I'm Alex

[noscuter1]

But then I already knew this, which is why I'd fled overseas. I was running away from everyone, because humans are terrifying things when they're frantic. They get hysterical, and I'm not talking about being funny. They get hysterical that makes you want to slap sense into them, or run for safety from them. It's always hard to know, I default to running away. So at 26, terrified of humanity, continually rejecting applicants who imagined their friendship would be desirable when they struck up small talk (and might have been, if they hadn't insulted me to 'break the ice'), being stalked by Ralph models (which isn't something most would identify with terror, but then these were very pretty girls who were the literal dice of their entire extended families - I'd just slept with them because they were hot, suddenly I'd get 100 unanswered calls and texts of 'caring' - in a fortnight - they wanted to know if I'd eaten, they wanted to remind me to eat? They wanted to get some sleep, so they'd wake me up - constantly. They wanted to tell me they loved me, then - embarrassed - they would renege on their love. The only embarrassing thing was the insanity of loving someone you'd met, and then slept with an hour later. Oh and then messaged 100 SMSs to, concerned about their eating habits. Ostensibly. I understood what was going on, or at least; I figured it out rapidly. I was so terrified, I stopped leaving my apartment for months at a time. Some of the prettiest girls you'd ever see, but I was terrified of all of them. It's hardly their fault, they merely wanted to "catch" someone who could provide for their religious, destitute families who'd rolled all their collective dice on these girls' looks, and they only had a limited time, you see? And because I'm not a pedophile, I realised - some of these unfathomably pretty girls, believed they were nearing the end of the line.

They were pretty old, of course. 19, etc. 20. But this is a very confused world, and the ever-confused queue for purity is the subject for another essay. They were at the end of their imagined 'attractive opportunity timeframe' - this is the important point. And my skin colour qualified me. Period. They fell in love not with my personality, and I literally understood the horrific reality instantly. They fell in love because I'd slammed the door in their faces without realising it. They'd horrified me into slamming shut every door, and every girl was losing their fucking minds. This is the dark nature of human corruption that no one hardly talks about. They were not falling for me. They were stalking me, obsessed. Their obsession was generated by their own insanity, literally and figuratively. I'd have married half these girls, if they were sane. I am - and will always be - incapable of returning an SMS of caring or mothering, if we barely know each other. Too creepy for me. I just run.

They were under a lot of pressure, of course. And they weren't all idiots. Some were really heart-breaking, when they beat themselves up knowing they'd made a mistake. But then what could I tell them, that they hadn't? I'd have not messaged back anyway? I didn't know what to say, when their stalking would get really interactive. And heart-breaking. I tried giving some of them money, but then that wasn't intelligent - in hindsight. You don't want to send signals - quite - that mixed, to insanity. I didn't do that more than a couple times. Poor girls. And poor me. I could only imagine how terrifying my life would be if I was someone who flashed "bling". You see, they knew my skin colour meant I could afford to feed their families in a nation where 90 million victims of religion are divided into the haves (less than 1%) and the have-nots (99%) and 70% of the have-nots lived on under $2/day. If they'd known I was a kid millionaire...I think I'd probably be dead. I was afraid for my life, a few times; and no male family members ever felt the need to get involved. This is more than I can say for some friends, who promptly raced home in terror. Logical fail, or did they think they'd scare love into them?

I shuddered, at the thought - at every thought. I got tired of shuddering non-stop; so I turned off the news. But the shuddering didn't stop. I still had friends, and the only place I ever found peace was on forums giving poker advice to kids who weren't moronic victims of their mothers. Kids who could be told "that's moronic, that play - what you should have done is xxx, for yyy reasons" without falling apart and getting bum-hurt. Many players did exactly that. And instantly, I did the kindest thing I could possibly do. I'd tell them they should give up poker. No one who fails logic that badly should ever play. It's a brutal game. Only a creep would suggest those who get bum-hurt at being told something unoffensive, but imagined by them to be somehow 'mean'; could even stand a chance. They'd get destroyed. I'd tell them this. They'd get horrified.

They wanted me to lie to them. I couldn't possibly see why that would be in my interests. So I didn't.

I'd never been very good at lying. I merely manipulated the truth occasionally, when I was up against the odds and felt I 'needed' to. So I sold my hardship to those who gave me clues they were the pitying time, as stoic or dignified / heroic. I'm not sure it was ever any of those things. I was just surviving. To those who I believed were the sort to respond to a man's man, I faked a remarkably convincing incorrigible rogue. To those who I believed were the sort to respond to sensitivity, I became embarrassingly White Knight or, as I wouldn't have put it to them at the time - quite as delicately - I became hilariously faggot. But then I'd never met one, I just hated them on principle - concerned I might be one. Don't fight the logic of fear.

There isn't any. That's why fear is illogical. But then I'm not being insightful. JFK nailed that insight. I recognised it, when I read it, as one of the most brilliant things I'd ever read. A decade later, I understood it for the first time. I thought JFK was making a point about heroism or something, which he ironically paid the price for, or something. It wasn't until I was 29 when I understood what JFK meant about fear; he didn't mean there aren't dangers, of course we all live at the pleasure of powers we cannot even fathom. JFK was saying, it's moronic to fear what you have no control over. Because in fearing, you become controllable. You become exploitable. You become more afraid.

If you fear, you will be made to be afraid.

Terrified poker players were so easily cut up, it was truly horrifying. Sit down at a table afraid, and you'd probably lost the game right there. Don't get confused, by the idiotic 'corollary'. You cannot win, simply by "being in it, to win it" and by being fearless. You can totally win, playing that way - but then you'll have to be pretty lucky. You almost cannot win, period; if you're too terrified to make a play. I've literally bombed out of tourneys, countless times; being blinded out until it was too late to even get my stack in to run it. This was in the days where I knew how to play, quite well; but the insane pressure I was placing on myself meant I literally forgot I even knew how to play, on occasion. I'm serious. I was chip leader in events like the Ladbrokes 2000 quid entry in Tallinn, Estonia in like 2006 or something. The best field of players I'd ever seen; but then I was right at home - I played these guys every day online. I was chip leader with 10 left and 8 were coming back the next day. I didn't come back. I went out 10th, literally blinding out as short stacks won dozens of consecutive all-ins. In a row. It was hilarious. I forgot poker. I'm 100% serious. I forgot I knew how to play. I might have been - on paper - the best player in the field. But you're not going to do very well - in reality - when you're so afraid you become dysfunctional. You won't play a very good game, no matter how well you can play - on paper.

It's funny. But 7 billion people could use that advice, for the Game of Life.

That's why they killed JFK, and in dying, he proved his point. But everyone got confused. And started doing exactly what he warned them was pointless, which is why the manner in which he was killed was as important to confused power/s as the 'fact' that he had to die. He died for trying to explain away your imbecilic confusion. But then everyone got confused. Everyone became afraid, and he was the last non-traitor President the US has had. Even Jackie became a whore. Oh yOu knOw what I'm talking about. But maybe that's unfair. Maybe she was really in love the 2nd time around?

Hah.

I wonder how impressively - or how often - she had to fake it. Everyone fakes it. This world is moronic, and stopped being sane a long time ago. Pretty sure we were all sane once. We got to the top of a pretty important food chain, by listening to our DNA. We're no longer at the top of that food chain, wake up and look around. Humans are being slaughtered by the tens of millions by a confused new breed: junkies, who've forgotten they're human. And humanity has never been more inhumane.

[noscuter1]

Everyone is faking. It's ridiculous. Everyone is in denial. Almost no one is happy. I've known more kid millionaires (and silver-haired millionaires trying to relive their youth) than surely anyone else - because poker was a freak scourge which I'm unconvinced wasn't a conspiratorial "Brain Drain" - most kid millionaires I knew had big dreams as children; dreams where they contributed, changed the world for the better, became doctors, architects, politicians who cared about their electorate's best interests - no politician who was that 'stupid' would even make the starting line of the race, presently. Corruption is out of control the point where if you prove corruption irrefutably, they call you a 'conspiracy theorist' - what? What kind of counter-argument to logic, is that?

