sugarrush-77

Reason why I’m doing this

There’s a couple themes to point out.

Fate

  • There’s an aspect of fate to all this. Daniel and his friends were chosen from all of Israel to serve in the courts of Babylon. They were good lookin’, smart, and all that. I’m sure there were others in Israel that could be chosen, but they were the ones. What I’m saying is that they were probably fated to be chosen.

Disciplined Commitment to Holiness

  • Daniel and his friends decide at the get go that they aren’t going to eat the food sacrificed to idols. They decided it was sin, that they weren’t going to do it, and they decided to eat raw vegetables instead (pretty bad food tbh).
  • The guy in charge was concerned that they would not develop properly, and grow up to be good servants of the kingdom. Then they told the guy in charge that they weren’t going to do it, and that he should test them.

Trusting in God for the Results

  • Daniel and his friends trust that God is going to deliver them from having to eat food sacrificed to idols when they ask the guy in charge to test them. They would not ask the guy in charge to test them if they had no trust in God to deliver them.
  • I’m sure that even if they did not pass this test, God would have given them a different way out.

Leadership

  • I’m sure Daniel and his friends all led exemplary lives before God. But the spotlight is on Daniel. He seems to be one leading his friends, and they follow really well, but he does seem to be that calls the shots. But he does it in a way that is pleasing to God.
  • Someone has to step up and lead.

God-given competence and excellence

  • In the text, it says that God gives them all wisdom, knowledge, and discernment over the years that they study. This shows that ability is ultimately given by God. Even if we don’t receive the same talents that Daniel and co received, we can rely on God for the ability to be excellent and competent in whatever work we do, so that He will be glorified when people look at us.

#slave2christ

What does it actually look like if we are to live as a slave to Christ? My pastor recommended me the following books of the Bible to read: Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.

I will read them!

It becomes more and more apparent to me that living as a Christian means that I have to give up everything that I am. This bothers me, and it would probably bother anyone. But I continue, in part because I know that the only path to living the life truly lived, and living a life that God acknowledges is going forward, and giving up more and more of myself. What is the alternative? Living the same way as I did before? Mired in sin, and the meaningless things of this world? These things still call to me, as a siren calling to a sailor from the deep, but what is the point in pursuing them when I have much better things to do with my life? Isn’t it much more interesting to wake up every morning, in expectant hope of what God has in store for you that day? At least, these are the things that I tell myself to keep going. The world tries to brainwash me in one direction, so I must try to keep my thoughts going in the other.

#personal

The last, only time I tried wearing a skirt in my life was 3 years ago. My friend (also male) had dressed as a french maid for Halloween, and he was onto bigger and better things that next year, like dressing as a bunny girl. I kid you not, this was his exact getup.

So without much thought, I started stripping. I squeezed myself into the costume, and glanced at the mirror. I had never imagined myself in women’s clothes, so I was really confused and disgusted. And all the while, the skirt had so much more airflow than I was used to with pants, so I felt like I was naked. I had to keep looking down to make sure that I was actually wearing something. I took everything off, and decided I would instead be Pepe the frog that year.

So when I say I want to become a shoujo heroine, I don’t mean that I want to become a male crossdresser. I mean that I want the full experience. I want to wake up late, run to school with a piece of toast in my mouth, still look kawaii, and get courted by twenty different guys of all different flavors, like you’re at Baskin Robbins or something. I’ll eventually realize that my day 1 childhood friend is actually better than all these posers, and start dating him, but until then, I’ll take my sweet time being indecisive because I have twenty-seven guys falling head over heels for me, asking me for feet pics.

The shoujo heroine experience is not even an accurate depiction of womanhood. It is an artisanally crafted serotonin cocktail intended to capture the fantasy of Japanese schoolgirls, developed through years of deep research into the Japanese female psyche. It packages the sugar rush excitement of new beginnings, intrigue, and the feeling of being desired into neat, rectangular manga panels, windows that offer insight into a life few, if any, ever experience. It lets Japanese schoolgirls escape the reality that most boys their age are trying to develop a Stand, or become a pirate in search of the One Piece.

