or how he looked to me, but I knew that I looked up to him—in my own way, and did see traits I could not reach or replicate, and how much did I learn from him!

But one day, we made the mistake—and I in particular, that we began working on a project, just an app, and I did the design, and it was shoddy—just another example of the basic Silicon Valley template, a language people design and forget to speak—and I did the architecture, and I did the frontend code, and he did some backend, but I did most.

And I worked, at the same time, at a company!—for I had taken off a semester from school, and I worked in the industry, studying a somewhat-master in design, in Robinhood, lesser than Apple, perhaps, in many ways, but a faithful imitation, and one I hold dear, and did I do for them iOS, and I worked first eight hours for them, then five hours for this own little project of ours.

I did not see him put in the same time!—and oh, goodness, but I had a choice, and to choose between a friendship and a project, and I chose the latter, what terrible mistake—what a mistake regrettable, and I knew it not at the time, but I paid dear in blood, and for two years, after, did I pursue the project and sustain it off the fumes of my this betrayal—but I soon and soon realized, like Macbeth, that my hands were bloody with the effort.

Never, shall I again start a company!—for I sold a soul once, and I shall do not again, and I made a thousand or two dollars, the most difficult of my life, and I let it go, for there was too much to build and to do—and was the idea terrible, besides, and I shall scorch a friend even in this my life and writing, because I came up with it not, and if you want something done right in this world, must you do it yourself.

But enough on that subject!—and after that semester, I tried to enroll for classes, and since I did mention Apple—let us detour, and I worked for them that summer, and it was so incredibly boring, the worst summer of my life, and I rotted and rotted still—and for some reason, did the school put a hold on my enrollment, or some sort of delay—perhaps I had not signed up for two technical courses, an EECS major, and I had to do so.

So!—they said, I should not sign up for classes, not in the first two weeks, and to let others go before me, and this fiery spirit takes no such news on the chin, so I decided to skip, too, that semester, and I worked part-time for a company in the cryptocurrency space, and I began to develop a love and appreciation to last a lifetime, and I worked on this my iOS project—and I built the Android app, in React Native, of course, for I shall never touch a JVM language in my life.

Cursed folks!—and if they take one thing from me, shall I take two in return, and I cannot help myself, and who should I be, but not myself, and over this, should I not be King and conquerer?—and bloody capitalist monopolist, who over himself stands alone and supreme, knowing what it cost to get to where he is, looking about the land and seeing prices of souls and bloody numbers and figures, weighing and measuring, and wondering whether he did right?

Then, onto the school!—and it was a most depressing place, I shall make no disguise of it, but I felt it drain and drain still, at the soul, and I studied design!—or did I really, but there is no major for design, and I said it once, but again, shall I say that it is an art long lost, forgotten, perhaps, and they disrespect this greatest of crafts with a mere certificate!

And I took three of the four classes and protested the fourth, never to let an ideal I hold high and dear to be corrupted by such a most terrible insult!—oh, I shall never forgive you, and I shall burn down everything you hold dear, because you have touched my nerve once, and I remember everything.

Ah!—but there was a professor there, from whom I learned, and for him, shall I refrain—and in his class was I the lowest of students, and he pushed me, and recommended I do further, and did the other students say I did not “try,” and I am a linear and logical mind, or so I do flatter myself, and I found it so impossibly difficult!—to sketch, to draw, but I pushed and pushed, and took away in my spirit a piece of that forever.

Those engineering classes!—and I did the same, and my technical GPA much higher than my non-technical, and I got a “B” in Rhetoric, an English class, and behold where I am now, and I got a B- in a design class, Prototyping, and I shall let that one go, because it is beneath me.

Not below an A-, did I receive in the engineering classes, for I love an abstract wonderland, and I played and danced as a child in the sand, and I remember nothing, nothing!—yet a feeling of pleasure, disappearing into the void, drawing a fine stroke or two of the mind, and walking away whole and sound.

Now, to the women!—but first, to the drugs, and did I do many, because there is no purpose and no philosophy, and I was lost and confused, and so did I turn hedonist, and I engaged in just about every single drug one can know.