The only kind, when logic is irrefutable. Think about it.

I've known so many kid millionaires who wanted to be something better. And so did I. They were as ashamed as I was, about using their minds to exploit rather than create; we were creating misery rather than manufacturing happiness - and everyone - literally everyone - was miserable. You cannot fail logic that badly and not feel ashamed to the point of denial, and that's where everyone who creates misery ends up; in denial.

Including me, but then for whatever reasons, I was less enthusiastic about marketing the illusion of happy (i.e. faking it) than others in my position. Probably because no one in the world has ever been in my position. All I knew was I was not happy, and that's putting it mildly. I was quite miserable, and horrified by a humanity which no longer seemed human. Everyone is so obsessed with wanting what they can't have, and joking about their insanity ("giggle, I always do end up going for the 'bad' boys" - Bad? You moron. You go for who treats you mean. It's got nothing to do with 'naughty' and everything to do with 'insanity'). I wasn't deluded, about my 'preferences'. I believed I was insane, for preferring greener grass. I seemingly preferred to be miserable, and by 26 I had had quite enough. I was no longer sure there was any logic in faking happiness. I'm not sure I ever believed there could be. But when faced with unknowns, I hedge when it matters a lot to me.

So I alternated between faking it, and being - quite nobly, in hindsight - incredibly revealing. In person, I faked it - constantly. I convinced myself - arguably correctly, but then not really - that faking happiness was my duty to those around me who wanted me to make them happy. Almost, but not quite logical. You shouldn't share your misery, when there isn't any point to doing so. Just like you should share your misery, if you desperately need to be - and can be - helped. You shouldn't fake happiness, for miserable people who expect it of you. Just tell those emo creeps to get screwed.

But in writing, I was brutally honest - with almost everyone, including me. I revealed a great deal, I believed it was my duty to shatter the delusions of morons who thought I was living the dream. I was living their dreams, yes. I was living in a nightmare, partly of their making. Dreamers who cannot take reality who idolise you and demand that you lie to them, are really quite horrifying. But it was primarily dreamers who have the capacity to emulate you, who idolise you, that frightened my apathy into proactively "correcting the record". I don't know if I was able to, but I revealed more about life in the "dream lane" than anyone else I've ever really seen or heard about. I started writing one of the world's most revealing blogs; but I'm not sure anyone even got the endless hints. The entire blog became my "get out of culpability" clause which I felt was needed as a result of meeting some children completely capable of surpassing my 'achievements'. I didn't know what to tell them, but the truth. I would help them, but with endless warnings that I didn't think they were being all that bright in pursuing this reality. My reality.

The thought that I might 'inspire' children to follow their deluded dreams like I had done, made my blog...interesting. Arguably. But I also tried to be as amusing as I was capable of being, when suffering existential pain. I did as best as I was capable of, but I never thought my blog was very funny; but then this is a world in a lot of pain. And people loved it. Because - I think - honesty is secretly or subconsciously craved by everyone in this world of idiotic lies and deceit (even if none of you realise it, what with your small talk and your offence and all your screaming at everyone to "LIE TO ME!"). A lot of people started reading it; which was fine by me, because I had something to say: I wasn't happy. I got scammed. Here is the reality of my miserable existence in this world of petty dreamers. Here's the evidence, the proof. Money can't buy you happiness. I have money. Look what it buys me every day; insanity.

People loved it. I don't think anyone even got it.

I talked about all the tilt of my frustrations with moronic and petty humans every day, who were incapable of acting in their own best interests; but who all believed they were impossibly crafty. I pretended to be ironically petty and occasionally moronic, which was becoming less and less like the reality it never was, every day. I would write rants about imbeciles that would steal the molten out of my chocolate cakes (the highlight of my day, effectively; which they were stealing from me, idiotically - because I wasn't going to just keep buying cakes, was I? They never think that far, humans I mean) and no one understood I was writing silliness with an underlying subtext that wasn't remotely silly at all. I just knew no one would be interested in reading about macroeconomics, or why a moron who thinks they're so crafty because they steal chocolate molten in the kitchen of a Chili's restaurant isn't really being all that crafty, are they? Sure, they have plausible deniability. And what will that be worth when the store goes bankrupt because customers like me were leaving in droves. Morons would lose their jobs, and blame the economy or management or whatever they want to blame when they're too stupid to understand that they're not being crafty by shooting themselves in the foot. But who ever understands these things, in this world of confused bi-polar Orwellian wannabes. I know how shit goes down, in reality. Frustrated morons get drunk at their uselessness, and their inability to provide for their families which they shouldn't have had in the first place; because they take out their frustration and shame on their children / wives / girlfriends:

Don't be horrified. Welcome to the world of domestic violence. What else did you think that shit was about? Pretty sure these guys aren't bright enough to be running game on their wives. Pretty sure everyone is perfectly horrifying when they are surprised at the victims of domestic violence, being unwilling to leave.

Pretty sure, the only thing that separates a victim of domestic violence and someone surprised at why the victim doesn't leave, is a violent partner. Theory.

I created a blog with the express purpose of showing people the realities of their dreams, and I was brutally honest. And no one got it. Literally, no one got it, in years. But thousands - tens of thousands - loved it, so I kept on writing but my heart wasn't in it because people are too moronic to be plausible. And fans will threaten you when they feel let down or disappointed. Which made me laugh, occasionally enough to ramble something silly. And they'd be 'appeased', but then of course they were not being indirectly manipulative - they were just too desperate and tragic to be plausible. And of course, when you deal in truth (and I was not dealing in truth, entirely - I don't think I ever lied, unless I was lying to myself, but I was lying a lot via omission of truths I knew - but then my blog was never intended to be suicidal) - the realities of that is you make a lot of people who are dealing in deceit, angry. But then I was only ever being arguably decent, even with the ones that would get angry at my 'problem' with their exploitation.

[noscuter1]

So in being arguably the most decent I was capable of being (what with my inability to do comedy, without resorting to a tone something like sneering or ridicule) to people like the Hachem brothers (who are vastly more decent than their haters would have you believe - and I was never a hater, I cheered along with any Australian poker player when Joe won his miracle title) - I made occasional snide comments but only because they were mixed up in campaigns of deception (and I had no motive to be sleazy like so many 'pros' are, in ways too horrifying to be believed, unless seen - and no one wants to see sleaze like the creepy filth I'm talking about, where pros validate mysticism, promote deception, defend their new 'friends' incorrect logical assertions when others attempt to correct their misperceptions - facts become heavily debatable suddenly (even mathematics, sigh) and debatable assertions are debated like dogma, whilst insanity was ignored or outright defended ("Hey man, if he says his lucky locket with a picture of his angel helps him win with 75 because that's her birthdate, then you have some god damn nerve insulting him and his beautiful family and calling him a liar - some nerve - no I'm sorry <xxx> I know you don't mind, you're a gentleman but little rude offensive shits with no motive but trying to get under your skin by insulting you and your family - I apologise everyone, but where I come from, the values I've been raised with - we don't stand for that sort of thing." - do you know the type I'm talking about here? Who might respond that way to a kid who snorts at idiotic mysticism without realising he's fucking with a creep's game of exploitation, and in feeling compelled to say something rather than silently nod like everyone else who thinks "jesus christ! What a moron!" - and so, being the only non-creep at dinner, might say something like "um that's kinda ridiculous - I hope you're being ironic." At which point, the creep with explode in fury. I've seen this so many times, it's ridiculous. No, I wasn't bright enough to act in my own self-interests when I'd see stuff like this. I was usually one of the ones awkwardly silent, wishing I hadn't come to the stupid dinner or whatever. But do you see how the Truth was framed there, by the creep? This shit happens all the time in front of your face, non-stop. But then why would you be interested in politics, when politics is interested in you? Hardly makes sense caring about you, or else you would - right? Politics, poker and life is full of 'friends' like these who 'care' about your feelings - endless insulting, patronising shit which should insult you even if you genuinely thought they were looking out for you. Because do you need a mother, my little Sailor Man? Pretty sure you can take care of yourself; but then I wouldn't really know that for a fact, when you're being sucked dry by leeches. As literally everyone is, in this confused world of friends gumming on friends. And lying to everyone, but only because "it's in their best interests". No one can handle the Truth, and if you're wondering why, it's because you had a very confused childhood - and very confused parents, who in looking out for you, screwed up a lot of stuff for you. Like happiness. But don't get emotional. We're only talking about unimportant things, right?