As an avid reality-escaper myself, I’m always curious about what it feels like to live as another person. I want to know what it feels like to not have a dick, and have ovaries instead. I want to know what it feels like when someone thinks I’m hot and makes moves on me. What does it feel like to get rescued by a Princeu Charmingu? What does it feel like to get all dressed and dolled up for a festival date with a hot guy with yummy washboard abs that you frequently catch yourself salivating over, hoping that he’ll confess to you that day? What does it feel to get kissed while the fireworks burst at the festival? Does your brain light up with exploding dopamine fireworks of their own?

These are all important questions I need answered. I don’t have a closet full of skirts for crossdressing, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m not preparing a Thailand trip to become a femboy. Although if a girl gave me access to her makeup closet, I would try putting some shit on, just for the fun of it. I’m a curious guy, what can I say? If I could live a thousand lives, I would. Unfortunately, I only get one, and injecting myself into someone else’s within the realm of fiction is all I get.

#professionalcrossdresser #shoujoheroine

I’ve decided to hope again. Not because anything has changed in my life, but because I have decided to hope, embracing even the crushing discouragement that comes from having your hopes shattered. But those that hope can also possess joy in what is to come.

If I was placing my hope in something of this world, I would have no right to hope. Death takes all, events and people melt into the sands of time after their passing. The world will never be a just one, and those with power or money are no more evil than the rest of us, but simply have the ability to express it without regards to punishment. What I’m trying to say is that the world is hopeless, and no man can change the hopelessness of it because man is hopeless. You can only really have any hope based in reality if you have hope in God’s plan, and if you believe that His plan is a good one.

Today, the pastor spoke about the story of Leah and Rachel in the Old Testament. Rachel had a hot bod and a pretty face that was such a turn on for Issac he worked a total of 14 years for his uncle Laban to have her hand in marriage. Leah was the unwanted +1 of the 1+1 wife package that Laban sold to Isaac. Not pretty, but she had a good personality. Issac paid Leah practically no attention throughout their entire marriage despite her being the one that bore all of his children, and only showered his love on Rachel. Leah was a woman of faith, and although she initially held onto the hope that Issac would eventually love her, he never really did. Her hopes were continually realigned with every childbirth she had, from hoping for the things of this world (Issac’s love and recognition), to hoping for the things not of this world (God).

The central question that God posed in my heart today was this. Can I, in faith, say that in spite of everything in my life that makes me miserable, this is part of God’s good plan? And trust that He loves me, and wants the best for me? And that all my suffering will mean something? Can I hope in that, even if God’s definition of good does not fit my definition of good? If so, I can have joy, and I can have hope.

For the past ten years, I estimate that most of my time was spent in a headspace of misery. Refusing to hope in anything because I expected imminent disappointment, seriously considering killing myself, and wallowing in my misery and social isolation because that gave me more pleasure than hoping, then feeling stupid for having had any hope if disappointment came. If I was always miserable, I could always expect to be miserable, and unsurprised when disappointment came. It was my way of controlling my emotions, and at a certain point, the misery felt good. But this is in direct conflict with how God tells us to live, who commands believers to have joy. Philippians 4:4 – “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!”

I am going to stop fantasizing about opening up gashes in my arm with a kitchen knife, or feeling relieved when I imagine someone killing me. I am going to stop engaging in self-destructive behavior that stems from me wanting to die. I will not be the one that kills me. I will now bear the fear, uncertainty that comes with having hope in a future that I have no ability to predict, and even the heart-rending disappointment that comes from not having received what I had hoped for. I will have to unlearn my entire life, and I don’t expect it to successfully happen overnight. But when I am through on the other side, I expect that I will not even recognize the man I see in the mirror.

I have placed even more of my trust in God. I have decided to hope again!