And I shall be specific, so let us list them—and the easy ones, nicotine and alcohol, “weed,” and the harder ones, “magic mushrooms,” and LSD and cocaine, then ketamine, and I went to parties and my friends and I, walking into the bathroom, walking out with a touch of white powder, yes—just brushing off the old nostrils, and going to a rave or a concert, and I felt in my head disconnected from the body, and I dissolved LSD in Vodka and took microdoses, and I did this and that—and if there is more, I shall burn it in oblivion, with no mention here.

What terrible agony!—and I drank many nights, and drank to the point of blackout and I spent long hours vomiting and watching others vomit, and in this haze, did I spend my days, and now to the woman, or women.

And I played the “dating” game, or the hookup game, for that culture is indeed pervasive, and I created a profile—and I took my pictures, and I sharpened my jaw line and my eyes, made hard like steel, and my smile sharper, and I refined this image, and I found in it some success!

And there were ugly women, yes—many, indeed, and I lose count, nor shall I treat of them but in this as a category, mistakes and regrettable circumstances, and there was one, a girlfriend, who had just finished hooking up with a few strangers, and I was apparently the one to take that mess home with me, the unlucky last fellow, and we spent two years together and moved in, and fought, and she split up, partially on the basis of my politics!—and yet, do I make no concession in my beliefs, but hold to them stronger.

I may lose friends!—and perhaps have lost them, on the merit of my views, yet look upon my life!—and I have burned every bridge, and I burn still, this bonfire of a spirit, that takes and consumes, and shall you see yourself in the vapors of my labors in the future!—and it was for your honor, perhaps, or as a curse, and I know not myself.

But!—there was one woman memorable, and did I chat with her, a philosophy major, blonde and my height, nearly, incredibly blue eyes, the softest and most luscious figure did I ever lay my hands upon!—and we chatted of movies, and I met her in my apartment, in the room of my friend, the relationship with whom I burned, for he had let me live in his unit, and I asked if she would like to smoke, and she told me she hailed from Humboldt, and so we smoked, and did we speak, and I gazed upon those blue eyes, and she in mine.

Not blue, but we put on a movie, and got into the bed, and we held one another, but not for long did we hold one another, nor watch the movie, but we got to business, and business was it, indeed!—and a feast and banquet at once, and after one round, did we finish, and we lay recuperating, and she on all fours, on the bed, eyes looking down and sultry and hungry, did in her mouth take myself, and bring me back to life for another.

Oh, beautiful, gorgeous spirit!—and her phone went off many times, notifications, perhaps from other men equally qualified as I, but I minded not, and I texted her a couple times, and we did flirt, and she sent a picture or two, and I keep them dear, and we met again!—and it was the same, and better, and once did I ask for her!—over the Winter Holiday, and she told me to drive up, but I decided that was a line not to cross, and cross it I did not, and I let her alone, and she went her own way, and I, mine.

And where did I get my drive for philosophy!—but from woman, and where did I get my love for art, but from woman?—and in Texas, I worked hard and long on my project, and after four months, hardly going out to eat, never meeting anybody, living reclusive and alone—I went to Barton Springs, a gorgeous natural bounty of fresh spring-water, and I gazed and gazed, and I met eyes with this woman, a small creature!

Oh, beautiful thing, and she sat in a circle with her friends, and she brushed her hair long and clean, like a little Aphrodite come to Earth, and she turned and noticed me!—and she sat up straighter, and she wagged to me with her little toes, once, twice, three times.

And I watched, and watched!—and I thought, and she turned once, and put on her sunglasses, and turned again, and beautiful heart, that she should not let others see how did her pupils dilate, for they were large indeed, most have I ever seen!

What a figure, and did her clothing not leave much to imagination, but what it left, did I yet imagine, and I filled it in my colors and more—but I left her alone, nor did I speak to her, but I saw upon her a form of artistic beauty that I had not yet mastered!—and so I returned home, and I became depressed with my bridge.