The existence of these kinds of creeps, in hindsight, might actually be something of a mitigating argument I'd overlooked, in defence of Joe and Tony - because no doubt they would have been descended upon by these sorts of creeps the instant Joe won his title); but because I had no wish to exploit them or anyone, and because I had some genuine interest in not seeing people exploited; when I would see the selling (yes, selling - which was my biggest ethical reservation) of the lie of 'the WSOP dream' to children and to adults (who shouldn't be allowed to have children, to put it bluntly; if only for the children's sake) - suggesting or outright convincing them that they should follow their dreams and roll the dice, put it all on the line, etc - I would get quite snippety. Because it's really fucked up, in reality. And yes, Joe is proof that dreams can come true - but then everyone knows that already. What they don't know, because this is a world that endlessly lies to them, is the reality. And the reality is that you shouldn't actually follow those kinds of dreams because they're pure - 100% - exploitation. They're designed to exploit (I don't think anyone can really 'advantage' from deception, but I concede that many - almost everyone, in fact - believes they can) those who don't understand the brutal reality - who might understand, if they weren't so busy dreaming of fantasy. Of course, the reality of the WSOP ME is that the house cut is exorbitant, cheating is out of control - like literally, if Harrahs is even trying to control it, I saw no evidence of either their genuine intent nor their capacity to even deter cheating; in fact, some of their rules literally prevent you from protecting yourself, when you're forced to clear the auditorium (and of course, you'd count your chips if you weren't moronic, or if you were - because I used to count my chips and return from breaks short, sometimes short a lot, and just try complaining to understand why you shouldn't even bother counting in the first place - you understand?) - cheating in poker is literally out of control, and it's hard for morons to believe because everyone wants to believe they're unlucky because accepting the reality (that they've been 100% outplayed, 80% by skill 20% by cheating) isn't 'nice'. Truth isn't nice? Interesting.

The reality of the fields at the WSOP is that they are killing fields, littered with people like me; who are stone cold pros in ways you'll never be. This doesn't make you stupid, or inferior. But you should know the facts, before you gamble your family's money. Harrahs wants you to dream, idiotically. They believe they have an interest in doing so. I'm unsure they do, but I certainly don't. So I will tell you, truth. I understand, anyone who wants to dream will be 'offended'. How could I crush their dreams? Because I'm not a creep. But I can be, if you want to get horrifying about my attempting to assist you. But I had to be very careful with those little shenanigans; in this Orwellian world you can find yourself wondering whether or not someone is actually "asking for it" or whether you just played them - and yourself - like twin puppets. The best way to avoid wondering, is never to exploit.

The reality is the WSOP is full of pros so far advanced, compared to you; you simply couldn't begin to imagine how little your 10k is worth is EV, compared to theirs. Their 10k becomes something like 40k in EV, if they're Vos. I ran amusingly in 10k events so I stopped playing them after a dozen or two - I never had any tourney results, at all; and as I've already stated, I used to freeze up at crunch time - and my ADHD has a tendency to splash around, ill-advisedly. But if my 10k isn't 20k in EV, at least, you'd be on crack. Your 10k? If you're a regular family man with a passion for poker, who's seen Rounders and plays seriously once a week at a local home game - your 10k is worth like maybe 3k. If that. This is the reality. Yes, of course you can still win. The field is mostly comprised of people just like you - but then that has nothing to do with the fact that there are hundreds or thousands of ice cold pros who've played millions of hands, win at stakes you'd be insane to even contemplate (with a family? you'd be insane, and not in the 'good' way - that allows stone cold pros to beat stone cold pros, who aren't - quite - as insane, about the 'value' - or lack thereof - of money). I stopped valuing money, because I believed it was worthless. I was right, but not quite. Money is worth a great deal to those who cannot afford to feed themselves or their children. You'd be stupid to give them money, but then I only learned that the hard way. The only thing you can do in this world of suffering and exploitation and endless sneaking contradictions like 'sweet' insults, insulting 'truths', and endless creepy bullshit; is educate. So I do that.

[noscuter1]

You should listen to what I say. Because I've sat on the other side and I would pop-pop-pop the dreams of players so far advanced, you cannot imagine how you cannot - actually - even be advised to play the game. Not ethically, you couldn't. Anyone who is advising you otherwise, is being creepy. Players like me would just pop-pop-pop you delusions, as easily as our denial affords us the ability to do what we're doing, when the reality is that no one involved in poker (I would argue, not even Joe; at the risk of sounding insulting, but then if you think about it, I'm being the opposite) is genuinely happy. I do not believe you can be happy, unless you're in denial; not when you're mixed up in exploitation (whether explicit - you'll live in shame, or implicit - you're living in delusion, and you're being set up to go POP). Joe's WSOP win was not really reality. You'll get eaten up by Reality (and we're talking 0.01% to 99.9%, in reality - because Harrahs is 100% exploitation and Crown Gaming is 100% exploitation and poker is 100% exploitation and the thought never occurred to me that Joe and Tony might be victims of sleaze, until now; quite frankly, but at the time I had mild reservations about was their selling of misperceptions and illusions [or lies, to put it more truthfully if undiplomatically] to innocents, who would be irrefutably better off never to gamble - period). And that's the irrefutable truth. I dare anyone to refute it.

But of course, because I was being quite snide - if completely honest, because it's dishonest to sell the idea that you're a Champion or the world's best player when the reality is poker will never and has never had one, and no one ever knows who the best players are, truthfully - not in this world of complex deception and illusion and things I could go into in-depth but which bore me but a clue would be that some of the high stakes games you watch are about as real as WWC; not to mention, of course, the complete illusion of everything including, but not limited to, your entire perception of reality. Fact.

Nothing you believe is real. Everything you believe, you've been led to believe. It might be accurate, it might be as farcical as <name a religion>. Nothing you see is ever the same image as the same scene, when viewed through the lens of another's goggles; because no two people have identical perceptions. We all view the same reality, or illusions of reality, with uniquely distinct goggles which reflect our entire lifetimes of knowledge gained, and 'knowledge' believed, opinions which may or may not have validity, and how strongly we feel them, and the manner in which we feel them (ashamed v indignant - two very strong emotions, two very uniquely different perceptions), our entire lifetimes of experience, emotional trauma (remembered or suppressed, yet still ticking away), countless other variables that only affect us in combination with our unique histories (and none - literally nothing - we know or have ever known could matter; when the truth is we're all looking at the same scene without having much of a clue at all - the smartest man alive knows what? 0.0001% of knowledge? And the dumbest knows...0.000001%? None of us knows anything, really. But because we don't think about what we don't know, and cannot quantify, we forget how much we don't know and focus on what we know - which is nothing, are largely nonsensical bullshit anyway - Trust Me, if you cannot understand the reality of the logic I'm explaining - no one knows anything, but if you start forgetting how little you know, and start thinking you know a thing or two, you can get very dangerous if you do - actually - know a thing or two. And this is why powerful but confused people created this world of exploitation and misery and pain. And now it's just perpetual. Parents lie to their children, literally from the moment the children are impressionable. Making them stupid. Making them confused. And in pain, everything gets confused - it's literally impossible to think clearly, when you're in pain.

