Ezekiel 杨蕊七

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Personal Introduction

Warm greetings to you all. I'm a 17-year old guy-shaped person, and if I'm lucky, I'll grow up. As for my name, you can call me anything as long as it makes sense in context. Rui or Ezekiel works too.

There are a few things I enjoy, usually when I put a little work into them. I can music. I can words. I can consume. I can logic. They sometimes lead to more specific interests, though not many long-term ones. Only Homestuck, the sticky presence that's been haunting me for years. Maybe gender and Christianity count too, just to throw them out there. We'll see how it goes.

I lack friends, but that's nothing too unusual. Laziness, nihilism, insecurity, and unnecessary anxiety are my vices, though not ones I particularly enjoy. The weather changes every day no matter what I say, so I try to chill out on the dreary hypothesizing. It's the little things that count; just because it's a cliche doesn't mean it's wrong.

I have a lukewarm temperament as a default setting these days. It might be due to my being overcautious about mistakes and fear of being out of control. My frequent rumination on insignificant things probably contributes too. That's to say I'm as far from perfect as anything. God spits me out of His mouth.

I used to be more of a misanthrope. I'm trying to recover from it, but I don't want to forget the things they've taught me. Especially as a child, which you can say reasonably I still am. Empathy is the way forward, as rocky and ultimately self-serving the path may be. I don't know for sure who I really am, but isn't that just the thing we all have in common? Well, if it isn't, I guess I'll have to deal with saying something stupid because I made the choice of putting myself out there.

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Now I just need an excuse to use footnotes, because I'm insecure and pretentious. I'll see a percentage of you around. That's a reductively utilitarian way of looking at it, but that's the inevitable result of trying too hard to be neutral.

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Why I'm here

I don't use most social media. No Facebook¹, Instagram², Twitter³, Snapchat⁴, Tumblr⁵, Tiktok⁶, etc. The ones I frequent include Quora⁷, Reddit⁸, Discord⁹, and YouTube¹⁰. I'm not trying to judge the people on those platforms, I'm just making it clear which ones I participate in. And it doesn't mean I don't have an unhealthy relationship with them. I do, in fact. However, something I've noticed is that, other than Discord, I've never found myself contributing to any of it. There are reasons why.

First off, I'm not an assertive person, and when there's no reason to express myself, I won't. So I slip into a habit of doomscrolling quite easily, and that is partly a issue I can only address on my own. But at the same time, it's hard to break away from something whose ultimate purpose is to keep your attention. Because that's how they survive and propagate.

Social media incentivizes controversy over substance. People are objectified: flattened, distorted, and most of all, commodified. The only value people can provide each other is "content". The most important relationship is that of one between the consumer and the consumed. I hate to use the word "unnatural", but that's what it is. Despite everything promised to us by capitalist society, I believe that our natures are not suited for giving in to the illusion of being God in exchange for being harvested.

All that is to say: I want to make my own stuff. That, or time, and therefore life, has no meaning. It's not the end of the world if that happens, but it would make no difference if the world was there or not. Hedonism has its benefits, and so does nihilism, but hedonistic nihilism is the shadow cast by our ability to comprehend divinity. It can be absorbed into the greater whole, but it can also lure us into a state of utterly meaningless isolation. For my sake and yours, that's what I wish to fight.

Thank you, devs, for making this possible. Thank you, reader, for being here. And have a nice day. If you're unable, try peace or passion. The choice is yours!

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1. Boomers.

2. Pictures are for people who can't read.

3. The only acceptable instance of deadnaming.

4. Eh.

5. The least bad one. The problem is that I'm too lazy and dumb to use it.

6. Do I really need to explain?

7. Only for the fair number of skilled and interesting writers on there. Otherwise? Memes and Nazis.

8. Yeah... Hard to justify this one. But it definitely depends on the subreddit.

9. Only one or two servers at a time, and not anymore at this point.

10. Varies in quality.

My body will not accept this amount of self-consciousness. It's a retraction of the soul, it's embarrassment. Proper grammar is a sign of taking myself too seriously, trying to shove myself into the writer box when all I want to do is express frustration. I don't have to. I can dash off a string of lightly punctuated blocks of words perfectly well. Maybe it's the bad memories of not being able to stop. Too much formlessness is a mudslide chasing me down a spiral. It's not pretty.

