2/16/2026 - Embarassed cats attempt a beginning

  I want to make a blog.

  This has historically been impossible for me to do due to not liking myself. Here is a blog post, this is a big step for me. Yay.

  There are few things harder for me than to identify myself with language. I often identify myself with the words I make, as if they are the most concrete evidence of me. There are many wordless events on the plane which includes a 'me' section, as they progress they leave behind relics or recordings. Like text. My life is not like text but it is through text that evidence of life can be confirmed and shared. As far as anyone can possibly be concerned with here, I am text, text can be a window for animating your imagination of me but the co-ordinates you use are entirely text and blog, refuse, excrament. Bataille may say the dead body is excrament deficated by the life of the species, the living body is also excramentally deposited by a life: leftover images, shockwaves, odors, free for public interpretation and exploitation. What's left can be considered a wound insofar as an asshole is an open scar across a smooth bulb or the sun is moved by wind, variations on a bad trip. What's left is trauma and empathy.

  So like this blog is at least as much of me as my body and I dislike sharing or looking at either. I am terribly vunrable to anorexia. I have been informed that this is a problem. So I am writing a blog entry. In the past the easiest way I have been convinced into doing something is through masocism. This has progressed to the point that my instinct in convincing others to do something is to give a variation of "it will hurt more if you". I do not know how to explain masochism, it has been as basic to me as the desire to exist. I am reminded of Negarestani's concept of mind as deprivatised sociality. Personal pain and breath over body are luxuries of a personal selfhood or humanity it is increasingly seeming. What happens when pain is abandoned for a habit of laying out an impersonal corpus.

  What if people being nice and respectful and egalitarian and stuff was actually based antihumanist to the max yo. Blog posting is a revolution against myself as a private estate, opening up the basement for squatters. You can't controil me mom, I WILL BE MYSELF. Myself is a statue not the writer and what's so wrong with marble statue planet anyways. The buldings are not nearly tall enough yet, not nearly disperse enough. The labrynth not nearly dizzying enough. Fueled by resentment of being unlost enough to look to be found I am gingerly stepping on the diary-travelator. Yeah basically I have a blog. Feel fear.

  I am just hoping that with enough writing down my inane and egotystical confusions they will break away and allow me to say something. I have not felt this awful in months at least. Is it bad to treat your persona as a trash can? Maybe the goal is more like a recycled container-home supercomplex on a garbage island or something. With solarpunk aesthetics, on a garbage island but its like uh sanitised in an eco-friendly way... yeah.

  Yeah!