PERFECT HUMAN SYSTEM

a complete deconstruction of self imposed biomechanical divinity

read the footnotes. I put thoughts that don’t fit the flow of the essay in the footnotes, I use them as additives for thoughts too distracting or words unbecoming of whatever I’m writing; they are often afterthoughts or pre-thoughts or during thoughts if that makes any sense. if you want the full essay, read the footnotes

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The idea of the perfect human system is an attempt to mechanize oneself. A perfect human system doesn't miscalculate, a perfect human system doesn't hyper analyze every communication; it simply knows, a perfect human system doesn't need upkeep, it maintains itself till infinity rolls over. A perfect human system is for all intents and purposes is impossible. It won’t stop me from trying.

It’s primordial, I have a deep billowing urge to be normal; unfortunately I’m on the verge of becoming a perfect human system. When I am very attentive of my existence I know everything about myself and the reality I inhabit. I see every cyclical pattern, I see every routine. I see everything I have ever been is in response to a world that is not built for me. I stim very hard until I short circuit. I am a primordial machine. I am flesh, I am bone, I am process. I have failed at being a perfect human system time and time again; despite all my attempts I have quirks, wrenches in my gears, malicious viruses in my code. I keep trying, trying to reach a sentience unfit for me.

I don't like double 8s¹, or two s's next to each other, I tap my knuckles against myself every time I see a Tesla². I compulsively crack every crack-able joint in my body if I hear another person crack theirs. All that and more, everything more, things I don’t notice, things so normalized they’re not worth noticing. I could go through everything and leave you all very confused and leave myself feeling like I missed out on two dozen explanations. I have lived more lives then I have lived years it feels. At times it feels like torture, at times it feels like heaven. Sometimes it feels like both.

At worst it feels like a malicious thought experiment. Bear with me while I explain. A month ago I got very high and wondered what if I am just a someone asked to imagining a malicious thought experiment. What if someone is told thank you for your time, you can stop imagining the worst thing you could think of and I disappear. What if I am the worst thing to ever happen to someone. They must not have had a very bad life if this is what they imagine. It’s malicious thought experiments all the way down. Bad thoughts till you realize they don’t matter, till you realize you’re the one thinking them and you can stop. Bad thoughts nonetheless. I am a malicious thought experiment. Existence is a malicious thought experiment. To think there is no existence is a malicious thought experiment. To think. To think is a malicious thought experiment; and to think about thinking³? One even worse.

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In passing I told my friend that I don't think I'm going to get laid anytime soon unless I up my medications dosage. She said there were layers to this and then forgot to give me the money she had borrowed from me.⁴ I also forgot to ask her. It illustrates something about me. I don’t know what’s going on, hardly ever do I ever actually get the pleasure of finding myself at a comfortable enough level to really and truly come to terms with a situation as it’s happening. I slap my forehead like Homer Simpson and yell DOH when I realize I completely misunderstood something for better or for worse. There are layers to it. Would things be easier if I didn’t make them so hard? I’d like to think that they would be but I also know that knowing how things work is something I won’t have the luxury of experiencing. While everyone else seems to be looking through a window I feel like I’m looking at a mirror pointed at a window. I’m coloring between lines painted with invisible ink.

I remain enamored with the idea of a perfect human system. Sometimes I boil in the pot, froth to the disaster point and manage to not spill over. Sometimes I burn hot enough to sustain my own flame, sometimes it is divinity in a drug, often it is divinity in myself. Some holy light shining through, some mechanical nature that smooths everything out and existence becomes redundantly obvious. of course of course of course. was it always this clear? I shake as this happens, my knee jackhammering up and down and down and up ceaseless. There is so much energy in me and it bubbles out but as long as the brain moves as fast as the flesh it all comes out in time. Right now I write in perfect rapt attention. my brain only going as far as the next letter. The whole page is written in front of me because of this, there’s no doublechecking it’s straight through. The structure is redundant. I could be writing any essay and as long as the words are on the paper I’ll know which one comes next. Writing hardly ever pains me, instead it feels like turning on a spigot, letting the words rush from my head and alleviating an ache that hasn’t yet occurred. It’s so obvious of course of course of course. I achieve some kind of divinity in efficiency and everything flows from source, more aptly everything is source.

To flow from source there must be a start, when I reach beyond status quo and am fish-hooked into pure bizarre attentiveness, when I come so Icarus close to the perfect human system the source is disseminated through my entire self. The source is everything. It’s an understanding I cultivate within myself so profound it comes out exactly how I want it to sound. There is no editing of this paragraph or the one before it. They are divine in nature. Not in a heretical way. In a divineness born of humanity. It’s very hard to explain without sounding like a zealot.