Relate this back to poker? One example: The insanity that affords players the 'opportunity' to be considered the best - is the irony that is the trick of statistics which effectively suggests that somewhere along the line, or all the way along the line, they'll have done very ill-advisable things and merely got lucky. They won't realise it of course, if they're brilliant; but brilliant people are at the highest risk of miscalculating skill v luck % because it's human nature and perfectly understandable to misattribute results to earned by skill rather than earned by good fortune - and when you're brilliant and lucky, it's almost impossible to remember that you shouldn't even be alive. Statistically. You're like a freakish mathematical outlier, if you go all the way back to a twinkle in your father's eye. Your mere existence is almost implausible, and yet you're here. It's plausible enough for me. But when you start hurting other humans imagining that this is the secret to life? You start becoming very disturbing, because how does that logic go, again?

Show your working.

The simple reality is that no one you admire should be admired, because you should be admiring people who are genuinely and intelligently happy. Not people who are pretending to be fabulous, or careless or carefree. Or people who are in denial, who imagine themselves to be. They create the most suffering.

"Who cares so long as they're happy, right?"

Wrong. But then I understand the sentiment, which is why I have tried to be stupid my entire life, and/or chased the romantic fairy tale I became convinced was the only plausible remaining X. No one has tried for those dreams, harder or more convincingly than I have. But I failed at both, miserably at times. You cannot win when you're stupidly happy, or deluded into thinking you are happy; when the reality is you're merely 'happy' via delusion / fantasy. You cannot be happy when you're insane, but you could be forgiven for thinking you are. I see people "in love" all the time. But you're a big bubble and you're inevitably going to go POP.

And this is a world which encourages your insanity, when you're laughing and a sucker. Cry at being exploited? No one likes a stalker. No one talks about how widespread this "lovesick" business is. As soon as I stopped sleeping alone, I started being woken up by them - they come ringing, Sunday early mornings are the worst. I never ridiculed them or scorned them, I just didn't understand them - they kind of terrified me. Just like my g/fs, who I thought could be a lot more kind if they were more cruel and less 'sweet' - but then I never got through to any of them, with my suggestions that they stop complaining about the stalking, or be more proactive about popping the delusions. Pick up phone, leave phone. Easy.

Their incessant complaining about stalkers would creep the fuck out of me. They'd answer their phones, and be all 'sweet' - telling the victims to "please move on", "it was over, couldn't they see?"

How could they, when they were being strung along by creepy 'sweet' mixed signals. You want a confused former romantic partner to get the message? Cut all strings. Simple. They call, pick up, leave phone. Let them talk to themselves if they please. No stalker in history is calling their delusion, in order to hear themselves speak.

One day I got tilted at my g/f's 'sweetness' and I threw her phone out the window of our highrise. She was not impressed. I just wanted to sleep. She wasn't going to let me sleep easily after that, she was furious. She loved her phones. I told her to zip it, or follow the phone out the window or door - her choice. She gasped, in feigned horror. I told her I had had enough of her stalkers (when the reality was, I'd had enough of her 'sweet' stringing of them along). She got very cold, and said "You'll regret saying that one day, when you're one of them."

And I laughed. God I loved her when she got angry. So cute. I laughed, and went to sleep.

I wasn't laughing, when - unbelievably, at least I couldn't believe it - I became one of them. I guess she knew something about me that I didn't, or was in denial over. Maybe I am attracted to the sorts of girls who accumulate stalkers? How can I know these things when everyone is almost too creepy about their preference for - not - talking about the most important things, to warrant giving the time of day to. I became pathetic, I couldn't believe it. To her credit, she hardly ever strung me along. But the shame and embarrassment, of doing provably insane things which couldn't possibly be in my best interest - but stalkers are no longer in control of their actions, at least in terms of precluding embarrassment / redundancy - was very nearly too much for me to cope with.

I didn't cope with it, very well - if at all, in hindsight. But then each time I did it, I was so horrified I would spend so much time trying not to think about how cringe-worthy I'd just been, that I kept on doing cringe-worthy things. It was ridiculous. I was out of control. The embarrassment was out of control. And then I learned about shame's self-perpetual nature. In shame, you do shameful things. Which cause more shame. And this makes you do more shameful things. A shameful recursion. Uh oh.

Welcome to the globe, I think.

[noscuter1]

I never spoke of my shame (I'd probably have noosed first, if it were up to me); but in hindsight, the shame lasted a lot longer than the genuine pining - of course, I was 'genuinely' pining for four years after we'd broken up for the 14th time or whatever. I was crashing emotionally, making millions (literally) in denial about the nature of the games of exploitation I'd suddenly embraced as being "in my best interests", whilst simultaneously self-hating, and killing myself with emotional cutting (which might have been the most insightful thing a friend has ever suggested; and he did so, awkwardly - as if I could ever be offended, even when deluded, as he clearly was). I laughed at the suggestion, it was ridiculous.

But I'm incapable of offence there.

Which is why, the next day, when laughing at the suggestion again; I gasped. Of course that's what I was doing. Backing myself into endless emotional reverse free-rolls, where I'm damned if they do, and damned if they don't. At which point, I'd hold up either result and say "See! It's just as I've been saying. Everyone screws me."

I'm not saying that's not true. I'm saying, who gives a fuck. What was my point? And to whom was I hoping to make it? I wasn't sure, and that's the point when you start healing. I started healing very slowly. But it was a long time before I felt comfortable with going outside. Probably a full year later, or thereabouts. I started healing, but the fear was all still there. The horror, of the desperation of this world - and their terrifying insanity, in being Catholic; having too many children they couldn't afford to feed (because they were Catholic) and the Catholic game-plan is to breed humans for whomever is willing to give them power - there will be an understanding, so long as you understand they are in power. You are their regent, screw with them and....well, you'd better have thought it through. Historically, Kings have died for screwing with the understanding. I don't think any Popes have ever be forced to show their working.

The cute girls of Manila slums who fool you into thinking they're rich little elitists (if only you don't look too hard, of course) carry the hopes and dreams of so many on their shoulders. I don't even understand how they fake nonchalance and fabulous carefree - I guess they learn, or they get weeded out years before I could expect to meet them. Entire extended families will scratch together and put their net worth on these girls - who don't even get a choice; everything might buy one dress, which gets adjusted I guess. If they run bad. Or good. Hard to know, when fishing for husbands - but what motive could a guy have to hurt a little girl. So much fear is the result of bullshit. Humans only get confused when they've gone insane. And then it's their wives kids and loved ones who suffer. I'm not sure I buy this whole dark marauding predator bullshit. I'm sure it happens, but insanity and confusion aren't calculating. If you're calculating, how do you calculate it's in your best interests to kill a girl or something?

Show that working.

They freaked me out, the girls of Manila's poverty. Laughing and dancing in clubs where they had no business of being in, except they're let in free of course - when they're pretty - drinks are bought for them, they can sail along on a fairly low budget, hoping to meet Mr. Right. Anyone white. They're not confused. Why would the local elite marry them? They'll hook up with them, sleep with them but I imagine they'd be wasting their time and emotion on them. Rich marries into rich. They know what their family needs, white skin. There is literally no misunderstanding. I should have known, in hindsight. You only see what you want to see, and what I saw was....misery.

Everywhere.

So much 'caring'. God so horrifying that terrifying 'caring'. Nothing I could do about it, except - not - leave my hermit fortress. And I'd make sure all curtains were double layer blackouts. And blacked out, at all times. I never looked outside. You will see reality, from a Makati City or Rockwell high-rise. Slums, as far as the eye can see. And a tiny pocket of 1st world wealth, protected from 90 million starving by a guard who may or may not be asleep when you drive up to the 'barricade' which may or may not keep out a moped traveling at a respectable speed. But of course, I understood. I always felt pretty safe, except when people would mistake my skin for bling. And then I would see envy in their eyes.

You'd have to be demented to be wearing bling. Literally, insane. The wearers of bling are trying to - force - value out of their desperation, their unwillingness to accept they've been the victims of a very common con. So they will pretend, in their denial, that they're happy - can't you see? Trophy on their arm. Who wouldn't be happy! Fast car, parked where it can be admired (or keyed). That bitch is theirs, baby! You better believe it. Who wouldn't want to be 50 and driving a Ferrari?

