The ArsonistI am Dilpreet.
I write things. I made robots once a year, for four years of high school, which immeasurably changed my life.
Lead Design and Build for Team 1259, Paradigm Shift, 2013.
And I wouldn't have had it any other way.
and the reason is “Just admiring all the beautiful women I know/am friends with.”
WHAT THE FUCK HE’S MADE LIKE 4
Authors Note: If you saw the title, read this, and have any sort of questions, I am not opposed to answering them.
Why me, I thought to myself once I pulled up to the now ruined building, the staunch stench of smoke perpetually assaulting my sense of smell, why’s this sort of shit gotta happen to me—I never irreparably hurt anyone, and yet here I am, irreparably hurt. I got out of my white car, still stained from having been so close to the fire in the first place, the smoky smell that was once in it eliminated by the wonderful odor of coffee. A blue car in front of me, my mother and our only employee inside of it, was waiting. I walked past before its doors opened and made my way inside. To the left was the familiar staircase leading up to where I grew up; to my right was the staircase leading downwards into the basement, and directly ahead of me was what was left of our primary source of money.
I moved forward with flashlight in hand, just looking around, really. It somehow felt colder inside the building than outside of it. I’m not quite sure what to make of that. My mother even commented on it once we’d been inside a few minutes, and asked me why. I always had an answer why, always had some retort to give to her when she questioned science and the way the world operated, but honestly, I’d not a clue. I couldn’t process it at the time and I don’t have a huge reason to figure it out. I crossed the floor tentatively, realizing the building wasn’t really all that safe.
I saw an outlet I’d repaired in December for my dad. It’d burnt itself out, literally. When I fixed it, the area around the problem had been burnt and warped. Should’ve realized it was probably a bigger problem, I thought to myself, no use now. I went back outside and I saw my mother holding a ladder. She motioned for me to prop it up against the roof and climb on up and try to find a way inside the upper floor. I scaled the ladder with some apprehension, but I locked my nerves down and went across the roof into an area just outside my room. The glass was shattered, probably blown out by the pressure inside during the fire. Due to the area we lived in, and how easy it was to get to my windows, I’d had a set of metal bars covering my windows that could be removed from the inside. Normally not a problem, but I was on the outside this time.
I looked around and saw no real way of getting in. I remembered that I’ve a penchant for destroying things (see: destroyed only bad robot I was part of building in Pewaukee with a 20 lb sledgehammer), and so I ended up breaking the frame of the window around and the bars off with it. It was all so weak anyways. I just tore up what was left of my window and went on in.
I’d been hoping my room was pretty unscathed. Yeah, no. Things were strewn about everywhere, debris cluttering the floor. I was torn, ripped apart. I looked around a bit, and initially, I was devastated. I’d hoped to find some of the things I’d known I left here. I took a minute to refocus myself. My mother told me to just come up, see if I could find anything in just my room, and come back down. I hadn’t told her, but I had other plans. Currently, the only way upstairs at all was through the stairway, and the door to my side was somehow shut and impossible to open. I went to that door, taking care in my steps. I still don’t know what parts of that building are prone to collapse. The door looked fine. I tried to open it, but it was impeccably difficult to even budge. I took a step back and looked again; this time I saw the problem. The door had been pushed down by the ceiling and the floor slightly deforming under it. It no longer fit the frame like it should. It was being held in place by the friction of it being pressed so hard to the ground beneath it. I gave it a couple more tries and gave up for the time being.
I turned my attention back to my room, and reached for my work gloves in my back pocket. Part of the reason I have those gloves is they make me feel a little more dangerous, a little more capable of being rough with the world. I slipped them onto my hand and started ripping things from the ground. Most of it was frozen to the ground—the window hadn’t offered much insulation, after all. Pieces of wood, fragments of glass, I ripped it all up. Not too long after, a glint of green caught my eyes. In an excited furor, I dug at it, peeling away various objects I couldn’t recognize anymore, and there it was.
My fedora. My silly, goofy, fuckin’ fedora. Now, here’s the story about that fedora. I first got it going to nationals for robotics my freshman year of high school. I’d kept that fedora all my years of FIRST. I wore it in 2012, as a driver, and again in 2013. I put that thing on like a fucking crown. Mine was the only one with a strip of green around it—everyone else had pink. I remember thinking to myself, “if I’m going to be a leader of this team someday, I’m going to at least look the part”, and picking out that green strip of ribbon from some store. In Atlanta, I remember someone commenting on my hat, something along the lines of “that’s fancy—you’re from the team with the pink and the green!” and instantly feeling a beam of pride. That’s who we were—the team with the pink and the green.