This style doesn't abet my worst instincts, but it feels less genuine. I'm not well-balanced enough right now to speak with proper sentences internally. There are horrible aspects of being mortal. It's horribly awkward.

I'm drifting, looking for grounding. How was my day¹? Focus on negatives: dirty degrading marks on mind-film, cluttered yet without substance, in a form that erases experience. It's so easy to get worked into worried dissociation. I think I've improved my will a little. The problems don't go away if I ignore them. Or if I lecture myself about them as guilt ointment, not even intending to address them physically. Over time, anxious thoughts and self-flagellation become desktop shortcuts. Meaningless dread is just oily and disgusting.

Now that a healthy dose of somehow meaningful bullshit has scared off the normies, it's time to be specific. Well, maybe it's still too understandable. That's the big rational objective of communication, right? Social constructs and cultural signposts yadda yadda whatever. I'm lazy, and the schematics in my head are shrugging. Future me will think this is all loser shit, so who cares? I've already spent enough words on insecure self-justifications.

I'm intimidated by a lot, and I want to exert that pressure on those weaker than me. I don't want to think I have a choice in the matter, because having choices is immoral. Personally, I like the idea of them, but it's a different story when I'm face to face with one. It's a lot of shit to put on one stupid nothingfucker. Let it be. Let the trolley kill them all. I didn't see anything. In fact, I might just stab forks into my eyes as an alibi. I was caught off guard; even now, I don't know what to think about powersaws, man.

The best life lubricant is expression. I have no agency without it. Am I a worse and more immature person than I come off as? Depends on the signals I send. The colour, the shape, the message. The place where I don't need to think about them is God, where action is truly unnecessary. It's not here, and I don't see it changing anytime soon. Where's the emanation? I'm foolhardy to itch for it. Death is in the same category, I guess. Suicide is not the answer though. It's not an answer at all. More like a panic button.

Other heavy things happen to other people, and I don't know how to care. Do I not want to? Do they have to look me in the eye directly, bore through my insides to the very core? What if I'm totally selfish and evil? Will they think I'm selfish and evil? I hope not. But they would need to know; it's important.

There's a time to let go, when the trail goes somewhere else less manageable. There's a kernel of purpose in doing so, but not much more. It's a good thing I don't need much. Too much of it is a burden. Or perhaps it's good for me, and my fear of it kills the possibilities. Predestination breeds desperation breeds motivation breeds profit? I don't know where this is going. I'll leave it for now!

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1. Is time discrete or continuous? I'm not feeling it either way.

once the oldest arm of flight
older than the breath sings
squeeze the air out open air they
speak too close and find

these swirling lives unpeeled
while freedom blows on pictures
they hate them for their word and words
won't never wait again

million frames a second
shifts a second time
what's a whale? what's a shepard?
ignorance, justice, divine

memories of effort
and urchins poking signs
fault whichever sun hits
they care too much they fear

to mock the aim the feed
fickle others smear the paint
muddy shoes ride the wick
what a sane weep to the stair
leaders say just let it be
whom the last train saves
no one breaks illusion
all the colour is there

wrong questions, might answers
a puppet of common sense
pale, jarring sounds
pieced together all around
from the coming
shaded pools went
from the leaving
those living stems

hear it now?
you'll hear it then

Just because you used up your time and energy inefficiently doesn't mean you have to keep doing it. Idiot. Sometimes I wonder who really is the captain of this boat. The monkey is very powerful, but so is the editor.

I'm waiting for something to happen. I should be able to wake up from all this. But it's too much pressure on a single event, methinks. If it comes, it better be worth it. Now I'm being demanding. Identity politics has ruined me. Identity and politics are bad enough on their own.

I think I'm pretty satisfied right now. No, that's what I feel. And... now that feeling is escaping. That's fine. Either death comes or I'll love life, if only for a moment. No need for dipping back into the middling reservoir of unnamed anxieties. It's useful sometimes though.

Am I being too mean or too nice to the reader? I don't know. Anyways... I think I'll go to sleep.