Tag Archives: Personality

Follow the Leader

Oh, Cody. Why do you write anything? Why do you do this to yourself? The brain thinks. It plays your shortcomings on a loop. Your head is a fucking mess. The filing cabinet is the skull: everything is just strewn about in absolute disorganization. Why not just keep it in your head? Why ever withdraw one? What’s the point? Do you want people to laugh at you? Is that what you are? A masochist? Why do you pour your heart out for it to be devoured? Why can’t you focus on organizing your head instead of letting the entire world know of your disorganization?

Why have you ran away from disorganization your whole life? You know it’s important. Does it bore you that badly? Do you crave the chaos? Even if that means your work suffers? Was it ever even about creating “good” work? Or is it therapy? Are you letting everyone know your mental problems as self-relief? The pressure builds. And the heart wants to scream. It doesn’t matter what the results are. The heart says “LET ME OUT!!!”, and you have to oblige. Because you can’t break your own heart. What would you have left?

No, your life is about using the world as your therapist. Your therapist that you’ll ignore, and cuss, and loathe. Yes, this is your life, Cody. You are a slave to your own heart. For it to be trampled upon and beaten on. But that isn’t the worst of it.

No, the worst part of it is when you kill your own heart. When you ignore it. Talk down to it. No, you treat your heart like shit, Cody. Your self-doubt eats it alive. You torture your own heart. Your heart says “Cody, why? Why are you doing this to me?” Shut up, heart. You don’t know shit. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know how to create good work. You don’t know how hard life is. No, heart. You’re a fool. You’re a stupid fool who will be hardened, whether you like it or not. You aren’t that important, heart. Don’t you know you’re just one of many? What makes you think that you are more important than all of those other broken hearts in the world? No, the truth is that you are insignificant, heart. You’re just keeping this flesh alive for a short time. That’s all your good for. It doesn’t matter what you want, heart. It doesn’t fucking matter.

But, oh. The heart can’t take it. Little does he know that the heart drives the whole thing. A man can’t doubt without his heart. He can’t think anything, even depressing, doubtful thoughts, without the blood that is pumped by his own heart. There is self-destruction. But the heart can only take so much before it says “Ok. You win.” And then it dies. And you die with it.

No, the heart beats hard. Strong. It ain’t been broken yet. Just toughened up. Matured. Yes, the heart is “growing up”. It is easy to equate abuse with “growing up”. The truth of the matter, Cody, is that your heart has been more blessed than others. That’s the hard truth. Yes, that truth breaks it. But your heart was blessed. Your heart was very blessed. Not everyone has had a heart as blessed as yours. Yes, Cody, you were given a gift. “Here, Cody. Have this heart.” But, Lord. What do I do with it? “I will let you know when the time comes.” And the time is now. The heart is saying “Let me out, dammit! Let me the fuck out!” And Cody says “Well, ok then. If you insist. What are you plan-” And away, the heart is off. He’s racing. He’s racing against the entire world. Yes, we’re all pouring our hearts out, every day, trying to find love from others. Yes, please love me. Please give me love, the heart says. “Oh yeah? Why should I love you more than any others?” Point taken. But that ol’ damn heart. He ain’t quitting. He just wants to scream louder. More emphatically. No, that ol’ heart is gonna go places. A hardened heart calls it foolishness. But this heart is genuine. This heart is pure. This heart wants it all. This heart wants clarity. And peace.

Yes, this heart wants to beat it all. This heart wants to say “Hey, world. I’m here.” That’s all this heart really wants. And, in truth, is that really too much to ask? And who says whether or not it is? Heart, do you think that’s too much to ask?

No.

But this is gonna be hard, heart. You don’t have any idea how hard this is going to be. Are you sure you can do this? Why, no. I’m not. But does that matter? Why, no. I suppose not. It’s what you want to do, right? Yes, it is. Well, I wish you the best of luck, heart. Thank you. How are you going to help me? I don’t have any idea. Well you better start fucking figuring it out if you want me to stick around. Alright. Let’s get on that, then, heart. Let’s leave this world behind and go somewhere. Let’s go.

Let’s write stuff that we know isn’t going to be our best work. Let’s write shit that we’ll always be able to see the flaws of. Let’s write shit that tortures us. Let’s write stuff that we can nitpick, and tear apart, and have the world join in with us. Yes, let’s just write. Let’s just write all of the dark, stupid, depressing shit that we can think of, as long as it is genuine. Oh, heart. What is it that truly distinguishes you from other hearts? Why aren’t you as dark as you could be? Why don’t you want destruction, heart? Why don’t you want to blow up the world? There’s some poor soul out there cursed with a heart that wants to control the whole world, or blow it up. Why aren’t you like that, heart? Why?