When you can be 20, steal the car, fuck the girl, and laugh at the silver-haired fox in delusion about envy. Don't feel sorry for them. They're trying to force envy. They're part of the Evil, at that point. I'm just explaining, that they're insane. They could get a knife in the kidney for their trouble; or if they're really enviable, they'll see a lot of dark and terrifying things in the eyes of those who have lost their minds. And confused everything. Envy with hatred. You with an obstacle. Standing in the way, between them and happiness.

I've seen guys wear fake Rolexes in Manila. This is insanity, when it reaches comedic levels - surely! Imagine getting stabbed, for real, by a guy who envies your fake blink. That would be beautiful, no? I bet it's happened. Obviously.

I saw the hatred in the eyes of people who weren't racist, on the contrary. They were envious. And they wanted what they assumed I had. Maybe it was 1/10th of what I had, but I knew it was enough for dark and terrifying thoughts to be swirling around minds I'd just as soon not be thinking about me at all. I wanted to tell them, how stupid they were being. But how could I explain. They'd just say "give it to me then". They're morons, who feel entitled. God did promise those blessings, after all. Cargo cults are literally the best cults, of all cults. As a child born into a cult, I feel I have the authority to make declarations like this about cults. I'd have given anything to be born into one. They go for centuries, lying on that beach. Waiting for God to bless them again. Imagine another sunken ship? Game over. You'd have to kill them to 'convert' them.

People are moronic in the Philippines. I'm not sure I met a single person, in 2 years, capable of acting in their own best interests. Maybe Manny Pacquiao, but then he really shouldn't have been playing poker. I guess he could afford it, but then that's the 'trick' with poker, how are you going to care until there's a sting?

[noscuter1]

Actually, that's the dark secret of gambling. I didn't make this shit up, they've done scientific studies and shit. With monkeys, probably more advanced - in some respects - than you are capable of being. Monkeys were given two buttons to press. One button gives them a buzz, like drops a treat into a tray or something. I can't remember the specifics, but basically one button is a win. One button is a big fat Loss. An electric shock. Or something that you'd have to be insane to press twice, let alone a third time.

Then they hooked up electrodes to their skulls and whatnot and started mapping their brain activity. The instant I heard about this study, I knew it was legit and that I wasn't having my leg pulled. It's the perfect corruption of humanity, they're corrupting monkeys now. Or the study is corrupted. But if you read the study, basically the monkeys start out by experimenting. But they get bored with the Win button. The monkeys all start pressing the Lose button. And the area in the brain that measures...dopamine release? It's highly likely I'm making a mockery of this study's 'findings; but anyway, the monkeys all get their 'payoff' in terms of their excitement or their 'high' from when they lose. Not when they win. Work in a casino and you'll know it's truth, at least for humans.

TREAT THEM MEAN, KEEP THEM KEEN.

The Philippines have been treated mean, for so long, they will go to the polls on polling day (democracy, obviously) and just vote for the first name they recognise. Which creates huge advantages for dynasties. Why?

Jesus Christ, are you playing. Or legit? Why?

Because they're happy, that's why! They've been brainwashed. They're the happiest culture on the face of the planet, you can Google it. They win all those Happiness surveys. They're not really happy, they just think they are. They live on $1 or $2 / day, how happy can you be?

"Who cares so long as you're happy?"

Good question, poker-man. Let me tell you who cares. I care. Filthy scum shouldn't be happy. I want them to be miserable. How dare they be happy when I'm miserable?

I'm not maniacal poker-man. What motive could I have to want them to be unhappy? To be angry with their happiness, delusional or otherwise? Think, poker-man, think!

I have a motive. Actually, I have 60,000,000 or so. Too easy?

Not easy enough? Good god. You know what happens to a Catholic who has sex for leisure? It's frowned upon.

You know what happens to a Catholic who uses a condom? They burn in Hell's fires for all of eternity. So the Pope says "purity is the key. Never have sex. Abstain, for life. It's easy! Look at me, take inspiration from me. But if you have sex, if you're weak and dirty and impure, that's okay.

But whatever you do, don't wear condoms. Or you'll burn for ever, in Hell.

They're moronic, obviously. It's 80% of the reason why they're religious, and 60% of the reason why they're poor. 30% of the reason why they're poor is because they're Catholic. 10% is they're lazy fuckers. "For awhile Sir. For awhile." You could take a seat and be there - for awhile - like 3 hours. You could complain, and they will listen. They will be alarmed. They'd try to help but they'd miss the entire point. How can they help? What about their children? Am I interested? This is what they'll ask me.

I literally don't even know what that means. But I didn't ask them to take care of their children again. No I wasn't interested. But pretty sure, if I was, I'd know who could handle my requirements with discretion. Who would have the motive? Not for choirgirls though. Let's be reasonable now. You'd have to put in an order, I imagine for that. But al a carte? For awhile Sir. For awhile.

This world sucks ass at motive. I ran in terror at the misery and unfathomable 'caring' of the stalkers of poverty and exploitation (incredibly pretty, though) who I was irrationally horrified by, at night. Of course, they reminded me of me. But then if you think people in denial can think objectively, you're either very lucky or in very deep.

And I would have died, were it not for a brutal burst of honesty from someone who had no interest in pandering to my - genuine, and arguably justified - horror at myself. I'd sunken so low, I did - sigh - a drive-by. The single most insane moment of my life, because my brain was screaming at my hands and feet but something else was happening; a petulant kind of "fuck you" to myself, to logic. What do I know, for the first time in my life, I wasn't in control. Of course I was dangerous; I very nearly killed me for it. But on the way home, shaking in horror and terror at the insanity I'd just participated in (but which I'd seen hundreds of times), I was all over the road. I could have killed somebody. Kid named Scott (very bright, didn't dabble in blow which is more than I can say for my other visitors that month in Buenos Aires - clouds of it, were billowing - but then there was a lot of pain, to be relieved. None in pain so much as my imagination was ashamed of me. High, I blurted out the most shameful moment; and then cringed. I regretted it immediately. Everyone was looking at me. Oh its pretty embarrassing. I braced for impact, and got a surprise instead. Scott was laughing, in disbelief. Then he shook his head. He didn't buy it. What was I hiding?

The thought that something could be worse than my most shameful moment, terrified me. Scott was dubious. "If that's the worst thing you've done, you'd be a saint. Literally everyone does shit like that."

This made zero sense. I was not expecting that. Confused, I expressed...confusion. But what more could be said? It's true. Literally everyone does insane things. I started thinking, "How does that make sense?"

And it hit me. Nothing makes sense in this world of insanity. So why are we all insane and incapable of acting in ways that will serve our best interests (our happiness)? Why are we all corrupted and confused and acting in ways that will - provably - generate misery? I understood, I'd been given a reprieve. Everyone has, actually.

I was 29 when the clouds were lifted from my burdened shoulders. And I realised I was right, for a change. That guy wasn't actually me. I could prove it!

"Your Honour, my client wishes to explain it was impossible for his cringe-worthy drive-by to be in his best interests. As such, unless the court can establish motive that his actions could possibly be in his best interests, the plea will be "not guilty by reason of insanity" and we'll be pursuing compensation for the embarrassment suffered by his formerly good name - from the state."

[noscuter1]

Oh what I did was so messed up. But I'd lost the plot. I thought it was all about me, you see? I was insane, because selfishness is never going to be insane - and will never be shameful. Insanity might be, but that has nothing to do with selfishness. When you're selfish, you drive safely not because you're afraid of getting a ticket or running into an RBT (but Society will very stealthily suggest such a 'motive' to you, to distract you from motive - to distract you from thinking about your own best interests); because when you're selfish rather than insane, you drive safely because you could kill yourself, kill a child (at which point, you'll want to kill yourself), injure someone or do any number of things - all of which are infinitely more horrifying and more valid a reason not to take unnecessarily retarded risks - and none of the risks which would preclude your driving drunk or stupidly, have anything to do with an RBT or the Law. They have a lot to do with your manufacturer wanting you to break the Law, and the Law wanting you to break the Law. This is the creepy reality of Law.

