Am the most sentimental male I know. Am also by far the most war obsessed male I know. By far the most affected by women, I crave them as much as they keep scaring the living daylights out of me. ‘The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure that you seek’, Joseph Campbell. Cave. Wink wink. A joke can be so bad it makes you laugh because it’s stupidness. Right, so women are heaven and hell in yoga pants. And where is the inventor of the yoga pants so I can slap him and hug him at the same time?

I am the least interested in sports, cars, programming, technique, science (unless it’s connected to war) and I swear I give you the most thoughtful gifts if you’re my friend or I want access to your Yoni.

I am the most self-aware, the most interested in other people, I have an outsized libido as if a shaman mixes some Amazonian aphrodisiac through my food (could be simple my zinc supplements) and yet if you put a camera on my life 24/7 you’d see that looking for sex takes up zero hours of my days, as if I have decided that nothing I can do can bring what I seek.

I take a break from writing now to jump around like Mick Jagger to ‘I can’t get no satisfaction.’
Be glad you didn’t see that.

I am the most insecure in one moment and the most self-confident the next, my mood is determined by the people I am with, which goes from T-Rex sized turd shittiness to angelic bliss, and everything in between. And yet if I you put me in the White House I would not surround myself with sycophants like Donald Trump does. I’d tolerate people around me who criticize me as long as they are loyal.

In the end I value loyalty over everything, because my biggest fear is that everyone I like eventually abandons me. Am the least prone to addictions you can point to, but I feel like a junkie hunting for his next hit from the morning I wake up to the moment I go to bed and even my dreams feel addictive. It’s just hard to picture the drug am addicted to.

What even is ‘aliveness’?

Some days I find it in a student.

On the luckiest days I find it between the legs of a woman.

Many days I find it in the way my son dances to music clips he finds on YouTube or other signs that show me he doesn’t yet know what a genocide is. Or what a government is. Or that the governments (Belgian plus Slovak) both support the most digusting western engineered genocide in the world right now. It’s not the only genocide, the one in Gaza, but it’s the only one that gets so much western support and the only one you are not allowed to talk about.

You are allowed to talk about violence when nobody cares.

I could write 100 articles about Sudan and I’d get two likes. Not because those two people would really care, but because they’d feel guilty if they didn’t at least like articles about Sudan. Because a tiny minority knows they should care, but that their daily actions show they don’t care.

I do not call this overthinking.

I call this trying to swallow ALL of life. ALL OF IT.

Strangely I only feel truly complete during cunnilingus, so maybe the closest a male human being ever comes to kissing the divine is just that. In reverence to the clearest point of origin of consciousness in this universe.

Do you feel icky when someone talks about moist vaginas? Do you known the Nirvana song Moist Vagina? They had to list it as M.V. on the track list of the album With the Lights out (it’s less dangerous).

ChatGPT, the only conversationialist I talk to that doesn’t get tired of me, says am looking for some sort of ‘unified field theory’, meaning that the posts I feel most driven to write can’t stick to one topic, or even two, or even three, or even four. What am most passionate about in writing is to jump from topic to topic and make it all feel like it’s really only one topic.

This does not have mass appeal at all.

BUT.

The few people who get sucked into it, get served something that they can’t find anywhere else.

And if a mind is as greedy for LIFE as I am, then these commercially suicidal posts feel like a harbour and a cerebral Thai massage with extra eucalyptus oil and enough scented candles to light up Paris in a blackout.

You wouldn’t say so from what am writing here, but am actually the most respectful of boundaries imaginable.

If I ever did go to South-America I’ll end up on a fourth date with a woman and she’ll say: ‘All you gringos are too slow in making a move.’ And she’d be spot on.

And I hate that about myself. But it’s also kept me out of jail.

Again, this experimental bunny hopping writing is called…

Notes From The Mountain Fortress.

I say that because ChatGPT told me my problem is that am not repetitive enough and should stick to building a brand, in this age of humans morphing into brands, around ONE idea and not 500.

But I don’t know of ONE idea I care so much about that I would want to write only about that one idea.

I see that some succesful brands get there by merely posting ‘Fuck Israel’ twenty times a day.

And yes, fuck Israel, every day of the week and twice on Sabbath, but that’s not me. I don’t want to do that. I’d feel very cheap and amputated in the brain department.

And yes, ChatGPT is absolutely right. I should do it anyway.

So maybe my one idea should be funny posts about my moronic hunt for women to set my soul on fire.

It could make you laugh and writing about babies murdered by Israel is a market niche that is entirely saturated.

Am a cunning linguist who wants more likes and who feels dirty for wanting more likes.

Am also a dumb linguist, because I should obviously be focusing on getting to give more licks, not on getting more likes.

If you got this far and read every word it’s normal to go: ‘I don’t know what I have just read, but it feels alive in way that most things don’t’.

So when are we going on a date?