And gradually, did I throw out the principles and the ideas—and replace them anew, and I took back into my life art and design, and I held it higher in esteem—for how could I do service to this woman, who discarded the values she holds dear!—and I should only hurt her, and hurt her more.

Thus, my “pretty lionness,” do I now pay my respects!—and there were others like her in Texas, the older women, in particular, with those smiles of profound admiration and respect, and they guided me, as much as did anyone else!—and once did I have a doctor, a physician, a cute one, and married and slightly older, but no less cuter for it.

And I had a mark or two, a “lesion,” did she call them, upon my “lower member,” and so did I meet her, and mention it, and she offered to see, and to show her, I did, thick and bloody and standing at attention, and she responded she “saw!” the lesions, flushed in voice and spirit, and we played a little game and dance, and returned to our lives perhaps healthier and happier, or not—and I cannot tell, for it is Devilish trouble.

One other woman!—and in Texas, they are made fine, and I was working out in my gym, and it was the best of gyms, individual in spirit and character, and they had an app—for instance—that let us check-in at any time of day, as though we owned the place, and how magnificent, and how marvelous!—and they had a stud behind the counter, a man, who apparently picked up the women in there, left-and-right, and from whom I learned a lot.

Look upon that jawline, those blank animal eyes, and shudder!—and shudder, I did, but they played the music loud, and this alone, did I dislike—but once, did I go, and a woman with her date, and she was cute!—cute, indeed, and I watched the way she walked before me, sensuous, much more than ordinary.

And I watched!—and I observed, but I kept to myself, except when her man made a comment most distasteful, and I looked over, jaw clenched, to judge her reaction!—and she glanced at me, and soon after, she came over, without the man, to the bench beside me, and she got under to pantomime my lifting, and lift, I did—inspired with strength!—and I pumped out my reps, and I got slightly aroused, and it had physical embodiment, and she saw and noticed, and she walked by, tucking her hair behind her ear with a single finger, lips open and interested, eyes demure and wanting.

Oh, Heavenly desire!—but she returned to her “man,” and I blessed them both, and they left eyes downcast, for I crossed before them, perhaps a salute, perhaps not, and I flatter myself, for in my Mind!—does this all live, and they left, and I never saw them again.

Oh, how that hurt my heart!—and bit, by bit, did I fall into disrepair, and my project broken by the lack of its artistic spirit, and my heart broken by a woman who took a “worse” man, so I judged, and my mind schizophrenic, and I knew it not, and so once, and this is so shameful!—but I must continue, for I leave nothing untouched, incomplete.

And I went to the University!—to pay my respects, and I looked upon the students and the faculty and I felt them lacking, but there was one woman I liked, and she noticed me, but I was broken in my mind—and this do I not condone!—but, I followed her, and I watched her, and I followed her into the classroom.

And I sat at a table—and others sat beside me, and the professor to me winked, and she let me stay the entire time, until afterwards, when the girl told her I was not part of her life, and they escorted me off the premises, the University police did—and I am so ashamed, but I have nothing to hide, besides.

But she was a beauty!—and part of the dance team, so said her backpack, and from her, did I learn athletic grace, and this, perhaps, was the last of the values I had to pick up—and now, does that spirit in myself live!

Thus, was it a lonely journey, but does the sight and remembrance of a women held fond and dear—or admired from a distance, give a man values and virtue to hold on to!—and what should the life of a man be, if he has no woman to inspire him, no life to impress and to maintain?

So!—I should say, in these last, whom I never spoke to, never touched, did I find more inspiration and light and wonder, than in one dozen ugly women—for indeed, that was the number, and they taught me nothing but filth and agony, and now, I am a sworn conservative, who has drawn my limits bold, and they, shall I not cross or betray.

And I did have friends in Berkeley!—those of us who saw in the world the same set of choices, and how depressing is this state of affairs, but it is the world in which we find ourselves, that I alone feel mastery over, perhaps—and perhaps I merely boast and flatter myself!

But I have said my piece, and now, do I sigh heavy, and I walk away with a heart slightly lighter, knowing if nothing else, was I authentic, honest to the end.