Law is preemptive suggestive up-selling of insanity to children: "Would you like crimes with that?"

With that emotional validation addiction, is what they mean. The answer is No, and No. Crimes of passion isn't in your best interests. You act in your best interests. Return the passion to sender. Return your mother to sender. It's their passion. It's their prize cow. It's why people are insane on roads all over the world. But not because people are insane, but because they're confused. They've forgotten that it's not the RBTs or the speed cameras that matter. It's the horrors of what will happen to them and to innocent passengers of theirs or other vehicles, little children - unspeakable horrors, so unnecessary. All of it. People speed everywhere in the world and the death toll on roads is - simply - horrifying. And they're speeding in cars that should be speed capped but are built to break the law. And there isn't a single victim of the Reality of drunk driving or unsafe driving in all of history that didn't spend their remaining lives screaming silently "WHY!! WHY WAS I EVEN DRIVING DRUNK!? WHY WHY WHY!?!"

They don't know. But I do. Now, we do.

Oh you think you have a good reason to speed, everyone has a good reason to speed. 7 billion VIPs racing each other, and killing each other on roads in the process, speeding to very important things. Their minimum wage slave jobs. Don't wanna be late for that! Home. Can't wait to get back to that TV! An appointment. How important can an appointment be, really; if you didn't give yourself breathing space and need to make up for it with insane risks?

And at the heart of all of this, is the dark - impossibly creepy - reality; that you don't want to accept, because you don't want to admit you were bred to bleed. Your cars are designed to break the law, you're literally setup to be a victim if you're a young boy. I was a decent kid, I swear to god, I had no reason to kill anyone - does anyone? (you should think about that, and then think how the law handles "insanity pleas") - I was just an ignorant kid, who'd never been taught to drive (taught myself, to jeers of my friends calling me Miss Daisy etc), and given the money to buy a Celica with a top speed of 235 (if my mate Strikis was driving, but I could only ever get it up to 205, to my shame and frustration). I didn't know what aqua-planing was; I thought I was losing power steering fluid when I was aqua-planing on the Pacific Highway at 170 in torrential rain. And then I put that Celica into a tree.

Very good, genius. Yes, I would be dead. But I didn't say I was going 170 at impact. I hit a lot of trees slowing down to impact, about 100-200m off the highway. Where I wrote off my car, hitting a tree head-on - an impact which totaled the car, but I wasn't even scratched. Physically. Psychologically? Not scratched enough. It might have been a different story, had the tree been located near the road. This tree wasn't going anywhere. But then who knows, really. Toyota makes pretty good cars, even if they're as creepy as the rest of criminals who make cars - legally - to break the law, then market the crimes - legally - with advertisements linking speed of their performance vehicle with sex, prestige, 'cool' and other idiotic things, which get creepy when little boys are involved and going "vroom vroom" in a sandbox but then all of this is moot because in Australia there isn't a road in the country where you can drive at 115km/hr legally. So why are your cars - all - designed to go at 240 or faster? With speedometers that suggest median speed should be 120, if you're late? Hurry it up to 170! Whoops.

I was running late for my first posting, to RAAF Edinburgh. I had the best reason possible for speeding. National defence? I mean, seriously. Little hungover, though. Got a later than planned start, later than planned party the night before. Still hadn't slept. But making good time. Oh my Celica was a write-off. The wrecking company which shipped it to Canberra for $1800 took it to the guys who told me "Dude this is a complete write-off. Why didn't you leave it in Taree?"

Why, indeed. How could I know these things? What's the line, the wrecking company knew - instantly? Pretty much unbackable, I'd think. But they figure they had an interest in making that $. What do I know. I merely an interest in...<???> I was just a confused child. Who shouldn't have been on the road. Definitely not behind the wheel of a sports-car that can do 235. Before it was written-off.

After? Strikis never drove it, after that. hahah. I couldn't get it above 180. Truth is, I was too frightened to go above 150; the shaking would get out of control. Over 90 and the shaking would start. 140 and it was embarrassing with passengers. 180 and you were flirting with death; I imagine. What the heck would I know. Pretty sure it was dangerous, I know that much. But then I was legal wasn't I? What's the problem? This is how the Law wants you to think. The Law doesn't want you thinking. The Law wants you feeling. Passion.

The entire chassis would rattle. It was pure insanity. I was frustrated. The guy who whispered, calling me up randomly - little Spam, on the side - a mechanic, who'd 'heard' my conversation with the manager and wanted to know if I wanted it back on the road good enough to pass any roadworthy (and if not, he knew a guy that wasn't anal, about making money). Was I interested? I tried to play coy. How much? Few thousand. DONE!! Dammit. I thought. That was too fast. He laughed, gave me his address, I picked it up. Well, it was drivable. It wasn't ever going to pass another roadworthy but then it's a funny thing about roadworthy tests - you don't have to do them again. Who knew?! Maybe if you sell it, or something. What do I know. They just send out a sticker each year and I wack that shit on and I'm legal. Shaking all over the place, bit of skew endlessly pulling to the right, legally written-off but yet legally legal. Funny that. Little crazy skew which drifts to the right if you're not used to it but nothing you can't handle with that power steering (fluid never leaked, but then I'd learned what aqua-planing was).

I was running late for my first posting. I needed to get from Brisbane to Adelaide in (not enough hours to make it, at 110km/hr - hah). But I was racing along, little tired; slapping my face to keep my eyelids from closing. They closed once, I woke up and laughed. Highway was over there, I could tell. Just a km to two to the right. You can't crash in the desert. Unless you run off a cliff or something. I didn't, clearly. What's the problem?

This is literally how I thought. I'd stopped thinking. I'd dropped down to pick up my cigarette which I didn't realise was actually burning a golf ball sized hole through the back of the rear passenger seat. That's why I took so long (not) to find it. When I finally gave up, in frustration; I looked up, and I was on the wrong side of the road. I wasn't worried, although I did get momentarily alarmed; when I learned about combined speeds, for the first time. We were doing over 300. Boy, he came up on me quick; I swerved a little faster than I would have otherwise. We raced past each other, with plenty of room. I was chuckling. Another second or two, and things could have gotten "interesting". This is how they'd gotten me thinking. Oh I never used to think like this. This is all Society.

I had quick reflexes, and I was insane-by-virtue-of-ignorance. It was all a big joke, in my mind. Driving, I mean. I swerved; laughed, stopped laughing when I saw the occupants of the vehicle (kid, 17 maybe, 16 perhaps; father in passenger seat, mother and younger sister and pet of some kind in the back). "God that could have been ugly", I was thinking. Watching them in the rear view mirror. I watched as the kid panicked literally 2-3 seconds after we'd passed each other, lost control of the vehicle, and went over the ravine.

[noscuter1]

I had quick reflexes, everything was always about me. Me. Me. Not selfishly. Just idiotically. My car was going 160, why was his coming so fast. Took me longer than it should have to even consider combined speeds. Everything was focused on me. It's how they want you to 'think'. I had quick reflexes, so it wasn't my fault. Is it my fault the kid is a moron child who panicked? It's not my fault. You can't prove anything. Did that even happen? I probably just imagined it. This is all the stuff going through my brain faster and faster as I tried to come to terms which what had just happened. I had quick reflexes, why didn't this kid for christ's sake?! Christ I was almost a pilot until I baulked at 15 year ROSO in return for the 'privilege' of flying utterly tactically and strategically redundant FA-18s - idiotic toy fighters that no longer have any legitimate use beyond Spam. They got me. And many others, I assure you. I wasn't even going to be able to compete for Hornets; there were children there with the pressure of being 3rd and 4th generation RAAF or RAF/RAAF pilots (assumed). Their lives were pure misery. Failure was not an option.