There is also a moment where I freeze; deer in headlights. I run into the car on purpose perhaps. Fling my body over the median in attempts to free myself. What if this is just how normal people experience the world? My neurons are frayed, my brain chemically different. Neurodivergence is a neutered word. When they tell you that you have some kind of condition they never mention that your experience of reality will be fundamentally different then others. Clinically so. There is something profoundly horrifying about that realization. I’m still coping. It’s eldritch in entity. You are different, you are medically chemically different. The world is not built for you. You must adapt your existence to a world that is at times inhospitable. You will cope. Constantly. Endlessly you will cope, you will cope in such a way that at some point it goes past coping and becomes existence. You will twitch and move and speak and think and do everything everyone else does but you will do it unsure of your own reality.

Is it only a perfect human system because I am an imperfect human? Chemically speaking. Medically speaking. I’ve been diagnosed with a lot of things. I’m lucky enough for that. I know there’s something wrong with me. Some people don’t ever get the chance to do anything other then guess. The US medical system has an almost impressive disdain for mental health, diagnoses are incredibly time consuming and oftentimes expensive to acquire. I’m sure they missed some for me when they checked off those boxes. I do not have the time or the space to worry about it. Deliberating on existence is a luxury. I can hardly afford it most days. I cram it in when I can, in late hours and on long shifts when my mind wanders. I think about what I am and if all I experience is truly as it is. I wonder if I’m as normal as I think I am. I know I am odd but do people look at me and see different in a way more marked then the different I think I am? Is my existence talked about behind my back in a way more sinister then mere gossip?

It’s vain and it’s vile; not even worth asking. It’s asked anyway, I try to go deaf for my own benefit. Ignorance is a virtue till you learn the other ones. Can’t help myself I say as I check again and again, just in my nature I say and it is.

Sometimes I find myself there. Not any actual place in particular just there. Sitting by my own side, seeing the outside of me and I wonder if the reflection is off. Is there something that I’m missing? I want to live for a day in someone else’s brain, just take some time to see how they think, I don’t care what they do I just want to see the process. It’d give me some understanding of where I stand in relation, some metric for how odd I really am.

It’s been a long time finding myself, now that I have I’m trying to pin a shadow to a wall. Does it matter? Does anyone else have these thoughts? Is it vain? Is it vile? Is this normal or am I myself. Is there normal? If I see reality different then you, then the next reader, and that readers mother, and the reader after that’s childhood best friend; does that mean there is no set reality? Are we all ships passing in the dark, too scared to turn the light on their own imperfections and missing the matching scars on their companions?

I am I so scared because my own flailing limbs have struck me across the face and I in my own foolishness have mistaken them for another? I am asking I am well and truly asking. There’s so many flip sides that it feels cylindrical, how can I wrap my head around my entire existence? I know I’m aiming too large, malicious thought experiment, perfect human system. Both are encompassing concepts. I need something smaller, something I can hold in one hand, not something that dwarfs my existence with it’s very gargantuan scale. I need something tangible. I need answers to questions of my own design. I’ll get them when I get them. You can’t rush a perfect human system.

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For the past month or so I've been trying to write this essay, issue is I always get distracted⁵. I’m real happy to have mostly finished it, though I feel like I’ve been limited by the fact this is the happiest I’ve ever been with a piece of work as I’ve been in the process of writing it. It’s not my normal style but it feels far more me, I hope it was disorienting and frazzling because it’s in a way, the world I live in.

Thank you to my first readers, the ever wonderful Natalie who I think if I didn’t quadruple text at least twice a week I would explode into a thousand pieces, you get me. Oisin who is as amazing as he is clever and he is both in spades, he’s been reading what I write since I started writing again a year or two ago and he’s been my greatest cheerleader before I even needed one. Terry. You didn’t even check your email but I’m putting you in here because you’re a real life rockstar. Thank you to everyone who listened to me talk about malicious thought experiments (i know how delusional it is without experiencing it), thank you to you the reader, i’ve got 77 subscribers to my substack that’s kind of wild thank you 77 people who fw me heavily enough to get me in their email periodically :) more stuff on the way

below are three videos from my camcorder from around the past month, use them to question what I’ve been doing with my life or destress after this essay i suppose

1. dog whistle

2. it’s called a T tap and you’re supposed to do it to the person next to you but I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone and invade their personal space so I compulsively do it to myself. Also hello international people do you guys have tesla across the ocean? Are they an exclusively American car? Ethos wise I would say so, I really do hate Elon Musk.

3. this did not fit anywhere in the piece but I desperately wanted to add this because I think about it often and it gives me massive imposter syndrome: I wonder if we’re ever truly taught anything or if it is up to the individual to transcribe it to their own brain. The act of learning requires an open mind, but does an open mind mean susceptible to information or translating of information into a usable format. For me, math makes the most sense when I can think of it in terms of music, or in terms of dungeons and dragons. Perhaps this has to do with how I operate individually, despite how conceited it makes me feel to say it, I know wholeheartedly that I while I have been taught at I have had to do the learning myself. I know everything in a way uniquely my own. I don't know if this is a profound thought or if I'm autistic. I often think that about my own thoughts.

4. she’s in the process of still forgetting but I don’t really mind because I know it’ll end up in my possession and if it doesn’t then it won’t it’s just cash. I’m far more comfortable losing cash then losing bank account money.

5. hahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahhahahaha