These walls encircle your whole world.
Some of them, you inherited.
Others, you built yourself.
But what if you tore them down?
If you demolished the walls,
Broke the foundations,
And stepped out
And saw what lies beyond your


$ /turds/emotion

The aspect of Holy Chaos I have struggled with the most in my life is probably simple emotion. Identifying the exact nature of my feelings—why I feel them, what exactly I'm even feeling, what I need to do in response to them—I think the clinical term is alexithymia. My feelings are an apparently-disordered badlands of utter nonsense, one that I have trouble simply smirking at with a little "Hail Eris," and moving on with my life. It's always been easier to ignore or trivialize my feelings than truly deal with them. Traditionally, my response to the Eristic sludge of my emotional world has been to shun it for the Aneristic security of thoughts, ideas, and facts.

The most important lesson that I've derived from Discordian thinking, I think, is that the map is not the territory. The territory is pure chaos, and to call it either ordered or disordered is an illusion. My emotions aren't disordered any more than my thoughts; in fact, by another way of thinking, it's my thinking that's out of whack, overly rational, afraid to do something fun just for the fun of it.

but how do you navigate with no map

The Curse of Greyface is strongest, I think, for those of us who found success in the Aneristic game of Bureaucracy. Usually, of course, that's "gifted kids," who do well at tests and school and homework and rote learning. All the things which are, in the end, total bullshit. But they are the rules of the game, and there's no reason to question the game when you're good at it. And so Anerism sets in, and we learn to take ourselves so seriously, and we learn to feel that our whole value is tied up in the game, and then the day comes when we stop being so good at it. Or when we realize that we don't particularly care about it. And now suddenly, the thing we actually care about, the thing we actually want to be good at—fucking living—we never learned how.

I feel so keenly, when I am around the people I love and who love me, the fact that I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. I have no idea how to love them, even though I do love them. I certainly have no idea how to let myself be loved. And my face is grey. And I am not the person I want to be. Or that I feel I should be.

I take myself too seriously. I see my self as in some way disordered, when in truth I simply am, and yesterday I was someone else, and tomorrow I'll be someone new.