Saturday, March 28, 2026

Age Aggression: Generational Envy & Influencing Insecurities

A delve into horror & human behavioral psychology to sitcom gilded glazing and the generational gap considered.


I. Existential Angst


Part of the 1980s line of campy B-horror movies is that of the 1981 Alison’s Birthday. Story to the film is a classic Satanic Panic tale: a secretive intergenerational cult preying on a groomed youth on the behalf of an ancient deity; who possesses the body of a 19 year old for some 80 years or so then the rite of reanimating this possession repeats. In the end it’s like Freaky Friday, the adolescent (Alison) wakes up in the body of the woman who had gone through such decades prior to her, as her own younger vessel is used as replacement. A longing, age-regressive instinct it would seem in celluloid form. 

It’s similar to a more recently released movie, The Substance. The 2024 body horror bit shows this vampiric longing for this sort of youthful rejuvenation, to the point of conscious autocannibalism, and the main character losing her entire person in the introspective split attempt at batting away nature’s road to inevitable death. Wherein it differs in portrayal of this fear of aging as the plot to steal Alison’s youth is completely unbeknownst to her, while Sue seals her own fate knowingly after being told (and experiencing) consequences of abusing the reincarnating drug she takes. In the end both succumb to this end, one’s life stolen the other frantically eaten through in the averting attempt. 

Thematic contents and concept not necessarily given in the same light, however the human denial of death is evident. As one ages they get consciously closer to that encroaching and unavoidable end date. Mortality Salience as prescribed by Terror Management Theory would go to explain this as a wholly natural one: biologically, like any other animal, a human has an innate drive for survival, paired with an evolved intelligence and subsequent overactive imagination. Combined psychological posit, as well as a movie the same vein of ‘80s B-horror flicks. The  reverse-snuff film Frankhenhooker takes from the average interpretation of the tale, and adds more of an element of human grief into it, as a man resurrects his decapitated sister with the pieces salvaged from exploded prostitutes. 

A similar human ship of Theseus scenario furthers this idea is season three episode fifteen of the grandstanding, all-referencing series Supernatural. Antagonist to the monster hunting siblings in this episode is that of a nineteen century surgeon who achieved a form of immortality by replacing any ailing ligature or organ of his own with that of those surgically stolen from younger and healthier specimens. 

With that accumulated explanation of the parable, this ill-perception of age and envy of youthful energy and time ticking down to the grave, coalesces into a generation animosity. In all the given theatrical examples it shows up as an idea of some form of perpetual reincarnation. In Alison’s Birthday it’s notable that the age of reanimation is in that of a 19 year old, switching with a 103 year old. Being revitalized in a fresh body the eldritch entity is able to exist (almost) ad infinum, regenerating eventually to when is generally spoken in hindsight as ‘good old days of age’. Rinse and repeat. 

II. Absurdist Insecurity & Reconsideration


The Office was a sitcom originally set in the UK but more famous in and due to its American variation. Idea spanning the base material and spanning all nine of the successive series is that of a mockumentary about one select branch of a paper company and all that ensues within its walls and lives of the employees. Weddings, cruises, bears, beets and Battlestar Galactica the camera caught it all, much to the surprise and initial dismay upon realising just how intimate the recording over the years had been as the show neared its finale. In that finale capping off the ninth and last season of the sitcom as a whole, miniature monologue delivered from Cornell grad and by that point former Dunder Mifflin employee Andy Bernard (played by Ed Helms) expressed a sonder-ful sentiment saying, "I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them," after having (presumably) seen up to then in the series as had consistent viewers by then. 

Largely contrary to my own prior espoused opinion on the matter it would seem that the concept of generations has sense to it beyond comparison to wishy-washy astrology. Astrology is a concept which curates people into broadly defined categories based on certain traits shared. Generational differentiation does the same: a bracket, the segmented portion of people born during a certain era, with conscious connection to and development within it; and as a result an averaging of produced behavioral outcomes and emotional outlooks categorized by such a label. Like any broad stroke of a brush it isn’t all-encompassing however largely stereotypical, environmentally.