I tried to make jokes about it. Let's not get carried away, I'd calmly explain; when the pressure of getting off the phone with their fathers or grandfathers would make them hysterical. This are 'grown' men, at ADFA awaiting Pilot training. Where failure is not an option. It's funny, that you can't make jokes to these poor kids when they're hysterical, or make logical arguments for that matter either. I warned one of them to chill, or the computer which should have had his job 20 years ago might get some fast ideas.

He stared at me, blankly. I stared back, horrified. He didn't know what I was babbling about. I tried to think where I'd seen that blank look, before. I knew where I'd seen that blank look before! Oh I knew what that blank look meant, perfectly.

At least he didn't backhand me.

But it doesn't register in these morons' heads (I'm talking about their vile fathers and grandfather Air Marshals and all their bullshit heritage) that they're fighting a moronic losing battle anyway. Want to know why computers aren't doing the jobs they could do better two decades ago? Because Pilots run the RAAF. And they will fight the future like anyone who's obsessed with the worthless past.

And they'll lose. Wanna bet on it?

Oh they might kill a few of their children along the way. Because I make jokes but these guys weren't laughing, without a reason. Do you know what "failure is not an option" looks like, when you fail?

It swings, on the end of a lanyard which appears to be frantically hanging onto the neck of a body whilst engaged in a fierce tug-of-war over that body, with gravity. Neither realise the tug-of-war is pointless. No one will realise, until someone screams. Everyone will be oh-so-surprised of course. The parents will be inconsolable, and in denial. Was it over a girl? Someone will say Yes. They'll cry, they knew he was distracted by something. You only had to look at his less-than-perfect grades to know something was eating away into his miserable production time. Filthy murderers - who are never arrested. They will have the nerve to cry at the funeral of the children they have killed, console each other and tell each other they did their best.

That - was the problem. That - was what killed their children. Computers are flying aircraft now. They should have been flying them decades ago, but whilst you can hold back the future briefly - you can stall it, temporarily - you cannot, ever, hold it back indefinitely. One generation, two? What's the goddamn point? I don't get 'heritage'. I literally never have. What's the entire heritage nonsense all about? Why is it so important to those who feel the urge to drive their children to misery to carry on the redundant 'legacy'? Important enough to kill a child over; but then you need to understand, these parents know what they're doing. Most of these children never kill themselves. These parents know how to motivate children. They push them to the edge of misery, and what are you going to do? If some don't go over, you're not pushing them hard enough.

Christ I just wanted to impress girls. I can't imagine the grades I would have gotten if failure to get them meant death. As a virgin. Impressing my insane vile parents? I tried to understand these children but the whole mother thing has always been lost on me. Making my dad proud? I don't get it? Why doesn't he make me proud - this has always been my beef. No one understands me. You all seem to have it the other way around. Your parents seem to have convinced you to impress them. Okay.

These kids die as virgins, more often than not. I'm just making a point about their spare time. They don't have any, really. They're actually interesting kids because they're freakishly intelligent, but then they were as useless as I was with girls. We were hopeless. I just played Counter-Strike and Tiberium Sun and annoyed everyone who thought they could get rid of me with passive-aggressive hints. Oh I understood they needed to study, but they needed to understand I was bored. Some people literally cannot ask you to leave. It's hilarious. These kids would freak out because they needed to get me out and get back to work - this isn't playing, you know? It was for me.

They relaxed, don't get me wrong. In their spare time, they'd likely be found chilled out with a light beer and some manuals acquired from the Pilots courses they'd be completing, at the top of their classes - in short order. Because failure is not an option. Poor kids. They don't impress a lot of girls, I bet; this was my first impression when I met the F1-11 pilots at Amberley. They were cool, and jovial enough; funny and realistic / fatalistic about their chances of getting up in the air this week. It was all Inshallah and If it is written and so forth. You wouldn't believe how many ways you can pun "when Pigs fly". I couldn't believe it. I liked them. But I was 100% focused on girls. And I met their wives. And felt shitty for thinking "well that would have been a 4, at her peak - until she had those two kids." None had a hot girlfriend. Actually, I wouldn't have given the time of day to one of their WaGs. I was kind of horrified.

Girls were really important to me. I'd hardly even spoken to any. That's why they were really important to me.

But these poor kids would kill themselves without ever realising girls are about as boring as your capacity to tolerate them - they'll stretch your capacity to the limit, and then stress test your new low level marks. These kids would have been horrified. But then they weren't thinking of girls, when they ended their lives, without forming an opinion. Because failure is not an option. Until it's not an option. Do you understand? Would you be charming girls when there are books and manuals and technical assignments to complete, and your life is - forever - hanging by a thread? Oh they're all in denial, of course. But kids don't get hysterical over conversations with their father on the phone because they're emotionally fragile. They're emotional wrecks. But then they have a good reason, to be. If you listen to them, they'd convince you. They always sounded like they were trying to convince themselves, but then sometimes that was only because I hadn't asked for an explanation. They felt compelled to explain their devotion, anyway.

After all, their parents had done so much for them. I remained, unconvinced; I saw very little proof of anything except misery.

BTech Aero isn't a walk in the park. Neither is Pilot training. And finishing in whatever percentile is required? I laughed. What a joke, I thought.

And I realised, in horror; it'd been awhile since I thought. Just as well, I got around to it. If I didn't, I'd still be in the RAAF now. They don't let you off ROSO for Pilot training, with a yawn. Kinda terrifying, but very few of them actually die. You have to understand this. It's so much more horrifying than you think. Because most don't die, you understand? Only the ones that fail.

Most of them 'succeed'. They 'win'. Fear of death does this to you. Terror is the great motivator. Pity it's not a very good one. But it will sure as hell make you a high-achieving winner, or maybe you will die trying. It makes you a winner, if you believe you will die when you lose. Why do you think I became one?

Welcome to winning, at the elite level. Welcome to the dark realities - do you understand why people aren't chatty about it?

[noscuter1]

Very few of them die, in reality. Most live 'full' and 'happy' high-achieving lives, keeping the family 'tradition' going; for one more generation. Maybe two. Who knows what denial is capable of stalling, and for how long. I saw these kids; good kids, bright kids, geniuses - some of them. All of them in denial, so much misery and stress and terror. I looked at them, and thought; what if the gap between my scores and theirs behind me was too substantial to be fudged in their favour (oh, I think you'd cut them a little slack, in their position - wouldn't you? Unless flying a Hornet and killing your buddy indirectly is all part of the game - because flying a redundant toy just means that much to you?) - and I shuddered, thinking; "What if these guys swung on account of me?"

Then I cracked up laughing. Cause I'd been dabbling in a little delusion there, for a couple years. I hadn't even bothered to log a single hour, or put the paperwork in. There was always next month, next term, next semester, next year - in third year, when I'd have the time! I laughed, because who was I kidding. ADFA had made me lazy. BTech Aero? I enrolled. But I literally didn't complete the first class, before slinking out in horror at Hour 1 of Year 1 of 3 years of this? It was a no-brainer. I enrolled instead into Arts (Politics). Smartest damn thing I've ever done, lifetime. 34 contact hours (plus assignments) to 8 contact hours (not-strictly-mandatory / completely redundant even going to lectures, unless you need notes read to you) per week in 3rd year? Insanely hard aeronautical engineering degree v insanely easy essay-writing / fun debates? I laughed, because the truth is I'd have struggled to pass the Pilot courses. And there I was towards the end of Second Year stressing about I might do to these kids who were bred, to succeed. I couldn't touch them. I wasn't going to get near them. They simply weren't going to fail. Their parents knew what they were doing.

Right up until some of them fail. At which point, many of the ones that do fail, kill themselves. Fact.

Fuck that shit, I just swapped over to RAAF Intelligence. It sounded cool?