Cody, I don’t know. I do not know. I think we are loved, Cody. Yes, I think you and I are loved. We are blessed by God. But why, heart? Why are we? Because we just are, Cody. We just are. Well, heart, what do we do, then? Cody, I don’t know. I say we write and that’s it. Write every stupid, shitty thing you can think of. Just do it. You need to get stuff done. Isn’t that what you want, Cody? Don’t you want to just have things written down? Why, yes, I do, heart. But what do I want to write? Isn’t that your job? Hey, don’t rush me. You can’t rush heart. You know I don’t control this, either. I know. So what does that mean we do, heart? Well, do you want to keep talking to yourself, or do you want to go somewhere else, and if you do: where? This isn’t Orwell quality. What the fuck is it? What is this? Heart, how am I supposed to know? You’re the one doing this! Look, Cody, I’m just a tool. I’m not in control of this. I know. That’s scary, isn’t it, heart? Why, yes it is. If neither of us are in control, then how are we doing this? What is going on? I don’t know, heart. I suppose it’s the Lord. But, Cody. Come on. You are saying the Lord is speaking through you. Do you know how crazy that sounds? Yes, I know. You know people are just going to say some mental case is talking to himself, and that he believes himself to be God, right? Yes, heart, I’m well aware. Well, Cody, what do you think about that? Heart, do you really care? Isn’t there some potential that someone out there is going to love this shit? Yes, someone will hate it, too. But does that matter? Heart: does that really matter to you? It’s hard, Cody. You don’t understand. It’s really hard for me to make myself vulnerable like this. Oh, heart. I know it all too well. Trust me. Well, Cody, what do we do? Heart, how many times are you going to ask me this? Are we going to keep rambling like this? Is this just what we do? We just go back and forth, and that’s our journey? I don’t know, Cody. What if someone says “This is genius.” How are you going to feel, Cody? I don’t know, heart. How are you going to feel when someone says this is shit written by a narcissistic egomaniac? Cody, I’m really not going to care. Really? Yes, really. I’m really not going to care, Cody. Why do you care? Heart, this is hard. You have it easy. You don’t have anxiety like I do. You don’t have doubts. You think you don’t affect me, Cody? You think you don’t affect your heart? Heart……what do we do? Whatever we want to do, Cody. How are you sure? I don’t know, Cody. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the Lord telling me. I don’t know. But do you trust your own heart? Well, heart. That’s a deep question. I don’t know if I trust you or not. You’re flawed, right? You aren’t perfect. Can’t you do evil things? Why, yes, I suppose I could, Cody. But am I right now? No, I guess not. Do you trust me right now? Well, yes, I guess I do. Then do hypotheticals actually matter? I don’t know, heart. Do they? I don’t think so, Cody. I really don’t think so. Do you hurt, Cody? I don’t know. Do you hurt, heart? Why, yes, I think I do, Cody. I think I hurt a lot. I think there’s a lot of pain in me. Yes, heart, I know what you mean. Hold me, Cody. Ok, heart. Give me a hug. *Simultaneously* Are people going to say that this man is talking to himself and giving himself a hug? Cody, I truly don’t care. Ok, heart. I love you. I love you too, Cody. I love you too.

Personality.

Insightful.

A Memorandum on Dreams.

My poetry.

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Insanity

I don’t feel like this is “done”, but I’m tired of fucking looking at it, so I guess that means it’s “done”. I’m tired of considering it “not done” and spending time trying to think of what is wrong with it when I know that so much other work that isn’t done remains undone. It’s time to move on.

What does it mean to be insane? How does one know if one is insane or not? I have wrestled with the status of my sanity for many years. My eccentricities have often been the source of great anxiety. I attribute this to just being young. But my eccentricities have only matured and moulded me. Increasingly, I long to lose my sanity. I deeply desire to be maniacal. It is, because at that point, I will no longer have any fucks to give. Social stigma will be a complete thing of the past.

It is so odd how the viewpoints through which you receive information about the world shape how you yourself view the world. I recall news interviews, where the interviewer thought the guy at the fair or protest or wherever that he was interviewing was a little weird. I then thought the guy was a little weird. I didn’t care to hear what the point of view of the weird guy was. Because he was weird. Who cares? You adopt the prejudices of your superiors, and then you grow out of them. I realize that it is a “normal” process, but “normal” things are very often weird.

