Why I Like To Sniff My Hairy Armpits
If I really analyze all the weird crap I do, I would start to feel bad about myself. I’m sick of feeling bad about myself. Shame is that old bitch who hovers above me, her sinking, sagging, wrinkly tits drip slimy, enervating droplets of rancid milk-shame onto my life energy which smothers and extinguishes my imagination.
That old bitch of crushing shame destroys my possibilities, limits my ability to feel happiness and worst of all, she never goes away. She moved into the apartment of my mind when I was a child and the only time she takes a vacation is when the blue jelly is swallowed or snorted. The blue jelly knocks her unconscious and then I get to play. I finally get to feel good.
The shame of a thousand repressed orgasms. That’s a lot of energy build-up. But now after many years of ignoring that little throbbing gristle, that heroin-dispensing tiny heart that throbs between my legs, I’ve begun again to attend to that little beast. I have mixed emotions about it though. Every time it releases its toxic highs, it simultaneously makes me want something higher.
The truth of the matter is that I like to sniff my armpits because it makes me aware that I am a mammal. I need to be reminded of this because I feel like a robot. I would be sniffing the armpits of someone else if I were around someone else. But I’m not so I’ll continue to sniff my own armpits in order to balance out the feeling of being a machine. I wish I was a machine, actually. Machines feel no pain.
I spend the majority of my waking hours completely hidden inside my own head. I really don’t engage in the things that bring about physical and emotional health. I attended one AA meeting in the hopes that I would find some kind of connection with people like myself, people who define themselves as addicts. It became apparent within minutes of that meeting I was unable to connect deeply with the people there. I need a support group called, People Who Feel Like Machines.
I have begun trying really hard to find people whom I can connect with deeply. But the truth is that I have gone so long without that kind of connection than anything less than ideal is immediately rejected by me.
I’ve grown completely intolerant of halfwits, and ego-driven people, basically people who have not done the internal work and who have coasted through a superficial existence never reflecting within themselves.
Sometimes I am overtaken by impulses to help other people. But I think really what’s going on is that I want to help myself first. I think those helping impulses are all targeted and focused on helping myself. I have an incredibly reduced ability to feel any sort of happiness. That is why in the past I used to take drugs to just feel normal. Is it possible to feel really really good without drugs?
What does that scenario look like for me personally?
What are my visions of happiness?
Is it possible that unhappiness has become the new norm in the world?
What is the definition of happiness actually for me? Answer: I like to think of happiness in terms of feeling good.
So what types of activities make me feel good with the exception of taking drugs and giving myself orgasms?
I think for me it is connection with like minds. That defines happiness for me.
Also, the experience of identifying and accepting another person’s suffering without judgment causes me joy. This is not easy to do. The person that comes to mind recently on Medium is Jon Westenberg. What does he have to do with sniffing armpits? Nothing.
I do not know him personally however, I do sense the recent criticism directed towards him is causing him to suffer. His situation reminds me a lot of a popular and successful jock in high school.
The jock in question experienced lots of wonderful rewards like recognition, universal praise for his good looks and social jealousy. The girls loved him, the boys wanted to be him. That all ended one day when he had an accident and endured horrific electrical burns that covered half his face and body.
The disfigurement had terrible effects on his self-esteem. He started to question everything he stood for. It turns out he didn’t know what he stood for because he had never been forced to think deeply about such matters. He was too busy being liked and admired by everyone to be plunged into a deep analysis of his own beliefs. He had never experienced life in the gutter before and it plunged him into a dark and terrible place for the first time.
How do I know all this to be true? Well, I don’t know exactly what Jon Westenberg is experiencing. I can only look within my own personal experience and then apply it to others. This is faulty, but it’s all I have.
That story of the jock is my story from my own life. Except my burn was psychological. I got mixed up with a sociopath who I let brainwash me. And reverse the genders, replace the word jock with Homecoming Queen…. I was voted in high school to be The Most Likely To Succeed. I got straight A’s, was super athletic, attractive and finished high school early, secured a high-paying modeling contract at age 17. Life seemed pretty easy, little effort was required on my part. The world felt like my oyster and I was going to eat it all up.
The only thing I can honestly say caused me issues was my personality which is very introspective. It processes pain in a very slow and methodical way.
I always had a tendency to analyze and look at things from various perspectives but at that time when I was receiving incredible amounts of validation from the external world, I did not do as much examination as I do now.
I have a lot to learn from Jon Westenberg but I have even more to learn from Henry Wismayer and Alana Massey.
Alana Massey possesses a fierce and caustic wit. I lover her style. I have an enormous amount to learn from her. She’s a pit viper flashing her electric blue tongue at her conquests. I’m the algae-covered sloth masturbating alone in the darkened corner.
Henry Wismayer’s suffering may be surfacing because he knows he is a more profound writer than Westenberg. And he is. Wismayer is a seasoned professional writer who has mastered the art of deep thinking and symbolic, heavily metaphorical, beautiful writing. Every time I read his stuff, I feel like I’m swallowing carefully carved precious stones that cut the insides of my throat on the way down. His writing is so good, sometimes it hurts my brain.
Additionally, I become aware of just how many words I don’t know when I read his articles. This makes me feel a little stupid and I wonder if what we’re seeing here is an indication of the fact that most humans are not deeply thinking about anything. Instead, they are operating in a way of taking the path that causes the least amount of mental suffering. Mental exertion is suffering after all. Being faced with ugly truths is a form of mental suffering too. When we understand that the most successful Medium articles are written using 6th grade level English, our hearts sink.
What does this mean? (I’m not talking about the Bieber here.)
I believe it means the average person who reads on Medium wants answers quickly and concisely to the issues that prevent them from living a fulfilled existence. Most people don’t operate within a highly evolved labyrinth of creative ideas.
Most adults are crunched for time. Most people’s imaginations have been squeezed, constricted, twisted, dry cleaned, sterilized, dessicated, destroyed, numbed, inverted, the list goes on. The modern human has become synonymous with the word, consumer. No one is surprised by this. It has come to pass.
I believe that human consciousness can be improved by weaning oneself off consumerism and replacing it with generative creative thought. From creative thought energy, emerge concrete things like the development of companies, books, art, etc.
It’s hard to do.
On a daily basis, I ask myself: what can I create today? I look inside myself and ask the following questions:
- Where is my suffering coming from?
- Who else is suffering?
- Have I solved some big problems in life that could be of benefit to others?
But by far the most powerful tool in my mental arsenal and the one that guides most of my actions on a daily basis is this:
Factor X: I’m dying. I’ll be dead by the end of the day. What thing do I have hidden inside me that could be the greatest value to humanity now and even into the future?
Sometimes the answer is: paying attention to my own child (I’m bad at this sometimes especially when I’m consumed by intense thoughts).
Sometimes the answer is exposing some embarrassing truth that has the potential to help free other minds who happen to come across it. I see myself as an emancipator of slaves. (And by slaves I include the white tech bros who are slaves to their egos, bank accounts and power. Those are not things that can ultimately change the trajectory of human consciousness. They can change the tools by which some select human consciousness uses to evolve, but they don’t touch the miserable hoardes who never even get to touch such tools.)
If you want to add insane value to the world, imagine a world in which you don’t exist. Then operate from the position that you will soon die. But don’t expect the world to immediately care. You have to stick around and show people you’re serous, you are genuine. If you’re not genuine and have a shallow life experience, do us a favor and stop writing so much. Take a break from writing and go out and live something. Make it wild. Do the thing that freaks out your mind. We will be waiting for your deep analysis of it in the future.
Thanks for your attention today.
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Your Partner In Mad Ideas,
Stellabelle
