Sorry, bro, I can’t go on Instagram right now. My mom says I have to pray.

Okay, here we go, I guess. Ummmm, heyyy, fourth dimensional being, can you hear me, I’m talking to you again, haha, isn’t it funny how we end up finding each other again and again? I think it’s something about the writing, just, like, immediately being sent into the flow state. It feels good. It feels delivering. It feels like every moment I’ve ever experienced was experienced by this version of me, and it feels so damn good that I can’t think of any reason to ever disrupt it, besides watching Drag Race and reading about ants. Those are really the only two distractors I’m willing to accept right now, after having answered over a hundred review questions this morning.

Hey, bitch, it’s about quantity, not quality this time, okay, like, we’re just experimenting with pure exposure therapy, like, not taking notes, just doing the damn things and getting them right. Like, thousands of repetitions, relying mostly on intuition, not giving myself any time to coach myself through the answer, just literally pounding questions. I’ll admit that it feels good to be able to just do that and, like, slowly learn things about the world, but, I wish I was on Antboss instead of Amboss. Like, do we need some kind of fast-learning software that integrates, like, just, like, repeatedly asking you the same question and telling you whether you got it right or wrong? Like, for training men out of being misogynistic.

Womanboss, that’s the name of the Amboss website for learning how to not hate women. It asks you questions like “Are women people?” and you answer yes, and it has that green highlight around the answer to show your brain you got it right and are a genius.

We need stuff like this: people quizzing themselves every single day. Maybe even more effective would be if you had a personal tutor who is just, like, asking you thousands of these questions every day, and that’s what pimping is, isn’t it, that’s just pimping.

Every time you ask someone how they’re doing, you’re effectively pimping them. That’s what it is, that’s all it is. The question is, like, when is pimping ethical? It’s just one of our human behaviors. Can it be used for good, or is it one of those things that would be so powerful that, if wielded in a particular way, could spell the end of civilization?

It could become a brainwashing tool. Or maybe it already is a brainwashing tool. I mean, it is in the sense that it amounts to, like, external pressure to get me to learn this shit, but then again, I am paying to learn it and stuff……

But like, I can imagine right-wingers using it for really nefarious shit, like true brainwashing, like they were doing in Algeria and shit. Like, this isn’t one of those ideas you should just go around saying to anyone. Like, we don’t need to give the enemy the tools for, like, rebuilding the house of colonialism…

But do we need to just abandon it altogether in favor of, like pure mindfulness or some shit? That’s not rvery realistic, is it? Because, like, yeah, uhhhh, I don’t know.

But then, like, Buddhism has continued to prosper in the collective unconscious of the human species for millennia now, and it’s like, oh, okay, shit, so… okay, like, this is what humans have always thought, and, like, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to plug into it.

And now, here I am, like, hundreds of countless eons later, I finally made it to this fucking life. It took this fucking long to get here, and I’m like, damn, everything about life continues to remind me of that fact.

Every time someone says, “Just work hard at what you want to do, and you will do it well and be good at it,” and shit, like “Work hard and that’s all you can do in life,” like that is the intention of the prayer and shit. It’s also, like, prayer meets hard work, and, like, contribution to the species, hopefully.

Whatever they decide to do with these documents after I die can be up to them. They can just, like, totally forget about it, or better yet, it all gets lost… like, blown up or something… and we lose the entire record of everything I’ve ever written. It could be snatched away from me just like that if I lost access to my Google account somehow.

Enter paranoia. Samsara paranoia. Because in reality, I know that the things I write are mandalas, and nothing is ever supposed to stick. Even the mandalas are meant to be seen only by the people who were around to see it built initially, and then after that, it is gone forever.

That’s why I’m drawn to the theater so much: because theater is a mandala, bitch. It’s a mandala in a way that other literature can’t be. Like, these things are meant to be performed. Like, even if you write a book, I think that shit is supposed to be performed. Because then it becomes fleeting and shit. That’s sort of what reading is. It’s just, like, a thing that forces you to do a performance in your head. Like, it just tells you what happens—what literally happens—and makes you think of it and visualize it and shit, and it implicates you in the design of the fucking world.

This writing shit is easy. You can really adjust all of your tools at any given time whenever you want. This is why I don’t need editors, bitch. Or, like, no, I do, I do, I’m sure I do.

But wasn’t I talking about samsara? Yeah, I was, but we don’t need to just be thinking about it all the time. It can still be true even when we’re not holding it in our hands and examining it. We can put it aside for the moment, focus our foveas on something else.

Focus. Close your eyes. Breathe. Meditate. Look through the fovea, and when you see it, you fucking see it, and things may start coming out of it. Like kings or some other colonial, heavy, fancily-dressed man with a cane and a staff and, like, a horse and royalty and shit. It’s all extending from the fovea, so just, like, keep focusing on it, that exact center point in your vision, even when your eyes are closed, and just work it out, baby, like that’s it.