I learned at a young age that being a little crazy was fun. It made people laugh (even if they were laughing “at” you). I typically welcome any laugh. I’m sure there are exceptions to the rule. But I like acting like an idiot, knowing that I’m going to be harshly judged because of it. That doesn’t mean I’ll find every criticism levied against me funny, but I do enjoy finding humor in a great many of them. I enjoy playing the “game”. Serious gets hard real fast. Before you know it, you’ve got cancer. (I don’t, thankfully).

My craziness has matured over time. I want it to mature even further. I want to see how far I can push it. It brings me great joy to be insane. Once again, I feel like I am on the other side of that interviewing microphone. I’ve done a complete 180 as far as perspective is concerned, and that’s quite a shock to the system. I don’t long for the previous viewpoint: in fact, it is the old way that is most shocking to me. “Why did I ever think that?” I find myself asking constantly. I certainly don’t think I’m unique in this case. I think it is quite common.

My entire life revolves around entertaining myself. I got tired of always being bored. So many things “out there” weren’t stimulating enough for me. There was always something missing, it felt like. “I’d do that differently,” I always thought to myself. There were certainly, for examples, movies that stuck out to me that made me happy. But it would be hard for me to explain why those did, and why so many others didn’t. I’ve always enjoyed being a “class clown”, and this has helped me deal with crippling existential boredom. “You could be a nurse.” “You could join the military.” You don’t understand. I fucking can’t. Something is going to be missing in my life if I don’t develop my own world. Much like Bob Ross discussed “worlds” as he painted, I have my “world” with regards to writing and entertainment. I want to create my own entertainment “world”. I want to build my own amusement park, even if I’m the only one riding. That brings me joy, and that’s what I want to do. I have always admired comedians because they aren’t afraid of acting like idiots (in fact, it actually helps them out) and having fun, and bringing that fun to others. I realize that doctors “are the real heroes”, but there’s no one I’d rather emulate more than comedians. My heart yearns to create a crazy world of my own.

There’s always that point where someone “gets” what a crazy comedian is doing. I can’t imagine a more thrilling feeling. I don’t want to come right out and say “Ok, here is the point of this piece of comedy.” I like dragging the audience (however minute it is) along. I have fun messing with them. But the thought of someone saying “Huh. I actually get what this guy is doing. He’s a fucking lunatic, but he’s a genius.” I love that thought: the thought of someone getting it. That’s a great thought.

I hate how it seems so often that maturity only comes over an extended period of time. As I said, my desire to be funny has been with me for a long time. But the social anxieties of youth are almost always unbearable. It feels freeing to be able to say “I don’t care” and dance around like a fucking jackass. Why did it take so long? Who knows. Maturity and biological growth are just one of those mysteries of the universe that we are subjected to, and there’s nothing we can fucking do about it. Oh well. At least it happened.

Peer pressure made me shut up. When I made people laugh, I felt good. When I didn’t, I felt bad. But, I eventually decided to make myself laugh even if no one else was laughing. In fact, I taught myself to find that fact humorous. I’m going to do something to make myself laugh, even if it irritates you. It is much easier to get what you’re looking for from an audience when your audience is yourself.

It is going to take time for me to build my confidence up. Certainly, I’ve made tremendous strides. But I am still very anxious. I still fear being incoherent; being stale. Failing. I want to put myself in a longevity mindset. I’m going to act like an idiot as long as I find some joy from it. I anticipate doing this for a very long time. I suppose “anything could happen”. I can look at past and current tendencies and use those to say where I’m going to be at in twenty years, but one truly never knows. My goal, at least currently, is to continue along the path I have started, and have been going down. At present, I would love to say that I’d still have fun acting like a jackass at 60. But maybe in 20, or 10, or even 5 years I get tired of what I’m doing. I don’t know. I don’t anticipate that happening, but anything is possible.

A part of me does feel like this desire to be insane will become more mild in the future. Currently, I actually have the time and energy to work on my insanity, but this won’t be the case in the future. I will probably “mellow out” into something more mild. I can’t even analyze the past. I don’t have a clue how I’m going to analyze the future.

I do believe I will always admire successful, insane people. People like John R. Dilworth. People like him are admirable. This guy has made a living out of just being “a little off”. I love that. I’ll probably dream of that while doing my factory job in the future. It may just end up being a dream, but the alternative is just not having one. What in the fuck would I do? Why is not having a dream somehow more noble than having one? Why does it matter whether or not I succeed? Why should I give up? What good does that do me? I don’t understand that attitude, and I think most proponents of that attitude just like to hate on stuff.

