THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 9/15/21 – The Affectionate Spoiling of the Joys of Domino Art (a scientific smack of worldpeace)

Have you seen those domino art videos?

They’re really fun, they’re really cool.

I like watching dominoes smash into each other.

It’s neat, it’s messy.

It’s chaos controlled.

It’s form and function.

Domino art is somebody creating an extension of themselves.

To give them credit for the dominoes is really appropriate and ridiculous at once.

I mean it’s largely a matter of mere commitment.

And the way the dominoes move is really up to physics, once they’ve been set up.

(can you feel your head hurting, thinking, what the fuck? don’t detract credit)

When you look at the number one domino art champion on YouTube

your cheeks kind of clench up.

It would be really hard to tell someone

“hey, this is kind of boring and lame”

without the oxygen in your head feeling like it’s been cut off.

If you really like that domino gal, and I were to talk your head off about how

it doesn’t matter if she makes a Pokemon face or whatever

or does some wild Rube Goldberg shit,

or actually somehow makes you forlorn with admiration as the tiles dance about,

and that she’s just exploiting physics and time with a smidge of artistic non-apathy,

you’d probably be upset for a long while.

You’d be fucking mad.

No, I won’t do that, I won’t say that.

I like the domino stuff too. Probably more than most!

But here is my experiment. Here’s a suggestion.

What if all that unbreakable feeling, humble feeling, flexible feeling, fair and decent feeling joy you feel for the domino master,

especially when I insinuated she’s nothing special,

is really at the very core, the fucking center, the raw essence,

of all the shit anyone can do or say or be,

that makes you really really fucking aggravated?!

Think about it deeply. Especially now that you know about the hunterian opiate.

(you did read the previous nine posts, right?)

THAT energy is the type of thing that could inspire some really hideous behaviors.

That fire in your mind. That delicious craving in your chest region.

That state people reach when they lose all words to describe how they feel.

that “holy fuck I can’t believe this person is that eager to invalidate”.

What if all this stuff that irritates you is directly tied to your at your most worthy of self-congratulation?

What if it’s all just one kind of similar emotion?

It’s something like…..wanting to invoke your inner power.

It’s something like….the intersection of mischief and maturity.

It’s something like the undulations in your heart leading to solid actions.

It’s the fucking friction between the purpose of something and the results of something.

It’s connection to other people always being imperfect.

It’s giving value in a way that feels obscene but just right.

Maybe it’s all something similar, something that metamorphoses a whole damn fucking assload.

Everybody can recognize this state. And they almost always call it a person being awesome and badass and interesting,

or belligerent and toxic and pathetic.

Cultural self-congratulation is a legitimate boogeyman too long fought either improperly or not at all.

What makes one group of people look at someone and silently feel, “that’s a real non-asshole, somebody really worth something”

is one that makes another group of people feel “that’s a high tier asshat who deserves zero praise and probably any suffering they get”.

I can say with total fucking confidence that the thinness of this asshole/badass line is a thing humanity has been aching to find a decent fucking explanation for.

If you think I’m being a charlatan, let me hold your face and ask you this.

How many times are you gonna go on the internet and see the same thing over and fucking over?

People trying to confirm whether or not they are the asshole.

Political cartoons that brute force humiliation since they have nothing new to say.

Debates about whether somebody advanced a political cause or tarnished it.

Desperate cries for acts of fair representation in weird situations that people know could just cause more havoc and even indignity.

And the endless bickering about which books and movies and video games are the one that really rises above the rest in terms of quality and worth.

I love it all, you see.

I’m not here to say that people act like duds or tools online.

I’m here to say it’s all about that fire of your heart, that delicious ache in your mind, that makes you feel like something outside of you really does, despite everything, have awesome fucking value.

It’s the type of thing that makes you feel not like a hero, or a great person,

but like you could just hunt for something, anything, and it would be more likely to come true.

So, here’s my gambit. Here’s my mission. For now.

Because I know a lot of you reading this might be confused. Might get up and walk away. Might not care. Might see this whole thing as enlightened centrist trash.

Might simply get bored hearing somebody trying to change FUCKING EVERYTHING.

Here’s the double edge.

Here’s what’s probably my last big attempt.

For those of you who you taste the dilemma…..for those who understand that the thin line between badass and asshole IS indeed humanity’s last major unsolved conflict, move forth.

All others can hit the X button on their browser.

Are you with me, my friend? The experiment, i give!

Do this for me:

Whenever you feel yourself overcome with passion and motivation,

whenever you feel like your eyes are falling out with desire,

when someone else’s malice or folly makes you feel like you could do anything no matter how apparently cruel or sick,

and it would be glorious and interesting, and on a large scale, really righteous and fabulous,

focus not on determining your moral alignment.

Don’t try to do anything deep.

Don’t struggle anymore.

Just try this. Try it as hard as you can.

Think about the domino art people. Just think about what I wrote about them!

And why anyone would give a shit about them, or not give a shit about them, and why the line of that is so endearingly narrow.

That’s what’s in the heart of all the people you hate, in the states that you hate.

An excess of praise backed by acknowledgment of limits.