I remember wearing it in regionals last year, and the announcer even commented on it before one of our matches—“From Pewaukee, looking wonderful as always with their hats, Paradigm Shift!” It was ridiculous, it looked so silly and my hair would always be flattened by it once I’d finally taken it off, but when I saw it I finally felt a pang of happiness. I haven’t lost everything, I thought to myself, I haven’t lost everything. I found my pink shorts, an armband from one of the teams we’d picked to be an alliance partner with, and some other things. Finding that fedora made me the happiest, though. I’m going to clean it up and wear it again to regionals in Milwaukee.
Among other things I found were a book gifted to me, and two movies I’d borrowed from Luke Baar, entirely unscathed. How the fuck that happened, I have no idea. He was right when he said he was getting his movies back from me no matter what, holy shit.
I put most of the things I’d found in a laundry basket somehow not completely destroyed by the fire an was ready to go back down, when I realized I wasn’t about to throw a laundry basket at my mom from the roof. I wasn’t about to try to climb back down it, either. It wouldn’t have been that hard to do either of those things, but come on—I wasn’t about to be the reason we couldn’t have nice things. Adding on to that, the only way to get upstairs was a ladder and a sketchy walk. I wasn’t about to make my mom, already struggling with arthritis and generally physically unfit, do that every time she had to get up there. She’ll never admit it, but there’s no way she’d do that more than once. There was a door; doors are meant to be used. I was getting through it one way or another.
I went back to the door and ran my fingers along the edges, searching for something, anything. My mind was running through the things I could do with the right tools—if I had a hammer, maybe I’d just smash the hinges and break the door off. With some kind of saw, I could saw out the problem portions and let the door swing free. I ran through countless possibilities and then realized none of those tools were readily available to me. Foolish, I thought to myself. I looked around, and then towards the side of the building closer to Capitol drive, the main street that got our store so much traffic. I practically ran there, no longer caring whether or not the building would collapse, and found all of the old weight lifting things there. I saw a curling bar with the weights still locked in with large metal nuts, frozen to the frame. I twisted them off with some pliers I’d kept nearby (don’t ask) that somehow remained where I’d left them. Torque is a wonderful thing, dear reader.
I was left with the bar, and some weights. I thought about using the weights to break through the door, but that was far too inelegant, too silly and brute forced. The door was to stay intact, despite my previous idea of simply destroying it. Enough had been ruined, anyways. I went back and grabbed the bar, and two long metal rectangular struts. I used one of the struts to wedge the door partially open and set the second lower, near my feet. I pushed both towards the wall parallel to the door and it opened slightly. I let the door close again, with the struts still wedged in there. I picked up the curling bar and with one hand and one foot, pushed the two struts back towards the wall again. The door was just open enough for the curling bar to fit in snug, like a key, almost. I could see the hallway beyond the door now. The other side was simply…gone. This reinvigorated me—I had to see it all, Faustian as it was. As I tried to pry the door open, the metal struts fell to the floor. I pushed the bar towards the wall again, and the further I pushed it, the further the door opened. Eventually, it just popped open. Ah, wonderful.
I went back to my room, picked up my laundry basket of things—how fucking silly—and triumphantly walked down the hallway my mother warned me specifically not to, and went down the stairs. When she saw me emerge, she was surprised, worried and probably a little angry too.
“What did you do?” she asked, noting the laundry basket with a confused tilt to her head. She seemed worried. I realized then I’d spent probably 15 minutes up there when I was supposed to only be two or three.
“I opened the door”, I replied, setting my things in my car, “go on up and take a look, if you’d like”.
In a foreign language, she thought out loud, “How did I get such a fool of a son?” as she moved towards the store again, a new spring in her formerly withered step.
Actually make me angry when I hear them. It’s a great marketing tactic, Spotify. I’ll probably buy premium TO GET RID OF YOUR STUPID FUCKING ADS AT LEAST CATER TO WHAT I LIKE YOU SICK FUCKS
That we like to listen to music that’s catchy and cool, whatever, when the song is about deplorable human beings that are doing deplorable things, glorifying disgusting things.
I’m getting to a point in my life where I see math problems I haven’t ever seen before and immediately knowing how to do them.
just to let anyone know it’ll be here…I’m way too tired. I haven’t slept longer than 6 hours in the past month I don’t think. I’m sleeping in today/later technically (it’s 2:30 AM) so I am letting myself sink into this bed as best I can for as long as I can.
