Young Hands Club

I started reading through the ossasepia logs today; some highlights:

• Time is the only finite resource
• The first student had to write daily
• Don’t be afraid to publish “unimportant” shit
• Publish to improve, rather than to express, oneself. Writing = thinking
• Bro lives in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere; somehow hasn’t travelled an hour to nearest city
• Meaning (“purpose”) coming from authority; I echo his feelings
• diana_coman is a heavy-set leather trenchcoat-bedecked black man

So, what to do; believe? A few ideas:

1. JWRD – learn how to use a computer, sort out secure Bitcoin storage

2. Setup a heathen BTC node

3. Establish a local OTC network for BTC trades; possibly use localbitcoins in the meantime?

4. Stop ESLing – learn an ancient and a modern language. People seem to go for Latin before Greek; Spanish-speaking girls are the cutest/most populous. Find tutors for each.

5. Checkout local National Trust spots, galleries, museums

6. Learn some Unix tools – awk, grep etc.

7. Read entire #ossasepia log; publish notes on interesting stuff

8. Go listen to some live symphonies, if possible – Beethoven 3,6; Tchaikovsky 5,6

9. Visit Istanbul and/or Vienna before Christmas

10. Maybe play, study some pokerz; visit degenerate gambler friends in Macau

I’ve fucked up. Profoundly. Repeatedly. Obstinately. Diana Coman graciously deigned to help me, and I did… nothing. No – perhaps worse than nothing – a blink of activity, followed by a return to hibernation. I can no longer even pretend to be unaware of my failings: they were quickly exposed, and I quickly returned to their sclerotic comfort.

As is my habit, I waited until crisis to do anything. My last published article is dated June 12; I then reappeared 20 minutes after closing. What did I do in that 3-month interval? A whole load of idle, aimless leisure.

Diana asked what I got out of Young Hands; it’s more than just a highlighting of my weak-willed laziness. I’ve gained an appreciation for the importance of blogging; the fact that there’s no meaning outside of a structure of authority (and meaningless existence ain’t a lotta fun), and that I have a retarded mental model when it comes to work – despite having breifly experienced the satisfaction of productivity, and the strangely liberating sensation of a heavy workload and something important to prioritise over vacuous frivolity.

I’ve also had my habit of settling for good-not-great pointed out. I’ve not strived for excellence in poker, or anything else, for that matter; and when confronted with this reality, my reaction has been to give up, not work harder.

I don’t know what I want. I do know I don’t want what I’ve been doing – or rather not doing – the last couple of months; to wit – nothing. I am what I do, which means I’ve been a sort of ghost over the last quarter; let’s see if I can become a person.