The stylish exploitation of the very linked and very unlinked nature of all people and objects.

Dare I say, it’s friction of a very human order.

Satisfaction, relief, comfort.

A neat and proper thrill.

A very neat and very proper very thrilling feeling!

I beseech you:

Get inside the head of he or she who makes you burn with anger.

Get there! That’s all you have to do.

See why people feel so neat and proper and thrilled when doing things you consider disgusting and egregious,

just see it for what it is:

(which is, to reiterate, over-valuing while under-valuing, vaguely connecting people to stuff, and feeling just the right kind of inappropriate, with the result being a non-egregious-feeling boldness)

and you’ll become closer to them. You’ll be able to work around them.

You might even be able to get no adrenaline anymore

from those of us who seem to choose to be worthy of hatred.

I’m not gonna call this goal it love or kindness. I’m just going to call it

the will

to tame

the hunter.

That desire to make people not be bitches and bastards.

It will eventually work out if we can just refine it. Refine it!

Overcome that lack of articulation for how we act.

Do it it with my help!

Because I see where the puzzle pieces fit.

What makes a person hot with pride.

Read my blog until it all makes sense.

Until the fire feels truly tamed.

Until “the hunterian opiate” becomes a goddamn meme bound into history.

And taught to adolescents at they become unhinged in their cruelty.

…..

But A more peaceful and pleasant world where nobody is that much of an asshole anymore……will still be agonizing.

There’s a lot that can’t mended.

BUT!

But if I’ve found the words to describe the ways most people act

then I’ve achieved my goal.

So many things I may never achieve, that may never work out.

Even this work itself.

After all, the very vibe of insisting you’re the key to more peace,

is absolutely tied to the hunterian opiate you already have.

It’s a circular endeavor.

Claim you are the key to more goodness and decency and the other person’s heart will stir with that such stern air of exhaustion and appreciation.

You’re feeling a bit wry right now, aren’t you? Stranger reading this post for the first time?

REJECT THAT

and read read read read read read read read

read read read read read read this blog for for me.

No matter how unprofessional it seems, just do it.

I beg you.

Or would you rather continuing wading in the muck of

“wow, much asshole, wow, much nice person” that comes upon your heart every day as you lurk a forum for 5 hours?”

I’m offering you a way out of this mess.

I’m proposing a real, actual solution.

I am not fucking around when I say my writing stands above any and all attempts to explain what makes a person feel “inexplicably infallible”.

I say it’s the lock and key! If human beings getting along could ever exist

this or something nearly identical to it

is the means by which!

The very means by which.

If actual harmony comes about,

from my philosophy laid out,

then I’ll be the happiest person who ever breathed.

So I await that time.

Await with all the fervor of a madman discovering time travel.

And I do hope I’ve unlocked something in your head, just now,

which keeps you from ever complimenting or insulting anyone

with quite the same sense of civilized satisfaction as before.

So that actual civility may find its legs.

Do you crave a new era? Then read, read, read this blog, you must and shall.

Of course, the honor of creating mere dents in the lack of understanding of why people feel like very not assholes is an honor so great that I would swoon unto the very clouds.

I see so little of it these days, how could I not succeed?

Now comes the mad laugh.

Goodbye for now, my loves.

Until my next post I hope to bring many of you here.

Now, all revisions complete, I storm forward with my dank rainbow.







THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 9/13/21 – The Childrens Coaster Nexus

L1’s words of wisdom..

Do you remember going on those little rides when you were 5 years old?

I’ve gotten nostalgic for the feel of them.

Real roller coasters are behemoths of plastic and steel,

generally with shapes that are based upon practical purpose.

But those rides for tots have all sorts of classical shit.

Boats. Fire trucks. Motorcycles. Elephants. Dragons. Probably pandas, at least somewhere.

The vehicles have a realistic texture. The creatures are sometimes to scale.

They feel like antiques, which adds to the mischief and a sense of premature adulthood.

This gives me the hunterian opiate. Complimenting something which is really much cheaper and in most ways inferior.

Giving something too much credit while knowing you are. Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to explain for over a year.

The tiny boats especially get me. So very nautical in just a small ring to nowhere.

I rode real roller coasters when I was 13 and 14. I went to Six Flags: Great Adventure. I’d seen those ads since kindergarten. It really lives up to the hype.

They really don’t add much to the coasters to give them an individual flair of the artistic kind. I’m sure they’re planned to have a soul of their own, based upon how many winding loops there are or how sharp the angles are.

Basically, the coaster is the experience, the way it feels when you move, combined with its paint job, and the frilly bony edges on whatever fragments of the coasters are available.

They still have quite some majesty despite feeling so lacking in creativity in form.

Your heart swoons, wondering, what combination of technical marvels, creative input, and available resources made this roller fucking coaster possible to even get built? It’s not really love, it’s more like the hunter in you getting comfortably jealous.

These rides help keep you motivated. They give you strength so universally.

I remember there was a kiddie park near me that got shut down just as I was getting too old for that kind thing. They had some nice fucking helicopters.

I felt 15 feet off the ground, but it was probably more like 6.