Within generations are its own groups supporting the idea. Shell-shocked soldiers, roofie ruminating revolionaries to angry aesthetic terrorists and marginalized, ordinary every day school shooters to emo’s, hipsters and groypers, what results in people’s development then rubs off and updates to the environment for every successive youth group. 

Essentially it would seem that the issue is almost, or would be, that influence and its impact onto the younger members of the population. Older ages lay their moral musings, insecurities and baggage for the upcoming generations to sort through succinctly. Insecure baggage levies down as hysteria characterizing eras: the creation of the Atomic Bomb made groundwork for induced fear for lost futures. 

Gaps in the eras and as a result worldly outlook it seems a reactive instinct to opposition of instituted, inculcated baggage— bad and good— of those raising them. As such they raise their children in differentiation to experienced adolescent rearing ills until nonetheless this is repeated by their children’s children, and so on. The seeming result to this in the grandparental generations is a more negative broad stroke painted on the youth (as well as vice versa) for being weaker, lacking in ethic, having been more coddled… lacking in what they in fact seemed to be raised lacking, some qualities of existence which led them to their older age and place in the world. 

It takes two to tango, procreate and continue the ages so on and so forth. 

Envy based on age and projected animosity as a result is and likely will always be a present conversation to continue. From the younger ages this envy is in response to lost, ruined, hopes and futures and perceived ease of experience with those of older eras like the gilded age or post WWII boom; and envy from the older generation for seeing the changes in their lifetime in abundance or ease of access to things that the youth seems to be coddled with, and made soft. 

Uniquely then it is when the younger generation becomes older, there’s a reminiscence going along with the negation of natural age. A natural weariness of the progression, the past is often painted over with a primrose gleam in longing daydreams. Come then declarations of the ‘good old days’ and so called golden ages— glorified and gilded segments of time, a fetishized revitalization fueling both generational ambition and aggression. 

Ensuing from this is the sense of nostalgia, despite if what is remembered is glossed over. A powerful, dopaminergic drug nostalgia can be. Like with Andy Bernard in The Office stating his own sense of it— when was it really? Throughout the course of the show his character routinely is put through the blender: an engagement failed as a result of being cheated on with a fellow coworker, constant ‘rage bait’ from peers, losing his job and family fortune in swift succession… in other words would those really be the best days of his existence? Likewise this can be taken to a personal autobiographical interpretation; as well as to a now incredibly common phenomenon of individuals of youth being nostalgic for times they themselves never even existed in. 

Wednesday, March 25, 2026

40 pages

There’s only some forty more pages left to fill in this notebook I got back in January. On average it seems I go through around that many pages a week, give or take days and papers. Anyway I decided to do a 40 line poem as a way to coincide with the limited time. 

One week sleeps into late day, two nights all awake—
Third much of the same, occasionally crashing into a comatose state,
Conscious again before too long, too much too soon;
Too little and too early, why bother finding party or comradery?
What’s truly bothering is the practicality of a purple pen—
Smooth and spitting out ink, cleaned out down to the last drop…
Time moves rapidly in frozen mind-play:
Past and present blur as a future momentarily concurs,
Blots and smeared papers, stained hand sides,
For my own private eyes  

Live a little, die a thousand times and revive: rewrite
Scribbling out stupidities, evident mistakes—
Shown shit-shot, candid calamity and beautiful brevity,
Youthful nuisances, minded turbulence: reconfigured truths—
Re-arranged attitudes and unconscious allusions; 
Cat-curious amidst confusion;
Point on paper unleashing recreation:
Pint of this, hint of that— interpersonal correlation,
Odd lack of initial understanding— 
Constant conceptual mining

Minced misunderstandings, collected intellectual entropy—
Cultivated clarity with continual correction,
Biological computer, handwritten invigoration;
Sober and stoned, added combined comprehension,
Cautious perception in cynical self-recognition—
Pattern-porn checkered and torn:
Poured out passion; scripted convictions,
Contradicted end-missions;
Shredded shrink, dipped feet loosely sink

Persisting proof, grandiose and grotesque:
Banal bullshit and gray gaiety—
Spills, savored sips of ever-intaken coffee,
Ingested liquid-literary sanity;
Black envy and calmly smoking,
Eloped knowing with missing a million marks—
Paper pulpit, flammable consultant;
Frayed flames, stoked dust long after the smoke
Indifferently uplifting self-psychoanalysis
Forty more pages to fill and never miss

Friday, March 20, 2026

Coffee iii


Written originally on a napkin in a Diner while drinking coffee after having had an incredibly midnight meal. 

