I am the Open Source Woman

twinks, vyvanse and the most productive day of my life

[day 17/30 - epistemic status: inland empire nonsense, schizo rambling ahead. TW: Possible infohazards about me, sex & general grossness, slurs]

I first heard the word “open source personality” in a vimothee chalamet video.

Now I know, I know… This has “20 year old computer scientists making psychology analogies using computer science terms” vibes. Very bad vibes… I know…

But for some reason I kept thinking about this concept. The open source personality.

I have kind of been fascinated with the idea of documenting my mind ever since I was a child. The idea of writing a book where I just write down every single thing that I’ve done always fascinated me. Like all childish fascination it is completely inexplicable.

I’ve tried to actualize the fantasy. Construct an obsidian doc documenting my mind. But it’s not enough. Living through time is incredibly lossy. I need to write down every single one of my thoughts and actions. Realtime.

I’ve mentioned before that the contexts where I experience anxiety is when I have mind secrets. It’s when I really like someone, and they don’t know. Or if I have a secret, but I can’t tell. I don’t like keeping secrets for this reason. Almost all the secrets I did keep I kept because others ask me to.

I think it’s the source of so many of my problems. If people could stare straight into my soul things would be so much simpler.

Rationalist type trans women try this with their dating docs. But they lie. They share selectively. Tell me who hurt you. The thoughts you can’t shake. Your worst fears. Tell me your story about how you made makeshift cement in kindergarten and put it in the keyholes to lock everyone out of class.

Other people hold on to their mind secrets for dear life though I’ve noticed. I told a friend once that I accidentally picked up their journal and started reading. I have never seen them so scared shitless in their life.

What are you afraid of? Why hide behind fiction and allegory? You know we’re all going to die right? We’re all stardust? Primal shitting pissing breathing heaving cumming monkey meatsacks?

Getting naked

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Today, I sacrifice myself at the alter of Vimothee by ripping out my guts and spilling them on the table for all to see. To rid myself of the mind secrets forever.

When I was young I liked killing snails by stomping on them. I am deeply insecure about my own intelligence. Every morning I wake up and feel like the loneliest woman on the planet. I ditched my phone only to end up addicted to refreshing my email. I still think about that one night stand I had in september nearly every day. I am hopelessly obsessed with that woman. I am only t4t because the idea of talking to a cisgender woman horrifies me. I fantasize about a prestigious job yet can’t put in work to save my life. I consumed nothing but sissy porn as a confused 14-15 year old and I still don’t know if that’s what turned me trans. I’m still scared I will get boners when I try on skirts. I use complicated words because I think it makes me sound smarter. I’m inexplicably terrified of makeup. I barely leave my house. I have delusions of grandeur. At the ripe age of 17 I came in my own mouth and swallowed. I’ve picked my nose my entire life. SOMETIMES I EAT MY OWN BOOGERS! I LIKE THE WAY THEY TASTE AND IT’S VERY SOOTHING. I want to stop but can’t. I used to eat my own ear wax too. I only stopped because it’s not tasty.

Feel uncomfortable yet? Good.

Have you ever thought about how free the utterly insane man is? The one in the padded room smearing his own poop on the walls? He isn’t worried about shit. No dates, no status, no paycheck.

He who does not have the secret-equivalent of booger-eating cast the first stone! If only you knew how free I feel now. I’m inching towards the schizophrenic. Why be embarrassed ever again? Everyone knows now anyway.

On a recent LSD trip I eloquently wrote: “noone seems interestwd inamypre in the activity of challenging oit your own ego to a figjt ahdn stomping them and just watching and seeing what happens its like noone understands”¹ I think that’s exactly what this all is. But seemingly no one shares this impulse with me. I feel naked and alone.

But I’m not alone. This fucking guy gets it. I’m not kidding. He’s the only guy I’ve seen that ever understood.

Today I wrote down every single thought I had. And I had the most productive day of my fucking life.² Here they are, open source as promised, GPL-3 licensed.

Vimothee is a fucking coward

Pretty boy with your pretty hair.³ You think you can claim the label of open source personality because you have some slightly neurotic rants on your YouTube channel?

Your pristine and well combed hair tells me all I need to know. You’re not open source, you’re a salesman.

Where’s the pictures of you naked? Where’s you sobbing about your ex that stopped thinking about you 3 years ago? Where’s your live-streamed therapy sessions? Where’s your booger eating self report?

You’re about as open source as a fucking adobe program buddy.

3 days of hypomania? hmm?? Ever tried being a tranny?!

All of you! Cowards! Proprietary blobs EVERYWHERE!

I already was a woman of very little secrets. But after today, I have none.

I hereby swear to never become the antithesis of this manifesto.

I am the open source woman. Gaze upon my source code and commit history, but don’t bother making pull requests. I am perfect.

1. not filtering out typos for comedic effect

2. /uninsane this is true though holy shit I was so productive because if you have to log every action you’re not going to get distracted by useless dogshit. It was kind of beautiful.

3. What is the sexuality called where you’re a lesbian except for this guy