#personal

I estimate about a third of my waking life has been spent in a state of numbing misery. When I’ve been in this state for longer than a week, I start needing to feel something. Anything to cut through the stupor in my brain. The usual suspects are alcohol, listening to music loud enough to hurt my eardrums, Muay Thai, or imagining my death. But I don’t even drink anymore, so usually I just blast some music or work out, which are pretty healthy coping mechanisms. I’m glad I never got into the hard drugs or psychadelics thing.

I’ve never told anyone about these things, so consider yourself special. I wish I could tell someone, but I can never do it in the moment. The moment my mouth opens and I’m about to say something, my emotions are wiped from my brain, and I can’t express myself anymore. Also, I’d feel really bad for the person listening. Everyone has their burdens, mostly burdens heavier than the troubles in my life, so I never am happy about heaping another worry on their list of things to worry about. And if they just brushed my troubles off, then I’d really really want to kill myself. I also feel a deep sense of embarrassment that I feel these things. Can’t explain why.

The past week, I’ve just felt like giving up. I want to dig a deep hole in the ground, crawl into it, and stay there for a month. I can’t talk to people anymore pretending like I’m completely fine upstairs.

I regularly fantasize about someone choking me or beating me over the head with a heavy object.

#personal

Think of the most attractive person you know.

Because I am a fucking weeaboo, the first person that comes to mind is an anime character.

It’s so fucking over for me, I know. If she was real, I’d propose to her, immediately. But today, using the example of Kikuri Hiroi from Bocchi the Rock!, I’m going to demonstrate how you can get people to fall over head over heels for you.

On a basic level, we as human beings like it when a person is:

  1. a subject of admiration/envy. You see them and think, “I want to be like them.”

  2. relatable. You see them and think, “They’re human, and have flaws just like me.”

Having one trait is usually enough to make someone like you, but having both makes you hot.

Let’s take a look at Kikuri. She’s introduced to us in the story first as a comic relief character. She’s really just an impoverished alcohol addict that begs friends for money so she can buy more drinks, and it’s a classic “haha look at that drunk, she can’t walk straight and she’s crazy haha” kind of character. You start to wonder why anybody bothers associating with her, but it’s revealed later in the story that’s she’s the frontwoman for a legendary underground rock band named SICK HACK, and she’s a genius bassist. If you don’t find Kikuri endearing for her flaws, at the very least, you’ll be impressed by her talent. If you like both, then you’ve fallen hook, line, and sinker for what the author intended to be a likeable character.

How you present this contrasting information is important as well. Kikuri is never presented purely as a drunkard, or purely as a genius bassist. The author never presents one side without also presenting the other soon thereafter. When she’s first introduced, you have the main cast of high schoolers being unsure of how to handle Kikuri because she’s so drunk, but then one of the cast recognizes her and says, “Hey, that’s Kikuri, frontwoman of SICK HACK!” When Kikuri is onstage, you’ll see her blackout drunk, but still playing frenetic baselines while crushing her vocals. Then she’ll stop in the middle of the song because she’s so drunk she forgot the lyrics. The author puts Kikuri on the proverbial pedestal, then takes her off the pedestal. When the author takes her off the pedestal, they soonafter put her back on. This alternation confuses the viewer/reader, and that’s good, because the most attractive characters and people are seemingly contradictory, and confusing.

There’s a litany of characters/people that are attractive because of this contrast. Jinx from Arcane is a renowned assassin known for her cunning and cruelty (capable), but is schizophrenic because of a traumatic childhood and estranged relationship with her sister (relatable/pity points/almost justifies her crimes). Keanu Reeves, the Hollywood actor, is incredibly down to earth despite his great success and fame and frequently makes it a point to make a fan’s day (relatable/admirable). But he’s also been the star of genre-defining flicks like The Matrix and John Wick(admirable/capable). The list goes on and on.