I think the biggest motivator behind how “insane” I become in the future will be my level of boredom. I don’t anticipate it becoming any less than it has always seemed to be. Boredom has always been a problem for me. It initially was crippling. Entertaining myself made it bearable. Can I say that I will be less bored when I get older? I, personally, don’t see it happening. I see the future becoming more mundane, as years and years of repetition take hold, and, thus, I will need something stronger to relieve myself from it. I anticipate this to be insanity. Insanity induced by repetition. But more purposeful than happenstance. A conscious decision rather than a trap. That is my hope, anyway.

I anticipate that the more that I do what I want to do, the better I will become at what I do. If I want to do something, and, thus, do it, I might as well have the highest possible goal for myself. There’s no downside, if I’m going to be doing the thing regardless. The biggest stumbling block that I foresee is war. Only because war is the biggest stumbling block to pretty much everything. However, I certainly believe that I should exercise freedom when it exists, so I’m going to try to write and become more insane for as long as I can. I know there are going to be many growing pains, but at least they will be something different.

I know that as the years go by, I will become more and more of a turtle: less influenced by outside factors. More “stubborn”. I’ll get better at things until I start to hit a decline: and, even then, I’ll still get better at certain things while becoming worse at others. At least for the time being, I look forward to getting better at the things, even if there’s a downside that comes with that. At least for the moment, I’d rather be old and confident than young and anxious.

I fully embrace the challenge. In many ways, I enjoy making things harder on myself. Just to be able to say that I am my own actor. The satisfaction of succeeding in ways everyone said you couldn’t is enough for me to desire to blaze my own trails, even if they are dead ends. I don’t want to travel common roads when I can see where they go.

I truly hate it when I start to second guess myself. I have these “mad” plans, and how I’m going to achieve them: the building blocks I’m initially going to choose, and how I plan on developing them. It is extraordinarily intimidating. I’m an island. It’s fucking hard to be an island. It’s hard to be your sole motivating factor. It’s hard to get better “by yourself”. But that challenge makes the joy that much sweeter. Sure, you may enjoy playing with that rubber paddle and ball attached to a string, just hitting it around. But do you want to get better? How fast do you want to be able to hit the ball? How fast and how accurate do you want to be? Do you enjoy improving?

I enjoy piling things onto myself. A big problem that I see with everything that I’m doing right now is that I just don’t have enough experience. The only way to gain experience at doing things is just to……do it, but it’s hard to do it when you’re figuring out what exactly it is that you are doing: when you’re still figuring out what your goals are. My heart desires for a finished product. But this truly is an experience. This is about growth. I’ve heard many people say growth never really ends, and I don’t have a good reason to not believe them.

Confidence is a big stumbling block at the moment. I enjoy a healthy amount of “My writing is shit.” It gives me something to work on. But I so often find that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew at the moment. I’m confident that at some point I can chew it. But the problem is that it just takes a long fucking time before I feel like I’m ready to chew, and the even bigger problem is that by that time, I’ve discovered that the initial bite was fucking disgusting, and I want to toss it out completely. Then, I’m back to the beginning, except more time has passed. So I fall behind. Or, the bite just still isn’t ready to chew. How much fucking longer will it be before it is ready to be chewed? For better or for worse, one of my philosophies that I have developed through my relatively short life is to “Let it be”. I don’t handle “control” very well. Some people can effectively take charge when things fall apart, but I become frustrated as to try to ignore the problem for as long as possible. I am not interested in changing this. But I do struggle with writing because of this, in my opinion. The problem is that in the past, control didn’t work out. But I do need control now because I am writing. I am now completely in control, I need to be, and it is a whole new world. “Remember those other times you took control? Well guess what, fuckhead, what makes you think things are going to change? Sure, you’re older. But you’re still the same person. What makes you think you got better? What gaul. What evidence do you have that you are any better than you used to be, huh? Prove it. Oh, you’re choking up, are you? Look at you: talking to yourself in third person. ‘What will the people think?’ your second voice asks you sarcastically. ‘Shut up’, I say, as my armor glistens, and I raise the sword of self-esteem against the dragon with sarcastic fire. ‘Did I leave the oven on? Why am I in this cave? Fuck this dragon, that’s for sure. How big is this cave? How am I going to die? What shitty things are going to happen to me in the future? Fuck. Stay on task. You left your home for a reason. Let’s go. Fuck. Where am I going? Bah, who needs a map. I don’t want no goddamned map. Fuck. I don’t have any idea of where I’m going. I know where I want to go, but what do I want to do to get there?” And on, and on, and on. I could elaborate on this metaphor, but fuck it.

The reality is that, to this day, there are still so many things beyond my control. There always has been, and always will be. The “magic” is figuring out that balance between control and acceptance. But I want to do that as an island, and it’s still fucking hard. Dreaming of the rewards makes it all worthwhile, as well as just the love of the journey itself. But those demons sure do love to tap on my shoulders. (And, honestly, I need them, at least to some degree).