Little kids know the rides are replicas, but they’re still very satisfying. Kids play with toys despite knowing they’re fake. Maybe it’s preparation for knowing that everything doesn’t quite have the value that it presents.

Kids don’t just play with toys because of a sensory need. They want to have some power over something while also being gentle and accommodating.

I don’t write about children much. But I think maybe we need to see what gives them the deepest satisfaction to understand what makes adults feel like not assholes. To tame the shit out of us, and maybe not be bastards to those young enough to actually be called innocent.

Basically, what I’m saying is, adults at their worst feel like they have the inquisitive and careful energy of kids. So the hardest thing is telling an adult that they’re a tyrant.

You want to know who has the sickest aesthetic? Those creepy 50-cent rides, with the misshaped bootleg Mickey Mouse and shit like that. Those are pieces of art. I mean, they’re probably mass produced with little sincerity at this point. Or, maybe they were sincere, back when some guy really made it his craft.

So I’m just trying to be funny. Trying to make your head hot. Trying to relieve your heart. Trying to make you aware of your hunterian opiate.

Trying to put you directly inside the seat of everyone you dislike, or even your older self. So that nothing anybody else does gives you ire that pushes you to the internet to rave about it.

Looking back, that’s probably what the earliest roller coasters were. Super fancy and weird with very little depth in how the object moves compared to your ordinary rail car.

At various points in roller coaster-construction history, I’m sure you’ll find lots of adapting to the impractical sort of shape of a passenger’s car-thingy, rather than the design of the ride coming first.

That’s very hunterian opiate-inducing, wouldn’t you say? Artistic flair and competent construction grinding against each other like flint and metal. Always bound together a bit.

How very much an emotion of its own.

You daydream about things perfectly out of place after reading weird, controversial, and awesome posts online all day,

and we don’t even give a name for this coaster in your heart that longs for value.

So before you go for a rolling ride, recognize the warmth in your eyes. That’s where all the stuff that makes you feel like not a bad person lies.






THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 9/12/2021 – The Sbarro Chicken Maneuver (an ultra diary)

L1’s words of wisdom….

The woman behind the counter at my local Sbarro is really nice.

Yeah, I go there, because Popeye’s is too salty and I’m trying to eat less meat.

But of course I still do. Waiting for that laboratory shit.

Anyway, when I gonna get baked ziti, mixed vegetables, and roasted chicken.

I asked for the chicken because it was on the right. I mean, I was on the right.

She put the delicious, skinny, liquidy chicken on my plastic plate.

I decided, suddenly, profoundly, to tell her to put it back.

I explained I couldn’t eat the whole thing.

Which was weird to do, since I knew I could just take the rest home. But let me tell you, this was a lot of fucking chicken. Like 11 cutlet pieces in one huge two-piece hulk of a part.

I figured someone else would have been better off. Someone hungrier, someone more eager to chow down. With no veggie burgers in their fucking fridge.

The Hunterian Opiate describes my actions pretty well. It’s the emotion we don’t talk about, you know. The fire in your head that makes you feel valuable and interesting.

You could say that I was going too far while also holding back. I was only kind of connecting myself to the woman in front of me. It was a mischievous thing to do, a mature thing to do. Like I was invoking my own power, but also doing something really fucking reasonable and practical.

If you want to know what the fuck I’m talking about, read the rest of this blog, trust me, you won’t regret it.

Anyway, this very eager and alert (but kind of suave?) young lady put that piece of meat on someone else’s plate. And replaced my serving with something a lot smaller.

I don’t know if it was because she had also received a roast chicken request, or because she knew someone else was of course going to get some goddamn chicken as well.

In this moment I felt really connected with her. Mostly because it was an example of her being like a hunter as well, with her heart on fire.

That’s what retail work is, you know. I haven’t had a retail job but I’ve waded in similar muck. There’s so much fucking shit people do in that line of work that isn’t appreciated enough. I’m not even trying to be funny or cool. I think retail work is the most poorly analyzed thing about the entire human experience. And the reason we don’t talk about it in school is because it’s filled with literally all the shit you learn how to do or how to be in order to get the fuck by.

Which in my opinion is really just connecting people to stuff in a way that feels adequately non-rigid. Yeah, that’s what’s makes a person worthy of hiring. And feel like very far from useless.

Anyway, in case you haven’t put the pieces together yourself, let me explain. She had the hunterian opiate inside her hotter than the reheated pizza 9 feet away from us. I could just tell.

Because when somebody asks you to not give them something you asked for, it’s kind of both humble and ungrateful. It’s an act of adapting, it’s a demand, it’s sometimes an act of altruism. It’s rich fuckin’ shit.

And maybe she could have refused and told me off about wanting a change in my chicken. Or maybe asked if I was sure if I wanted less food. She could have said nothing and given me a dirty look. She could have done anything.

But that’s not what happened. She swapped those chicken chunks so fucking fast. I honestly might have felt a real connection right then and there.

Because I could tell, that as a human, she was familiar with the weird and frustrating possibilities in the very near future when a customer asks for that kind of service.

Here’s another angle. The pile-vat of chicken or whatever is really kind of a mess. You can’t really gaze into it and request a specific piece.

