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by The Schizoanalytic Liminalities of Wuchu. . 178 reads.

Stecker ። User Profile


    @Stecker#9967
    anarchophrenic
    303 Following        1883 Followers


    > Joined: 1 May 2102
    > Date of Birth: 23 June 2075

    > Height: 193 cm
    > Weight: 0.39 kg
    > Blood type: AB-
    > Haplogroup: R1a


    > Patron: The Horned One
    > Zodiac sign: Gemini


    > Political affiliation: Custodians
    > Spoken languages: German, Mandarin, English, Adamic
    > Citizenship status: Birthright

Just another cosmic entity looking for its lost humanity.

At a glance, a person's name is nothing more than just the word used to refer to said person.

The meanings and etymologies of names have long been forgotten by common knowledge, and even in the rare moments when we're interested in them and know them, they're nothing more than a factoid to us.

But the name is often the most personal identification of a person. The use of a first name can be a sign of closeness, uttered in tension, love, intimacy, danger. How sacred!

They used to call me by my last name since there were always several people with my first name. So, from an early age, I began to identify more with my family name than with my own name. To avoid confusion, even in the words of my close friends in class, my name was eliminated as a referential opportunity, and so, they simply addressed me directly. That's something I had to understand intuitively.

That changed how I viewed myself for a long time.

My first name was preserved as if for people outside of school and at home, but this isolation created a kind of... trauma of hearing the name.

In high school, I was part of a group of friends in which this Erich boy also hung out. He used his first name extremely rarely, and even when he met different people, as he did with me, he introduced himself as Heine, his family name, which he always used as a replacement for his personal name, both in real life and on social networks.

When I met him, he, as usual, introduced himself as Heine. I replied, "It's nice to meet you, Erich!"

He didnít know I knew his first name.

I have nothing to do, so I've returned to Minecraft recently.

I forgot how peaceful this game is, how I can lose myself in carving up mountains in the hopes of finding coal, how I can suddenly stop on top of the mountain to observe a sunset and admire the landscape.

One of the things I like about this game is that even if you die, you can always start over, even if you're a hundred miles from where you built your house, and you can't find the items you've lost as a result of dying. It's going to be rough, but you're just going to have to cut down some wood, survive the night, and start over.

I like how this game reminds you that no matter how bad it is, or how bad it has been, you can always start over, even if there's nothing left.

The following piece is a work-in-progress.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #1: You heat a teacup in the microwave so you can have your tea and it turns out you forgot to put water in it.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #2: Wanton overspending.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #3: Talking to Strangers in a Strange Place about Strange Things.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #4: Spending every night out to avoid being alone with your feelings.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #5: You wander the town's peripherals for no reason in particular, enter the grocery store just to look around, and end up eating a burrito alone while reading the Norton Anthology of Poetry from 2007.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #6: You come to church alone to ask God a few favours in exchange for theological treatise no less than two hundred pages (single-spaced).

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #7: All-nighters studying theory after you've already graduated.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #8: Poetry night arranged at the last minute.

    Signs You Are Having a Meltdown #9: You bought a ukulele; You don't know how to play any instruments.

    Signs You're Having a Meltdown #10: You are at a cemetery for reasons you cannot comprehend.

In The Castle, introducing himself as K., the main character gets lost in the schizophrenic flow of the fortress, unable to find a clear path to it or make a place for himself in the vicinity.

K. is deprived - or has deprived himself - of his first name and is left only with an initial. This is not only an uncanny feeling but a sense of alienation that is so close to us.

Without saying that the lack of name gives the character no perspective on what his actions might be, K.'s desire to live with the people there, despite their peculiarities, shows a need for identification and belonging, one which his name neither presents him with nor allows him to have easily. His "name" is one of utmost alienation, yet it hides something; as much or as little as we know of the village's residents, we know even less about him.

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