I long for insanity because, as I have said, it will mean I have tuned out the world. I won’t be listening to people tell me that I’m wasting my time by writing. That I should do something else with my life. That I should take classes, or whatever other advice I could be given. My desire to be insane is as much intrinsic as it is to reflect externally: I want to enjoy my own insanity, but I want others to think me insane as well. Because I feel like they will finally leave me alone. No more trying to help, because I’m a “lost cause” in their mind. I love that thought. It makes me want to become crazier and crazier to drive people away, just so they’ll leave me alone. I welcome anyone that enjoys it. But as soon as someone tries to change my course, I want them gone. Scaring them off seems to be a good way to do that.

The problem with freedom is the people that try to take it away. Offensive speech is the hardest speech to keep free. This is because people are babies and are willing to attack people that say things they don’t enjoy hearing. That’s never really going to change. There will always be significant pockets of those people. There’s nothing we can really do about that. All we can do is speak out and try to deal with them when they become violent. But that doesn’t mean you’ll survive. It’s a sad fact that people will always be murdered, and it’s a sad fact that people will always be murdered for what they say.

Regardless, I long to be widely considered as insane. To me, being insane is the ultimate freedom. You aren’t caging me up, drugging me, destroying my free and independent mind, violently beating me into submission. At least, not yet. Tyranny always exists: just to different degrees. Innocent people face unjust punishment all of the time. I honestly kind of expect it at some point. There’s nothing stopping a rumor from being started that, say, I have drugs, or am running some kind of child-trafficking ring, and then the police break my door down and search my entire house to find nothing. That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I just expect that type of tyranny. I expect people to be that hateful and stupid as to try to “get me” by calling the cops on me, and then, for my house to be raided, my computer probably stolen (which I’ll never get back), then I’d have to pay money in court (which I’d never get back), and then, I still have the potential to go to jail: all because of a rumor, with no evidence. It happens. It could be 25 years before I was exonerated, or it could be never. That type of shit happens, and I just sort of expect it to happen to me, because I enjoy “offensive” speech. Some people just can’t handle it and retaliate neurotically and inappropriately. “The justice system”, government, should never be trusted. But I think that ship is sailed. I think trust of government is too ingrained at this point. There’s pockets that aren’t, but talking and listening to a statist is a great way to feel hopeless about the future.

I’m not a doctor, or anything “important”. All I desire is to entertain myself, and being crazy is one of the most effective ways I’ve found of doing this. My heart needs it desperately. It recharges my soul when evil wears it out. I look forward to seeing just how insane I ultimately become.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

How I Can Become A Better Writer.

A Way Out.

Individual.

Personality.

One of my more redeeming qualities.

I can hold a grudge for a REALLY long time…

Personality.

Insightful.

Jokes.

Videos that can only be categorized as “Comedy”.

Where you can financially support me if you so desire (T-shirts included; please share all of these links).

“WHAT did you say?! 1v1 me, skrub…”

I don’t see much point in convincing people to believe what believe.

It’s no skin off my nose.

“Then why do you let your points be heard?”

Because I naturally have a desire to be expressive, and I don’t care WHO hears me…

A Treatise on Stubbornness.

(Just because I want to get the kettle stirring…)

Debating.

Insightful.

Individual.

Personality.

My video game videos.

My Youtube channel.

Atheist.

Economics.

Anarch.

Voluntarism and Capitalism.

News.

My work.

Where you can financially support me if you so desire (T-shirts included; please share all of these links).

Finally?…LET’S HOPE!!! <3

If I’m going to be happy, I have to stop caring about anyone that calls me “too” cocky, or “too” anything involving my ego…

I don’t have to defend myself around these people, and I’m tired of feeling anxious while trying to explain things to a complete fucking moron…

Intellect Equals Cockiness?

Intelligence.

Logic.

More logic.

Ignorance.

Insightful.

Personality.

Offensive.

Offend the Fuck Out of People.

I’m becoming a man… An ADULT man!!!…GODDAMMIT!!!!!!

I’m willing to take the risk that you’re right if it means that I believe what I want to believe…

Age.

Individual.

A Treatise on Stubbornness.

Intellect Equals Cockiness?

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Logic.

More logic.

Emotion.

Growing up.

Offend the Fuck Out of People.

Offensive.

Personality.

How the internet has helped my personality BLOOM <3

The internet allows me to be what I was born to be; where I can piss people off without getting punched in the face.

Offend the Fuck Out of People.

Personality Development.

Intellect Equals Cockiness?

Trolling.