So maybe it’s to be expected people might not be content with the chicken they get. It’s very random. It’s not like KFC, where you’re specific on which fucking body parts you want in your cardboard chicken carrier.

Yeah, I think that’s it. There’s a whole exciting and rich point of emotional activity and tactical competence when somebody is like “I don’t want that piece of chicken.” And it’s always the chicken of course. Ziti is far too homogeneous. And with vegetables, it’s usually a matter of somebody saying “pick away the broccoli” before consummating the acts.

If I wasn’t so proud of myself for articulating my frustrations with the world, I’d be really upset. But the way things are going I feel like the only person who’s done a half-decent job at breaking down this type of public interaction.

Basically, this was a moment filled with ass-tons of friction. And it’s the type of thing that makes people’s heads and hearts get warm. When they do stuff that borders on extremely proper and highly unnecessary. On both side, both food-demander and slop server.

Sbarro, for me, tastes like school pizza made perfectly and with tons of care. Or maybe restaurant food with just the right excess of saucy sodium delights and little regard given to feeling neat.

Anyway, I can tell you, this lady really deserves whatever positive feedback she gets. She wrapped up my food real nice. Did someone teach her or did she put her own spin on it? Was she glad to do it because work was ending? Was she comforted by how patient I seemed with her? Or dreading if I didn’t like the way she crammed my ample leftovers into a different container?

I could have totally asked her to just stick it back in the other plate. I wasn’t confident the chicken (yeah I could barely eat 2/3 of the meal I got) would fit into the other container. But I just remained patient. I did my best to be not an asshole. But you know I get off on feeling like some vaguely royal gentleperson.

People are hungry, they want to eat. But they also want to feel like the opposite of assholes. I see it everywhere, I really do. Fucked up things happen because of that desire. I think, for me and her, in that situation, both of us succeeded at doing things properly. But in a way nobody would really directly congratulate.

But that’s what I’m doing right now motherfuckers. This is my “hunterian opiate” diary where I analyzed the mega fuck out of awkward fast food pleasantries. For the sake of de-shitty-ifying our actions.

So that we can fucking see the weird thin space between atrocious unpleasantries and pleasant non-atrocities.

Some salty cookies from the cookie house might have made the meal better, but would I have then missed the timing for this situation?

If you’re feeling warm, that’s just your hunter.

THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 9/8/21 – The Silent Honor of Enforcing Licenses Explains Nearly Everything

Writing about licenses is a bit of a strange thing for me to do.

I don’t really have a license to do anything. Never really acquired one.

And when it comes to ID cards….I’ve already written about that before.

But right now I can’t think of a better way to articulate what’s inside of me.

With everything I’ve lost and gained, I want to be able to see the pieces of the puzzle that is us, sprawled upon the ground, and for you to play the video backwards to put it all together.

Are you by any chance familiar with the “loicense” meme?

If not, please do look it up.

Yes, it calls out how egregious it is to enforce the needing of some proof of payment or competence or past completed transaction….for a person to be somewhere, or acquire something.

And as such the silly fad we’ve made provides us catharsis.

But there’s something soft and pale, isn’t there? Inside the heart of Mr. Loicense, interrogating you or punishing you for only kind of relevant shit?

Something as uncuttable as gas. A proud, calm feeling in the chest.

A sense that what he’s doing isn’t wrong despite this.

You do not cut through that. You don’t make him bad about himself.

The adrenaline rises in him. The security as well.

The meme mends your pain, but the strong will remains.

….

If you want to know how to actually articulate that kind of unbreakable state of confidence in dignity despite apparent belligerence

you’re going to need nothing less than a concept entirely unprecedented in its aptitude.

You’ll need the Hunterian Opiate.

You can call me an egomanic, like the people who tell you you can’t find real happiness or love or productivity without engaging in their particular ways of doing things. I know it sounds that way. But with complete confidence I’m saying, without this concept, all that you consider “asshole behavior” to be, will be done without shame.

A man somewhere is being blamed for storing trash in his car without a license. And it sets your mind on fire. And you try to find the words to express frustration and all you get is slang like “asshole”.

And the world does change. Our hearts do bend. Bad situations find a way to mend. But all you need to do is look at internet threads and you’ll see…..satisfying words to criticize humanity do not yet exist. Satire remains a milquetoast solution.

People remain feeling upright and honorable despite their egregiousness.


Okay, let’s get right to the point. I’ll try and hand you the Rubik’s Cube.

1. We all agree that requiring some kind of documented proof to be able to do anything is a bit wild and unnecessarily constrictive on individuals and groups.

HOWEVER! We all agree that relying on a document as evidence of someone’s actions, is quite the nifty and convenient thing.

2. We all agree that lacking mercy in the enforcement of needing a license is somewhat savage and unwarranted.

HOWEVER! We all agree that letting everybody off scot-free leads to social chaos.

3. We all take some degree of pride in the pieces of evidence that show we have done and may do things others find valuable.

HOWEVER! There are plenty of things we do without the proper amount of experience or or the right kind of permission.