Midnight dish, March cool must;
Diner went, marijuana tailing scent,
Candid, average mundane extreme instance—
Half & Half creamer for a warm cup of coffee;

Unique interaction unfolds before—
Fly on the wall, intaking it all:
Odd, interesting overall;
Stool-chairs and witnessed baking

Tasteful creations; plentiful French toast,
Over half a century old, empty and now late becomes early;
Fresh hit, caffeinated hot bliss—
Spoon-spinning vital existence 

Thursday, March 19, 2026

Considerations on K-Punk

Considerations on K-Punk

Analysis on articles in the collected book of Mark Fishers’ K-Punk blog. One of many. This instance here uses two articles to channel their concepts.

“Anti-capitalism is nothing new in Hollywood. From Wall-E to Avatar corporations are routinely depicted as evil. The contradiction of corporate-funded films denouncing corporations is an irony capitalism cannot just absorb, but thrive on. Yet this capitalism is only allowed within limits… but any direct action against the rich, or revolutionary moves toward the redistribution of property, will lead to a dystopian nightmare.”

All that Star Wars added to the formula was a certain spectacle– the spectacle of technology, via then state-of-the-art special effects and of course the spectacle of its own success, which became part of the experience of the film.

Reminiscent of what Jordan Peterson divulged in his thirteenth 2015 personality lecture on existentialism and its relation to totalitarian regimes of the 20th century; articulating the literal magic embodied and venerated from an item, or idealized object such as Elvis Presley’s guitar: 

You think: what exactly is that it makes a guitar Elvis’ guitar? It is not exactly the guitar, because it is just sitting there, like any object does, and maybe you could be able to think about it. You could take that guitar out and put a guitar just like it, and it would still be Elvis’ guitar because they wouldn’t know. So you might think that this is not really Elvis’ guitar. That is a funny thing because you would only think that if you thought that Elvis’ guitar was the thing that was made out of material that was sitting right in front of you. And that isn’t what it is. That is only one tiny little bit of it. That bloody thing is a part of an incredibly layered reality. I mean, the people who want to go look at that, they are looking at it in some sense because of the magic that is emanating from it, but the magic is actually real. The magic is the effect of that guitar, let’s say, on the entire culture. And those effects are the damn guitar too. And it is weird, because when you go look at Elvis’ guitar, you are not looking at the guitar, you are looking at the magic.

Be it as grandiose as Elvis’ guitar or the mechanical sounds of Darth Vader inhaling and exhaling before igniting his red lightsaber in the smokey corridor of rebel scum trying to save the Death Star plans at the climax to Rogue One, setting the stage for A New Hope. Movies have always had a magical element to them with their power to enthrall a person, even if the movie itself isn’t ‘good’, as does anything with such a mythical status which manages to hold itself in the eyes of loving customers, even if more than half of them criticize Disney’s handling of franchises or Machiavellian theatrics deployed by the USA in Venezuela in recent months, or Iran in the last few weeks. Fishers’ point adds up: The Empire may be a visible parable to systems seen in place by the day to day, but it would be similar to the 2025 film One Battle After Another. A fetish for change and cinema to explore it on the big screen and feel everything in safety, either way feeding the criticized apparatus. Rinse, repeat and a big-budget box office release. Tomorrow is different but it is still the same.


Film and customizable apparel, whether in line of the corporate oversight or perceived personal preference lends to a commodified presentation nonetheless and regardless of individual stance. What such pathos pulling pieces seem to do is a sort of simulation– it titillates a person’s senses enough that they’re energized, fired up. Then it dissipates as nothing truly changes quickly enough in one’s own lifetime, yet completely shifts all throughout. Maybe the window dressings change so as to peer out and allow glimpses in; creating an aesthetic, apathetic loop– rerun after remake; some memetic comedy is almost a necessary relief.


