I stopped writing blogs after realizing the potential effects — like a boomerang, like karma, the energy eventually returns. Add the intuition, and there’s even a psychic response, a feeling, an emotional reaction garnered from individuals reading my blogs, instagram stories, posts, tweets, art. The goal with THEBADBOOB.com isn’t to character assassinate, cause conflicts, spread lies, misinformations, whatever. This is for me. An outlet for observations, feelings, regrets, pleasures, excuses, rants, political leanings, archetypal developments; a deep introspection into the mind of Nicholas Grier Rubinoff.
The proof for modern psychoanalysis, the narcissism pandemic, the unconscious mind, and non-local reality appear in my stories, life observations, treks into the past. Without a glance into previous encounters, I would not have awoken spiritually, emotionally. So when people implore the idea of “living in the present”, I think it’s a great idea, but do you understand the power of the past, the dominance? The death grip?
The power of psychological programmings, of psycho-sexuality, the formation of the personality and the ego?
Who programmed you, and would’t you love the opportunity to program yourself?
A key takeaway of modern psychoanalysis. The ability to to raise yourself, to reprogram and rediscover who you are.
To promote the science, I’ll need to draw from personal encounters, using real people, real stories real laughs, real ugliness. Real depravity. And it might get messy, messy because I need to tell the truth, the whole truth. They say writers have few friends. Why? Because they’re drawing from their seeings, their lives, their friends, their families, themselves.
Sorry to anybody I offend.
Part II
I’m being crushed by the vibration and its affecting my artwork. Lazy, uninspired, lethargic.
What’s the point, even now hunched over, there’s a pressure mounting my neck, splitting my back, tugging at my fingers. This shit sucks. I was going to produce a couple short films, but cant, simply can’t, no ideas, nothing. I also have no sex drive, I’ve mentioned this before.
Unable to hold any real thoughts in my head. Is this related to creativity, sexual energy, the energy of creation. All of my mediums are lacking currently. Short stories, films, music. Blogs. Everything. I haven’t seen the point and I’m receiving no ideas. Why?
I’m also recovering from a car accident where I smacked my head a few times, both cars totaled, drunk driver. I was jumped outside a bar on my birthday celebration, knocked to the ground by a sucker punch, and then jumped on, punched incessantly, by three or four individuals. Only to be arrested for drunken disorderly and fighting. I was drunk, it was my birthday night. My friends wanted to keep the night going. I got denied from the bar and ended up on the street, alone, unable to call a ride, unable to return home. Avoidant.
Chronic self harm. Big part of my life, cutting, burning, punching myself in the face, the head.
When I started processing anger for the first time, it was overwhelming. See, in some families, anger isn’t allowed, anger is not appropriate, its an ugly emotion, and what’s there to be angry about anyway? Thus ensues the inner turmoil, a mind resisting against this newly discovered emotion. How did I resist? Primarily by punching and slapping myself in the face, always in private. A combination of overstimulation from my surroundings, self hatred; an attempt to free myself from the clutches of the terrible emotion.
Narcissists don’t appreciate angry children. Why? It’s an alarm, a nuisance, an indicator of narcissism, a remover of the mask. Narcissists build an illusion and maintain this illusion. The narcissist doesn’t appreciate anybody’s attempt to blow their cover, resist their authority, stick a wrench in their plans.
The more I came into contact with anger in modern psychoanalysis, by practicing feeling the emotion, the more I resisted the emotion, often in physical retribution of the self.
Resistance is the key to modern psychoanalysis. What is resistance?
The clinging to the illness, a refusal to accept difficult information, self-destructive behaviors, regression in therapy, skipping sessions. Managing resistance is the heart of modern psychoanalysis. Managing the ego’s fear of the unknown, because the ego prefers repetition — What it already knows. The sickness, the old behaviors, the past.
Analysis is messy, and its been even messier trying to wrap my head around my extreme sensitivity. I’m an extreme sensitive. Extreme.
Currently living on a mountaintop.
Do I feel peace?
Hardly. What is extreme sensitivity?
Extreme sensitivity is feeling the squirrels searching for nuts, the birds hunting for rodents, the deer charging for mates. Extreme sensitivity is feeling people reading your angry social media posts, tapping into large-scale events like presidential assassination attempts a day in advance, or reading the minds of your next-door neighbors who are having a difficult move.
Extreme sensitivity is feeling invisible obstacles in the air, immovable masses, densities clinging to empty space. Extreme sensitivity is reading energy through your hands, your feet, through any object touching your person. Extreme sensitivity is a fist around your stomach, gripping the organ with ferocity, squeezing, with the start of each day. Extreme sensitivity is sharing a collective headspace with friends, family, my therapist; transmuting traumatic events in real time. No matter how far apart.
Extreme sensitivity is throwing out your back because of election season, hunched over ninety degrees in pain, struggling to poop. Extreme sensitivity is the inability to maintain an erection, an arousing thought, the inability to achieve orgasm from sex or masturbation; the vibe is too thick. Extreme sensitivity is tapping into electronic devices like my car’s transmission stuttering while traveling to a troublesome situation, a fake psychic attempting to steal my money, a warning. Extreme Sensitivity is feeling the bees pollinate flowers, the ants go to war. Extreme sensitivity is puking because my intuition is warning of a gas leak. Extreme sensitivity is feeling the neighbors arguing and fighting, punishing their kids, cheating on their wife, watching pornography, fucking, drinking, smoking, all the varieties of getting high.
Extreme sensitivity is losing sleep because you’re going to have an argument, a conflict, the following day. Extreme sensitivity is feeling the highway on the other side of the mountain, some miles away. Extreme sensitivity is being trapped with nowhere to run, degenerative disc disease, broken ankles, crushed by life’s density since childhood.
Extreme sensitivity; a blessing?
Not in my experience.
I’m still waiting for the silver lining, the way out, the “hey this was all worth it”.
Until then, I’m trapped in life, waking up sick, going to bed overstimulated. Everyday to no end.
Although I made it through covid.
Covid. The world in chaos. Coming off medications. Injuring myself. Attempting to process trauma in analysis while processing the trauma of covid. My mother’s surveillance. Waking up every night screaming and yelling. Warnings of the future, warnings from the past, warnings about my mother, my father, my brother, his wife, my sister. Warnings. Warnings. Warnings. Help me, my fucking god. Make it Stop, Somebody, Help Me!
I’m glad I’m not going through covid anymore, a decent training ground for my psychic powers to be developed and yet i’m still having problems, still too overstimulated. When will it end?
I’ve spent my life going to doctors since I was five or six years old, telling doctors, “I feel sick and have an upset stomach all the time.” Has anything changed? No.
Nothing has changed.
I’m keeping a positive mindset, and will be using the opportunity to channel anger toward the pharmaceutical industry, cognitive behavioral therapy, and narcissism.
Using the opportunity to draw awareness to problems I addressed earlier: The narcissism pandemic, suppression of anger, possible explanations for UFOs, societies lack of implementing intuition, and other themes related to the subconscious mind, psychedelics, and underground counter culture.
Will you stay tuned?
Will you be offended?
Will you believe me?
Only time will tell.
THE BADBOOB 