4. There are plenty of people we admire who do things exactly the way we think they shouldn’t do them.

HOWEVER! There are those who overstep the boundaries of what we consider badass exceptions of social conventions.

5. The actions required to get a license to partake in anything tend to cause anguish in their difficulty.

HOWEVER! We all take joy in hard-fought achievements and doing things we wished we didn’t have to do.

Please, let the pieces in your head shift.

…….

Basically, what I’m saying is, that the reason you can’t criticize Mr. Loicense is because inside of his actions, is, to him at least,

the essence of the ability to get around the annoying bullshit other people do.

The person egregiously enforcing rules they know are egregious

feels as though they’ve accomplished whatever that mysterious stuff is that makes you not an asshole.

That’s literally all we’ve been trying to figure out through popular culture and mass media, isn’t it?

Trying to answer why people feel like the anti-asshole.

Deep down you know that comforting heat is the source of that which you call vile.

It explains the futile but effective tenderness in all the most advanced attempts at taming

THE HUNTER THAT IS US.

……..

To enforce a license is just as excessive as it is reasonable, and as such even this stereotypical agent of the law feels like an adaptive someone on the hunt, much more than a bully or a toady of a higher order.

To go around making sure physical materials become the proof of a proper way to sell a good or service, he feels like a mastery of the connected and unconnected nature of everything.

Mr. Loicense is as bewilderingly sincere as anyone you really respect.

And of course, taking up what feels like encouraging justice as well as providing mere satisfaction of his employer,

makes that unspoken kind of security

that makes the working human feel very much not shitty.

Somewhere between sincere justice and desperation for competence is where the heart of an employee lies.

Can you relate to his savory heart?

The weirdly endearing warmth in your head that makes you fond of the Mr. Loicense stereotype…..makes you feel as though, someday, this criticism will bring us together.

You know the people that piss you off burn with a sense of purpose that is actually kind of a civil inferno.

You’re constantly trying to put it together.

So you look for a name to call it.

I’m calling in the opiate of the hunter.

Although I’ve called it some other things as well.

(you can dive deep into this blog if you like, my friend)

How else did we ever get a passion for doing things, a passion unmatched by other species?

How did we ever do all this?

Congratulating and condemning excess and restraint.

Overvaluing and undervaluing at once.

Affixing actions and items to people so very loosely.

Helping things be civilized with just the right level of weirdness.

Feeling like the proper version of an out of place creep.

Ready to get around what feels like someone else’s trashiness.

That hunter’s justified egomania!

That very silent honor.

The wordless joy.

I want to hug it and cool it off.

Because you don’t need a license to change the fucking world.









THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 8/22/21 – THE HETERO-NORMATIVE ECSTASY (FIRE WITH FIRE)

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?

We’ve been up to it for decades.

Trying, desperately, passionately, intelligently, carefully, recklessly, beautifully,

to try and have everyone be treated just like they are someone

with no alternative attractions.

We try and try we try, and we succeed, and we fail, and we fail, and succeed, and succeed, and the failure finds a plateau. And billions remain on the other side.

Let me crack the code for you. Let me show you what does not get breached.

Let me explain the fire you can’t fight fully with fire.

Let me stop you from hanging onto the cliches of “hate” and “bigotry”

so that one day, the referents of them may indeed be properly destroyed.

You have to deconstruct the happiness.

You have to calmly negate the joy.

You must obliterate the feelings of specialness.

You need to look someone in the eyes and say without speaking,

“I get why you feel interesting and lovely.”

Within he or she who staunchly defends the sheerly normal sexual identity

are the same warm, colorful feelings.

The sense of something so hectic and tumultuous as the relationships among men and women managing to produce a typical stable family life makes them feel gorgeous.

Finding a place of stability and strength within those dynamics of lust and personality feels wonderfully outrageous.

The weirdness of wanting to belong with, or physically consummate with, and even support with all your might, someone who is like the other half of humanity, feels like such an unusual and powerful thing. And the way it all leans toward the act of reproduction is strangely tender and humbling.

Do you feel a little bit nauseous? Do you feel closer to that who you’ve made out to be the villain?

Don’t. They are the antagonist of a fairer future. But you can’t fight them like this anymore. It’s not working.

Their passion is not invalid. But even so, it must be taken care of, so that people don’t suffer the indignity of their mischief. And the blight of their maturity.

Things will change when you can make someone feel as though they have the power to civilize. You can tell them right to their face you hate what they are doing.

But just make them feel like they are hunting for dignity, and they won’t fight you in quite the same way.

People go too far when they hold back. They only kind of connect people to anything.

There is always friction, there is always tension.

A hunter’s sense of adaptability. A civilized sense of flexibility.

A knowledge that anything you do may be egregious.

Stare the heteronormative defender in their face with the look of “I get you.” Don’t let them even give you adrenaline.

Their passion for being connecting, loosely, to some ideal sexual nature,

is not too different for yours of being validated for something you wish was not seen as a defiance.

As such, you mire in the flames of “new and special” versus “classic and traditional”. Just as they do, even the most anti-progressive of us.

If you can show you have the same kind of friction inside you, they’ll be endeared by you without even knowing it.

That’s what’s already happened, right? Let’s keep moving onward.