The reality is always very different from the marketing. The reality of RAAF jets in QLD (where I wanted to be) is rusty 60 year old F1-11s but they don't tell you that in Recruiting. Fucking Spam. The entire squadron pretty much cannibalised to get one or two in the air at any one time - the rest would be listed U/S for Unserviceable. Christ I hope that's not classified? meh. I got a lot more corruption where that came from. Of course it's corruption. You know what Australia spends on 'defence'? For a nation that cannot - plausibly - be attacked. Not logically, it cannot.

The answer is, as always, and this is true for any and every military budget in history:

Too much, for not enough.

And of course, we're one race. one humanity. We should start acting like one. It's in our best interests. The resources and the money are there. Money isn't even needed, but then I don't want to sound like a damn hippie. The world disposes of more food than required to feed the world, just...price-manipulation? I'm not sure the 'reasons' matter when children are starving. With the money this world wastes on military expenditure...you could feed and clothe 15 planets. Teaching children to act in their own interests, instead of going to so much effort to confuse them?

That costs nothing. In fact, you'd save a fortune. The whole world would benefit. Instant increase in happiness, in the hundreds of %. Fact.

What does any of this have to do with poker? Everything. Nothing. This stuff is important. Poker is irrelevant. You should listen to me. I used to be one of the best MHSNL / HUSH online pros in the world. You will not - and should not even want to be. Wake up. This isn't a time for 'games'.

Trust me, you don't want to be playing a game of exploitation against people like me. You're going to get destroyed. This is not a ridicule or a challenge. I'm not gaming you. Nothing about poker is a game. That's the biggest lie of all. You do not - play - with fire. You have discipline, I understand this is what you believe. You feel you are strong, mentally. You know nothing, about the insanity. You know what discipline is, in poker? The ability to feel nothing. When you have discipline in poker, you are detached to the point of being disassociated from reality; i.e. you'll be insane. When you have the requisite discipline, to win. Fact.

I have zero motive to lie to you, and every motive to no longer exploit disparities of intelligence. If you feel anything other than a numb apathy, where all you can think about is the endless tsunamis of incoming information and everything is just numbers and patterns and %s and tendencies and histories; perfectly filed in order to be recalled, if and when necessary, at high speed and perfect accuracy; than you cannot fathom the disparity of intelligence, trust me. My mind, when it's in full swing, is a truly terrifying thing. It terrifies me! I literally cannot sleep, when my mind is racing. I can try to slow it down, but that's a bit like a pill-popper trying to relax enough to take a piss in a club. You ever seen someone - try desperately - to relax? Hah.

In full fling, playing at elite against killers who will kill you emotionlessly if they could - but then only if you get lucky, when they've outplayed you, everyone knows it, but you have the chips; so it's what you're going for, if you can't win the ideal way (with coolers in your favour - because that's what poker is, coolers and heaters; setup hands one after another - where everyone plays each hand pretty well, and they must be damn near optimal by now surely? I wouldn't know. I know that you're not happy when you're winning or losing 5 figures every other hand, on multiple tables. Swinging up or down 50 or 100k easy, in a session; I couldn't sleep - period. How could anyone sleep, when other winners aren't sleeping?

Someone should tell me what they hope to win, and by that, I mean you all need to revise your idiotic dreams. Because rich people and powerful people are in denial. It's provable and obvious. They're still working like crazy, right? There's your evidence. They're not happy.

Being Oprah-rich has never been rich enough, for Oprah. And that's tragic. Because she hurts so many people, in her denial.

[noscuter1]

I talk about OT things because poker is the dumbest and most boring of all subjects - and I say this as someone who went months without getting a game. No one would play me on the 2-3 sites I played. I didn't trust the others, but then maybe a 20,000NL winner at iPoker who can't get a game from 25/50nl upwards, can't beat the morons at FTP 5/10 and 10/20nl? Or AP. I couldn't. Unlucky, perhaps. Over sample sizes so ludicrous it became ridiculous. But then I'm not really interested in such things anymore. I found what happiness looks like. I could draw you a picture of it. I'm not sure how I'd take a photo, I'd be afraid to disturb it.

I might try and describe it because I saw it so often last year, walking around Bangkok because - well, fuck - I literally couldn't handle the corruption or force myself into denial that night or whatever, and I was in no mood to go 'partying'. I would make an effort to meet friends at clubs or whatever. I'd crash out, and end up walking around Bangkok aimlessly. It was the last place I expected to discover what happiness looked like. I thought I saw it, momentarily - a kid on a moped, eyes lit up, going somewhere (it doesn't matter, I don't think - somewhere you wanna go, I guess), with his g/f sitting on the back, arms wrapped around his torso even though they don't need to be - and I literally cannot deal with Bangkok traffic except on moped taxis and if you wrap your arms around those guys, you could get a surprise Reality check. I advise against the torso wrap.

I thought I saw happiness, but then I was wrong. I thought, "That's happiness, bang! Right there!" but then I ruined it. The girl saw me. And was intrigued. I can tell you why. Someone has made her think she'll be happier with bling. I don't wear bling, but in Bangkok - a demented and corrupted girl might believe my skin colour represents bling. I wouldn't live here if that were generic, Bangkok girls are borderline racist to foreigners but then I've never really had that confirmed because they don't speak English. So it's pretty hard for me to impress them. 90% aren't impressed. That's why I'm here. If you want robotic morons, go to The Philippines. This girl was cute but a moron; she didn't realise she had happiness already, that's why she was looking. And then her boyfriend noticed what she was looking at, and he was annoyed - irrationally, because his g/f was irrational. But he wasn't a moron. And all I could think was "you morons, what the fuck is wrong with you - you had happiness already!" - and then I felt shitty because I'd ruined their happiness.

Wrong.

You cannot ruin happiness. Happiness is never...looking around for something better. Happiness is contented, happiness couldn't possibly notice anyone that wasn't trying to disturb the miracle. I felt shitty for like 3 min until I realised I didn't ruin happiness, but only when the proper happiness putted past me. And they didn't give me a second's thought. She wasn't looking around for better. He wasn't 'threatened'. I would never threaten happiness. I simply couldn't, even if I wanted to.

I could confuse the hell out of it, though; if I tried to take a picture - I think. Because I'd like to show you, what happiness is. And you would instantly realise the Truth. You're already happy, you just don't know it. You won't find it in poker, trust me. You won't find it - at all - if you're exploiting others, or creating unhappiness, or getting in the way of those who are trying - and it can be hard, in this corrupted and confused world - to try to be happy, in spite of all the misery.

But it's possible. You just have to be pragmatic, realistic, real. Fuck fantasy off. Get rid of your delusions. You think I don't have things - I'd rather - be doing? This is what's important to me.

I was 29 when I found happiness for the first time. I'd solved the equation. It's a trick equation. God damn motherfuckers are geniuses. Kids, I mean. They'd never get fooled into trying to solve trick equations for happiness. They'd just be happy, and play with anyone, until someone corrupts them; and makes them afraid. Gosh I wonder who that could have been? And what their motive could have been imagined to have been?

I solved the equation. You don't want to find X. You want to get rid of X.

You = Happiness.

If you don't understand this, you are probably somebody's X.

And you need to get out of the equation.

Miserable people do not want company. They're just in pain. Misery wants happiness, but when it's confused about how to get there, misery can create a lot of miserable pain. I have a - selfish - interest in lifting the clouds of confusion from your foggy and scratched 'vision'. Trust me, they scratch and fog and cloud your vision, intentionally. Someone got the idea into their heads - and these people were very bright, and very miserable - that they would be happy simply controlling people. And people don't want to be controlled, so - 'logically' - these people made humanity easier to control. They changed the logic to illogical. They confused you about selfishness and your DNA. They tricked you into not caring about your own best interests. They made you borderline illiterate, and/or unable to read 'walls' of text. They're drilling at the lowest common denominator and they're making a big mistake.

They're not going to win, in the end.

Nobody wants to rule over moronic robots.

They're going to win, in the end. They're going to win THE END.

Pretty sure that's in nobody's best interests. Or everybody's. Hard to know, really; when everyone is completely insane, illiterate and already knows - everything.