Due to popularity largely originating from the 2018 Doomer Wojak meme caricature, the Doomer concept can be likened to a more recent (than 8 years ago) meme. While dubious in nature of origin and unlikely to be correct in historical account, most speculation pointing to upon realizing his loss at Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte is purported to have solemnly admonished, “There’s nothing we can do”; which was lifted and taken through a spin online around the same time Ridley Scott released a ‘biopic’ on the mythical man. Pair the phrase then paste it onto a melancholic image of the French Emperor with the overlaying of a song called Armor Plastique by Adelle Castillon, usually slowed down with a hint of reverb on for added and implied effect…


Beheaded Boredom

Darwinian dice, fatalistic vice
Called it once, twice— always on the thought of paying some price
Power political pornographic infliction;
Assigned, accepted addictions of condition 

Beheaded boredom, bed on barbed wire;
Unconscious, solipsistic twosome-
Voluptuous, digitally burning fire;
Smooth slide, decreased rapid descent

Destination somewhere, destination nowhere 
All-day destitution, noticeable nuisances 
Everywhere disillusioned, cadaver conclusion
Pointless existence, inconsequential egress

International island of abundant indulgence-
Absurdist contradiction, lust in luxury;
Active brain death, comatose curation
Computing correction and everlasting electric connection 

Wednesday, March 18, 2026

Detective Daydream

On the public transit bus, I had payed the $2.50 fee to ride, though see others board for free. In my seat I begin to drift— mind meandering until I’m in the third person. Not so dissociative, more so all-intuitive. I think of myself as some detective from a noir flick from probably a century ago, and being in Chicago I had a perfect image and energy to feed off for such a bit. 

Going along on the way to the Museum of Science & Industry, as it would pertain to answers necessary to solving a secret case. See, some weeks ago a group, some degrees removed from old Capone and his goons, hijacked a delivery expecting booze and wound up mistakenly making it away with some leftover moon food. That dehydrated stuff they give to astronauts. Not the most glorious case to take, but one must make a name by some stakes. 

Entrance to the museum and innard exhibitions free as being on “active duty” for the case, though I’m not technically working for any agency, merely lending assistance where they screwed the pooch. There inside I find where it all would be to see, checking out some examples of what I am looking for which isn’t stolen. In order to “gain a better idea” about it all I stop in and see a small explanatory video about space— it’s a hopeless case. The stolen food is an inconsequential, although unfortunate, misstep which is likely lost forever. Dehydrated I’m not sure where it will end up beside some trash bin or dumped on the side of some road. 

Stopping at the cafe inside the monolith of a museum to have coffee and a donut prior and after the screening, coming up with this silly daydream. 

Sunday, March 15, 2026

20


Like with during the exact beginning of the New Year (of this year, 2026) with crafting a poem— Time Eats—  for a technicality of Laos around the sun while even a fetus— given my birthday is March 15 (today), reason could stand I could have had higher cerebral function at the time of 2005 slipping into 2006 whilst in the womb. 

The idea then on New Years being the same as now— as well as planned since then. That being twenty lines of a poem for twenty completed years of existence. 

One hour now
I guess I’m counting down 
Pre-emptive beginning while sipping Dr Pepper;

Unpredictable routes and consequential decisions—
Diabolical, ever-active imagination; rogue, unknowable destitution 

Another year another set of marks
Another decade and another coin toss
Alive as needed, echoing existentialist 
Surviving fatalist, salience negation
Prolonged, idealized condition…

Three minutes after the hour and two decades after the mundane occurrence 
Inconsequential unpredictable fluid drenched ignorant entity
Coagulated, vital existence in odd degrees

20 years: banal, beautiful and bitter altogether 
Interesting introspective case study every other day 
Incessant inquiries and reductive rationality to passive nihilative survival
Information addict; coffee fiend
Lovely DVDs shown on small screens

Awake through nonexistent alarms
Ever queer-quotient: liquidated totality 

Friday, March 13, 2026

space bit

A poem I wrote while on a binge of media relating to the astrophysicist Brian Cox. His way of explaining space is incredible in his enthusiasm and genuine mannerisms. 