And as for those who’ve taken up the mantle of “gender” as a means for being liberated from the expectations of your sex…..well….I don’t know how far you’ll ever get.

There are a lot of reasons your battle resembles the battle to destroy that such endeavor.

Being connected and not connected to that which is and is not like you,

making demands that are really quite intense but also really modest in a lot of ways,

and trying to win the games of laws and demographics….

when you look at the way the world is, I have no clue if you’ll ever get as far as you think.

I surmise, in a world where you can’t make people call you smart or nice or interesting,

guiding or coercing others to call you male or female or neither or both…..is quite the heavy order.

Enough to make you feel beyond crushed.

But to that, I say,

just try and see the rainbows in the mind of the people who frustrate you the most,

exploit them into coming closer to your side.

Maybe interact with them in a steadier and more graceful way,

and this very big, bombastic cultural mission

might go a lot more smoothly.

I’ll continue trying to find ways to criticize the most average and uninteresting of us,

so that those with the most interesting but innocent complications might be treated a fuckton better.

Perhaps the real obstacle is culture itself,

and without it you’d have won the battle already.

And that’s all I’ll say, as the world itself transitions.

THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 8/20/21- The Kamehameha Kid

I was going outside the other day….I heard a child screaming vigorously.

He must have been the child of one of the men working at the grocery store.

Upon closer inspection, he was imitating Goku, you know, from Dragon Ball Z.

Firing out that energy blast. Having his friend fall down.

Connected, but not connected, to a favorite character of his.

Like a super ultra mega flying warrior….holding back, even when going too far…that such holding back inspiring further power.

I snickered in amusement at how young he sounded. But then I remembered….it’s 2021. He’s about 8 years old.

The father could very easily be a fan of subtitled anime.

And Japanese Goku sounds like a grandmother….since he is voiced by a grandmother.

So, perhaps, this child, growling almost like a motor vehicle,

firing the imaginary blue turtle-inspired wave, could have easily been enticed by how much he did indeed sound like that such protagonist.

How amusing….for the one in younger years…to be more capable of mimicking true physical strength, and in many ways, extremely admirable persistence.

Of course, children and adults are both steeped in the awkwardness of responsibility….doing your homework, saving the universe, so many nervous laughs, so many sour moments of shame.

Our hair really does glow yellow, doesn’t it? Too often I think what will bring us together is not our love, or our rage, but a sense of a need to be a worthwhile being.

We really can relate to those who defend the universe not as a goal….but as what happened to take place as powerful creatures exploit other powerful creatures.

The power in your hands….burns brightest from the friction that comes with knowing all power is not all power.

But someone must win the beam struggle, no matter how modest the hunt of yours.

Inspired amusement and utter craving for valuable action, how they are so alike.

Oh wait, perhaps he was just watching an earlier season before those beam struggles became iconic. In the case of which, I’d again have some the hunter-y amusement at my own folly.

You’ve got to admire the narrative of this franchise, however. The stakes get higher and higher, the people stronger and stronger. And it remains beloved. So the hunts go on and on.

Anything at all being a superpowered warfare.

A Banjo-Kazooie Mood – THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 5/8/21

There was a long gap of time between the first time I played Banjo-Kazooie as a child (intermittently, at my cousins’ house) and when I played it to completion as an adult.

I could say a lot of things about how my older self wasn’t nearly as enthralled by the whole thing, having far too much experience in gaming and in life. And how utterly enchanting the very space of the game and the challenge of jumping was, back when I was about 9 years old.

But today I will give you one example of how a video game illustrates my little philosophical breakthrough rather well.

To put it simply, you are given allowed to witness the beautiful device with which a world that you visit very late into the game shall be unlocked. Unlike most of these paintings, in which you must insert the puzzle pieces that you have been collecting so strenuously, this one does not appear relatively close to the level it unlocks, nor does it appear at a time in which you are likely to have the items to complete the collecting ritual with.

The lovely world known as Click Clock Wood is presented to you far before can you enter it, or even see it. The area around the platform where the jiggie-insertion-allowing-tablet shall be manifested is a preview of what’s to come, but you cannot directly witness an image of the sprawling zone.

As you dream of what such a setting does entail, how to access it, how hard it will be to complete, whether or not you might even find it, and the accomplishments of the you in the future, a sense of awe and wonder is marinated very much.

Yes indeed, this, more or less, the lovely land which you must explore to truly finish the video game that you eagerly purchased for your innovative new Nintendo 64. The payoff really is worth it….I mean, the “four versions of the level for each season” mechanic is done just as beautifully as even with with no gaming experience might expect. Your achievements in one season carry over to a later season, and you can sink in the warm melancholies of the passage of time in a virtual space, that by the standards of pre-2000, was absolutely opulent.

But I have something to add…not something large. And that is this.

The sense of magic and mystery you get from aching to find that forbidden setting, when only being given a preview of it in a cozy intimate room inside that game,

produces a spark in you, and that comes from seeing things be both connected and disconnected in a fabulous sort of way.

There’s just something that the oddness of the final level of the game having its proverbial keyhole so very far away produces within a gamer.