Sorry to do this to you, dear reader. The writing will be worth the delay. It’ll be edited in here with a new title so this post’ll be gone eventually.
I just saw the boxes containing my dog’s ashes for the first time
Today, a switch flipped somewhere. It wasn’t just from one single event, but a series that pushed it a little further, further, further, until it passed it’s point of no return and sprung to the opposite end.
It is difficult to reach out and be pushed aside, ignored, or misunderstood. Quite. It is difficult to maintain an outward composure when surrounded by people whose world is so much more concrete, certain and protected than yours.
Today, I paid my sister’s tuition. I am uncertain as to how I will continue to pay any large sums of money put upon me. I’m exploring my options there. I have very few.
I saw something that immediately iced me. I didn’t like that. I want to rip it apart. I wish I could remove all doubt of this from my head. I’m fucked, and I have been for so long I know nothing else.
I started thinking about something today that really bothered me. I wish I could go back and do what I actually wanted to. I wish I’d gone to state fair that one day just so I could have seen you. I could have done it all there. I wish I could ruin you. I missed the last opportunity, not too long ago. You are so lucky to ever have had what you did. The next opportunity I get, I will. Regardless of the consequence. I will break you, one day. Legally, lethally, and without any fucking remorse, you pig. I’m fixated on this, no doubt. I hate you.
I haven’t forgotten about you, either. If I ever so much as smell a whiff of you poking your slimy head up in my life ever again…you critically hurt a part of me I’d built up so much over time. I thought I might’ve been rid of that part of me, but you reinvigorated the ice, the pain, the feeling of absolute worthlessness. You are lucky to have had the kind barrier that you did. I hate you.
I was frustrated by the nonsensical thoughts that went into planning my plans during the night time. There was no efficiency there. Nearly immediately I felt like the butt of a joke the entire fuckin’ night. Maintaining composure was so easy, none of them could tell. At this point it’s so hilariously simple to look like I’m calm no matter what’s going on in my head. I guess in writing this I’m giving it away, but I’m so quickly losing any semblance of caring that it doesn’t matter anymore. Some of it was nice.
The second month of 2014 ends, and despite various ‘victories’, so to speak, I feel very unaccomplished. This is not a good year. It will not become a better year, not significantly, I don’t predict. I want to break everything.
The switch was flipped ‘off’. I started a fire to keep the room lit.
Most people, I can read like a book. But you, you I can’t figure out. What exactly is it that you want from me? I have ideas, sure…but no hard evidence to go on. You confuse me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t ever understand why.
How foolish, he thought to himself as he opened the door to four or five college aged boys playing a video game, jeering, cheering, screaming all together. Nothing more than a bunch of noise makers. He went through the room and gathered his belongings. He wanted nothing more than to not be around these people. To them, he seemed normal and characteristically friendly.
Opening the door once more, he exited into the hallway and made his way outside. It was all a routine, now. When he saw someone he knew, he’d smile, wave. Ask how they were. It was all a fuckin’ ruse. He didn’t really like anyone here; he didn’t care about their day to day lives, meaningless as they were to him. Everyone around him, for the most part, served as a tool. Anyone that didn’t have a purpose to him was intrinsically worthless, infinitesimally annoying and taxing on his patience.
He was a college student, now. Some time ago, he’d come here, hoping for a change. Maybe, this time, something would be different. Wrong, obviously. At first, he felt like he might actually like these people but inevitably, impeccably, over time this mentality deteriorated. He was back at it. After all of the shit he dealt with behind the façade he constructed for all of those around him, it felt natural. He often snapped now, often explained how little he cared about the day to day. When someone spoke to him, it mostly went in one ear and out the other as he thought about more important things, to him, at least.
The day went by extremely fast. Towards the end, he felt a little pang of sadness. How’d it all come to this, he thought, what an unfortunate situation. He gripped the feeling and violently erased it, pushing it out of his mind. The cold, calculated computer came back, and the sociopath moved forward.
It’s all a fuckin’ wash. Feelings, yeah, let’s talk about our feelings, and how life make us feel, and why that is important and meaningful. Let’s talk about how things have to mean something, all the time. These days of the year are important because we tell you they are.
The lack of critical thinking is so blatantly obvious…”this is important because that’s how it’s been my entire life, so it’s clearly how it should be”.
There are bigger things in this world than the silly shit we decide means something for no real important fucking reason.