So how do you make this part of your life? Easy. If you’re someone with traits that make people admire you (smart, strong, artsy, etc.), show everyone your flaws. If you’re more normal and people can already relate to you more easily, an easy way to make people admire you is to show them something you’re good at. Getting good at something isn’t easy, but you’ll be surprised at how little effort it takes to be good enough at something that people admire you for it.

Afterthoughts:

You can actually expand this admirable / relatable contrast to be more all-encompassing if you play around with it enough. Whether in fictional or real settings, we love people with contradictory traits because the traits create a tension that draws us. We’re left perplexed and curious, thinking “How can one person be both X and Y?” Or “How can one person have all these seemingly contradictory traits?”

The aforementioned formula works great for most situations, but you can actually expand it to be any number of traits that seemingly don’t belong together. We love jerks (mean) with a heart of gold (kind), we love absent-minded professors that are at the top of their field (smart), but know nothing about doing laundry in a way that doesn’t wrinkle their clothes (inept at basic life skills), and Jesus (omnipotent god who needs nothing) who died on the cross for us (loves the human race). The Japanese call this gap moe.

The contrast is easiest to show in fiction or life when you have 2 traits that are seemingly at odds with each other, but you can have more traits than that, it’s just that the balancing act becomes harder. You get a more human-like, real character/person, but it is also difficult to properly show off the contrast in a way that makes sense.

None of this is original, I only rephrased what this guy said:

#storytelling

Hello to all that are congregated here at this moment, reading this drivel of mine because you have nothing better to do. I must announce with great joy that I AM OFFICIALLY NO LONGER WORTH ANYONE'S TIME!

Exhibit A

As dumb as it sounds, the value of time actually appreciates over time. What I mean is that at a certain point even the most mentally challenged of our society must accept that the amount of time given to each human being is finite, and that the sweet release of death is drawing near. That’s when time becomes a scarce resource. You’re rationing this uniquely limited element over various priorities such as, but not limited to: getting that bag, punching drywall, and watching anime.

That’s the whole reason behind why nobody wants to hang out with me anymore. My existence is no longer important enough to justify hanging out. I’ve recently moved to a new city where I barely know anyone, and everyone I ask to hang out is rejecting me with a deluge of valid excuses, all of which are meticulously constructed polite sayings to tell me that their life is already full, and there’s no space for lil’ ol’ me. I ran away from Hinge to avoid getting ghosted by hot women and rejected by everyone else. Now I’m getting Hinged on in real life by people I know.

OK FUCKERS I SEE HOW IT IS

I’M NEVER GOING TO BE FRIENDS WITH ANY OF YOU FUCK ALL OF YOU

Nah I’m just kidding. I’d settle for anyone at this point, as long as your pronouns are breathing/alive. Or I’ll settle for inference/AI. I’ll build up a bot farm to host AI friends so they can text me at various times during the day to ask me how my day is.

Despite this, I need not despair. Jesus is my friend.

#personal #humor

I was drinking a can of Athletic (non-alc beer) the other day at a Friday happy hour with coworkers. I relinquished whatever control I had on my brain, and let my thoughts and worries go. Serotonin rushed into my bloodstream, and my head began to feel light.

My imagination cast a spell on my eyes, and I saw myself shoving my fingers up and down into my can of Athletic, and blood dripping from the cuts. The thought of me bleeding profusely brought me more joy than it should have. The fantasy continued when I got back to my apartment. I imagined myself dancing in my kitchen, dripping blood from various self-inflicted cuts on my arms and legs.

To be clear, although I've thought about self-harm throughout my life, and still have residual self-destructive thought processes ingrained in me from my early twenties / teenage years, I've never cut myself, and don't plan to. But sometimes it comes up in my daydreams, framed as a pleasurable experience, watching vivid droplets of red drip to the floor, and paint my body.

I have a host of fucked up thoughts in my head, and this is one of them. I've never told anyone about this one, and I wonder if I ever will. Sometimes, telling someone about a dark thought does more harm than good. Instead of pushing it back into the undercurrent of your subconscious, you surface it into the light as a formulated, and concrete thought that you share with another human being. If it becomes unbearable, I think I'll talk about it.