That magic of connected disconnection is at the heart of nearly anything that a person would possess bewildering admiration for.

That bewilderment for the disconnected and connected stimulates the urge to explore an unfamiliar place, to craft experiences within a new setting.

As you daydream of such a place, your heart seems to swoon, with melancholy and joy, with feelings of past becoming future, irritation and appreciation, even shame for feeling such as urge to move forward, and modesty knowing that

this is the type of “hunting” that has been handed to you an a silver platter.

And as such, relieves the urge to make mischief as you could not in the social hells of early childhood.

People go too far when they hold back, and when they hold back, they still go too far.

And sometimes we just want to do it in a space with no real consequences.

I guess that’s….part of why I don’t get that much dopamine from Banjo-Kazooie anymore.

Aside from being good at jumping well,

I became someone that wanted to badly to get my hunter’s high where consequences really mattered, and I could unlock things inside of people, rather than cartridges.

But sometimes, you’ve just got to sit on the floor of a giant tree, lie down, and let the leaves take you over.

Become more like who you were before you could get anyone to play games involving appreciation or respect.

Sink deep into a woodland dream.

Hunt for something real another time.

Find your wicked witches to shoot eggs at when you’ve collected all the things within the wood.

For time is bound to pass.

Store Fronts are Interesting as F*** – THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 4/24/21

Aren’t store fronts pretty interesting?

As long as their name is there, they’re like advertisements for themselves.

Of course, it would be hard for this not to be the case.

When you possess a space, you’re going to use it to your sheer advantage.

A store front barks out at you to come inside, to spend your money, to devote yourself to the possibility of acquiring a good or service.

But it doesn’t move. It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t haggle.

Stores and shops don’t require any one specific person, and yet, it absolutely needs a few.

The store’s signs, all day and night, remain connected to whomever put them there.

They remain a beacon, connecting some shop owner’s dream of subsistence, to your dream of getting an item you didn’t know you needed.

The purchase-based establishments seem to glow despite being frozen.

Riding past a store you know you’ll likely never walk in, you feel somewhat forlorn, that such an exchange of wills and possibilities will likely not take place.

Perhaps you arrange a day simply to explore that part of town.

And you would, my friends, be acting on The Hunterian Opiate.

Enticed by the possibility of creation of value, soothed by content with not creating any such bliss.

Riding the line between interference and and assistance, selfishness and productivity,
you feel like a beast with balance.

Oh, I wish the world would come into my shop.

The One-Bite-Into-Other-Half-of-a-Sandwich Theorem- THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 4/20/21

This world we live would be a better place if everyone could simply deconstruct the moment in which a person,

eating at Subway or what have you, having finished half of their sandwich,

comes to the juncture of either eating a little more of the second half of the sandwich,

or resisting and not proceeding to bite.

Just one or two or three bites are taken, but the contradictions are so rich. They even add to the flavor, you could say. Can you feel THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE appetize you? It’s in your cells, it’s what makes you human.

You have eaten those few bites into the second half, my dear human who would never actually eat the footlong, but can rarely resist eating more than 6 inches.

You have broken a promise to your well-eating self….but it’s of little consequence as far the amount of matter ingested, unless you’re very calorically particular,

You have deprived yourself of increased future nourishment with the trimming away of your saved next meal….but what you do with the current nourishment may become energy invaluable!

You have given into an indulgence, but such may be the purpose of the comforts of fast food, wouldn’t you say? Is excess in consumption not in some ways, utterly essential?

Through those few bites, You might have possibly gone overboard just enough so that the effects on your health are negative….however, it isn’t like you’ve interfered with any other healthy eating choices you had planned on adhering to.

If you had done differently, your stomach might be growling, interfering with your productivity.

If you had resisted, you could savor the neatness of the shape of an unbitten half, so trivial but so essential to the satisfaction of organizing things!

If you had made sure not to eat those few pieces of the second half, it would be like you didn’t come anywhere close to eating the entire thing. You weren’t going to, but it represented that. So you feel shame. But it’s not shame because it’s a small thing. But small things are still big. So you don’t know what to say. Except that you get hot with the hunterian opiate. Hotter than hot coffee. You burn and simply go about your day, ready to treat the world with such similarly rich contrast, and pseudo-satisfaction gained from choices that kind of matter, great depth in your ability to feel the friction brought about.

As vile actions you resent contain the same amount of tamed infernos, and you fail to bring about your own dream of social justice,

you and them simply act on the cravings of a hunter who knows what it means to go too far while holding back,

fight and flight taking the same shape,

indulgence and temperance being nearly the same.

The stuff of unbreakable unspoken cultural mores.

The heat of the universe, as revealed by none but yours fucking truly.

Of course, things get more complicated than this.

But I want the anguish of social beings reduced in some way.

And it begins with you, thinking about what makes you feel so special. Which you are and are not in 10 trillion ways.

The Freakiness of Inheriting Oneself THE HUNTERIAN OPIATE 4/15/21

Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it strange?

You can inherit things from your own self.

Your past self gives things to your future self,

somewhat based upon its dreams and predictions,

also based upon things it never really chose to do.