Rare Earth, scarce solar system
Dual star siphoning interstellar entity 
Intangible and unimaginable galaxy

Unswimmable ocean, unintruded swamp
Exponential growth, inconsequential replication 
Implausible detection, silent civilization 

Quieter than the dead, darker than in bed
Filled with light, cloaked in eternal night
Pitch-black stellar screen

Hypothetically immoral interference 
Intergalactic law, future fixed flaw
Or merely, tribes only rise to swiftly fall

Orchid wreckage, birthed to bloom
gone so soon; unbeatable horizon filter
Heavy hitter, advanced event spark snuffer

Eyewitness to Expiration

Continuing my interest/research into online addiction and digital manifestations of its effects, from doomerism to dopamine draining of all varieties. Condensing/collecting understanding via poetry. Also coagulated is this playlist of videos on the topic and related matters

Intangible long-term award
New normal, formal habitation
Relayed information, idea of influence
Instant delay as time slips away and suddenly it's day

Wasted night without a trace of fight
Evening after evening, morning screaming behind the screen
Proposed productivity, unscratchable itch now high and mighty
Untapped constant ads, ridiculous constant content

Unending fill, down and down with nowhere else to go
No bottom, never-ending circuit
More, more, more; algorithm adored until you pass out and snore
Volume up full blast; random, automated generative space

Personal unpredictable programming
Wholesome vine and a slip beyond entertainment
Focal, inconsequential nothing
Doomed, oh well still won't do shit whichever way it gets put

Eroded existence, consuming escapism
Circular glowing rut
Conclusive out-of-body hobby
Conscious, common misery

Menial memories, cracked magnificence fed with inflated insignificance 
Useless tool turned into a ligature for ape-brained fools
Contended creation, out of bag algorithmic filler
Eyewitness to expiration

Online Addiction: Analysis/Review || Extended Research

Quoted in the short read but invariably the most accurate piece of information found in research regarding Online Addiction thusfar, New Yorker writer Maria Konnikova in her article Is Internet Addiction A Real Thing stated that with how the Internet, "is changing too rapidly for researchers to keep up, and, though the immediate effects are fairly visible, there's no telling what the condition [of Internet addiction] will look like over the long term." 

Patricia Netzley's small book, topically titled Online Addiction is a useful overview in regards to its subject matter. Navigating the unsettled dust of digital existence overlapping with physical, nails it quite nicely on the head as it would seem in its short explanations. The addiction to online activity she purports stems from a variety of converging factors offline-- other mental ailments and compulsive habits-- and the Internet becoming merely another notch to scratch onto the belt; like the habitual masturbator's case divulged by Anne Lembke in her book Dopamine Nation. Where it would seem outdated however, and differing from other addictions is that within the modern scape of acknowledging addiction to the Internet there is a high awareness of it, to the point of extreme meta-irony rather than shameful admissions of guilt from the acquired compulsions. Why have shame over something so nearly unavoidable with its constant proximity and accessibility? 

The book is beneficial nonetheless, and in fact as aforementioned acknowledges its almost instantaneous out-dated data as the landscape of the World Wide Web is so constantly updating and changing shape.

Coagulating an explanation based on current affairs and contents of the book however is seemingly possible: in the modern epoch of all-access abundance mixed with incessant, near constant 'once-in-a-lifetime generational events', and all-around volume seemingly at maximum screaming coming together in moments of stillness; boredom as the being is so used to being under some form of strain, duress, that scrolling provides sufficient stimulation. Stagnant, seemingly social yet altogether solitary after an hour sitting on the toilet, screen in between knees. 

In shorter, less wordy detail the gist of Netzley's book is that extreme boredom in a more lax era of existence is to an ape with an evolved overactive imagination. 

Age Aggression: Generational Envy & Influencing Insecurities

A delve into horror & human behavioral psychology to sitcom gilded glazing and the generational gap considered. I. Existential Angst Par...