I have a host of unhealthy thoughts that populate the dark recesses of my subconscious, and I do my best to push them back into the darkness where they came from. But when an overwhelming amount of them surface, my mind becomes a prison. I'm trapped fighting with urges that torture me to act upon them. My mind is walking on a tightrope, and I've been lucky to not have fallen much so far, but how much longer will my luck last? Should I be more open about my thoughts? What would Jesus want me to do?

#personal

I pissed my pants in broad daylight during 5th grade summer camp.

I left the cafeteria trying to find an open bathroom with a little bit of spring in my step, an advanced form of the potty dance. We were out in the woods, and it was the weekend, so most buildings were locked. Peeing in the woods was not an option in my mind. I needed a urinal.

I tried building after building, rattling the locked doors in increased desperation. I even encountered a camp instructor at one point who didn't understand the gravity of the situation. My bladder was about to burst, and I needed somewhere to release. She just shrugged her shoulders at me, said, “Everything's locked”, then walked away.

My willpower remained strong, but my bladder eventually buckled under the pressure, and I started to piss my pants. Being the idiot that I was, it had never occurred to me that we were in the woods and I could piss anywhere I pleased. I stood there for a traumatic, but cathartic minute minute while apple juice soaked my black shorts and trickled down my legs. After I relieved myself, I walked back to the cafeteria a shell of my former self. I wondered how I could possibly hide for 8 more hours – I couldn't get to the cabins and change clothes until the end of the day.

I played it cool. Nobody was observant enough to notice that whenever I got up from a seat, there was liquid residue remaining on the seat afterwards. I let my pants dry out through the day, and by the end, it was as if nothing had ever happened. I don't even know how nobody noticed. My classmates were not nice enough to have intentionally turned a blind eye.

The fact that I have a small bladder has not changed much into adulthood. Now instead of pissing in my pants, I lay in bed naked and piss up into the air. If I piss for long enough, my room starts to fill up to the point where piss starts to cover my body. The water level crawls up my body, closes over my face, and eventually my nose. Then my gills open up and I begin to breathe in the piss. My room is a swamp, and I am a catfish, waiting in the waters for a snack to pass by. Yum.

#personal

I have something to confess. I am actually a kissless virgin. In every sense of the phrase. I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I’ve never had sex either. When I was a college student, the topic of body count came up sometimes. Those who heard of my virginity assumed I was saving it for marriage, and said some dumb shit they didn’t mean like “respect, bro, respect.” and gave me a fistbump. Then they’d talk to me for 5 minutes and realize there were other factors at hand. An apt comparison to my virginity is a line of cheap Chinese toys that stayed on the shelves for too long and ended up 6 feet under a landfill in Alabama. I wasn’t peddling my first time to random passerby on the street by any means, but nobody was asking for it either.

Virginity is a seal of exclusivity, and for the people that care about it, it acts as a value multiplier rather than a value add. Nobody’s going “He’s a virgin. So hot!” They’re saying “He’s so hot. And a virgin too, isn’t that cute?” This is especially true for guys. There are men with insane sex fantasies drooling at the thought of taking a woman’s first time, but most women do not care if you still have your v-card. It might even count against you in the interview process, increasing proportionally with age. Just like how you might excuse a college grad but not a 40-year old for not having any work experience when showing up a job interview, not having lost your virginity becomes more and more perplexing with age. Most people will avoid thinking too much about this complicated question of “how could you still possibly be a virgin?”, and instead default to “there’s probably something wrong with him,” effectively removing you from the gene pool.

My ancestors would probably be surprised to find that one of their descendants was not able to propagate their genetics — Not due to war, famine, a second ice age, but due to severe undesirability and a penchant for developing custom-made AI girlfriends. That last part is a joke, ladies. I DO NOT have a folder on my desktop named my_waifu_harem_cave. DM me if you think I’m funny and hot.

#humor

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