Past and present, present and future.

Preparation and improvisation.

Gratitude for yourself that feels excessive.

And also like it’s not nearly enough.

Right now what’s keeping me here is:

the desire to be #1.

There are magnificent creatures out there I could never cure,

even with my ability to unravel their contradictions.

Some of us long for healing of a type so egregiously artsy,

it makes a general approach to deconstructing humans as a whole

not even worth its weight to that individual.

It’s a real tragedy.

That being said, I ache for a world

where nobody bats an eye at what gives “normal” people so much balanced-feeling righteousness.

There exists someone for whom I will always have been a #2.

And there remain many agonies to mend inside of a world where nobody

is an abject piece of shit.

But for us to get there, I will strive to be #1.

I will strive to be the first.

The only one who transmuted words to describe

all the things that endear you and frustrate you

about most other human beings.

But I’ve been here a while, with little intimate feedback.

So I’m whittling it down to one concept: The Hunterian Opiate.

If you want to engage with me, with this, take that approach. Focus on this concept.

What is it, you ask?

The heat inside your head and the warmth in your heart

based upon, empowered by, these six contradictions:

#1- Everything is linked and un-linked to some degree, and this is a very intricately and contentiously exploitable aspect of reality. You’ll see it in parenting, art, industry, and government, but it’s all that same kind of rage-worthy joy.

#2- The weaving of events out of space and time never provides a true validation for any human intention, but it’s the closest thing, making goals so enticing to have.

#3- Value is a ridiculous thing to ascribe to anything, and can’t be quantified, but this makes us long to try and produce more of it.

#4- Having power over anyone is never complete, and as such, there’s always a difference between you and the idealized version of human cruelty. This is the mystery behind what’s called most evil.

#5- Doing good things for other people is a complete shitshow, and when people can be the right kind of incompetent, that’s when people feel the most secure. This is what makes someone the most easily offended- when they don’t appreciate their heartfelt sloppiness.

#6- When something is perfectly appropriate but also extremely out of place, that’s what makes a person glow with wordless amusement, and that’s the hardest thing to criticize anyone for feeling- the things that make them smile like someone who’s seen everything.

Put these six things in a can and drink them enough, you’ll learn to see joy-in-one’s culture as the adversary of a better future.

Want to know why the hell I just said that? Well, go and read Language Shock: Understanding The Culture Of Conversation.

There’s a creepy foe of better human behavior stalking everywhere.

People by the tens or hundreds or millions act in ways that feel cool and interesting and brutal and unfair, and they mysteriously agree on it.

It’s all that lovely, nasty stuff that lies just inside our emotional cells. It’s that magical self-endearment that people pass onto each other indirectly that makes things like social justice unfortunately not quite all that effective.

Culture shock is the barbed wire in the way of world peace. It’s not the cause, but it’s the one thing that’s held up the most due to being tackled so messily.

But let’s digress. I’m here to teach you about The Hunterian Opiate, the fire in you that makes you feel completely not worthy of contempt, as an adult, trying to be dignified.

My ambition is that by reading these ten posts,
you’ll be able to tranquilize the hunter that we are.

The excess, the restraint, the selfishness, the altruism, the exploitation, the detachment…

it all meshes into an orange blaze, doesn’t it? And it’s the thing you can’t describe or deconstruct. I’m here to perform that impossible task.

I’m here to negate the flame in your heart when your hear somebody talk about “doing impossible things”,

so that it can be lit again under a banner of an actually tamed human will.

Because it’s obvious mystic people and political radicals have yet to really do that.

And psychologists and satirists are failing even more embarrassingly at advancing things.

But they do help me see the shape with the skies.

I’m wishing to map this atom of the common person’s overwhelming sense of “totally not being egregious despite seeming very egregious”.

Whatever emotions you’re feeling right now reading this,

as some stranger is claiming the power to change the whole word,

are exactly the type of thing you need have the best grasp of, a strong way to articulate,

to get closer to being able to

successfully navigate people in a state you find the most despicable.

As I have inherited my own overwhelming desires and converted them into these statements,

I hope you inherit my statements and convert them into the ability to

actually really, finally, be able to see what makes you feel

richly, warmly, unbreakably good about yourself,

and tame your most contentious will.

In a way that makes every other pop psychology suggestion seem laughably inadequate.

In short, I repeat, it’s about this. It’s about you doing this.

“Over-valuing that which lacks value, proudly so, connecting people loosely to the actions of themselves and others, staunchly so, and doing this in a way that feels perfectly out of place, allowing you yourself to feel like you’ve risen above being shitty.”

My posts will not be long. I won’t add new vocabulary.

They may be short and swift. They will be more appealing.

When the time is right, they will come often.

Maybe soon, when the time feels right, I’ll go to the town square and hold up a sign

telling you to know about The Hunterian Opiate.

Because what the fuck else is a person to do

when they have access to many eyes?

When the essence of protesting itself is what one wishes to make not necessary anymore.

Now before you close this window, do yourself a favor and finish learning about The Hunterian Opiate. It won’t take more than a half hour. Come on, do it.

Take that extreme frustration with the world’s stagnation and fix it!