05 february 2021
i can't sleep.
i don't think. i think that's what i'm looking for sometimes, to stop thinking. but thinking is my only strength in my world, and it'll be my downfall but i have to live with it.
i can't write.
i don't think. i think that's what i'm looking for sometimes, to stop thinking. but thinking is my only strength in my world, and it'll be my downfall but i have to live with it.
i can't write.
psychodrama had me on edge. people do be having the worst fucking oedipus complexes dont they.
here's the other side of the pseudo-coin poems i've been working on. this is very much a work in progress, more a draft than anything, if even that.
I'm in search of a quality of my thoughts—life-like something i can apply to all things i do; a wide-ranging antibiotic to my literalness pseudo—the lie, the imperfect, the still continuing: pseudospeleology exploring what i claim to be chasms, an intricate network of caves with no true darkness-pseudoarcheology the finding of remnants of life in cities never lived in-a search futile and destined for failure, for loss, for the confusion of the background noise of the universe, the asymmetry—or perhaps i will call myself a crypto-lover/liver, one that hides, root of hypocrite, speaking in tongues—cryptography, all the ciphers i've had to learn just to speak my own tongues, cryptogeometry new forms, unknown to mankind and nature, slanted circles with two sides, 0 dimensions, like a coin with no spin(e) as i look into new dimensions-ghostly and verbose and so i search for clues, to decode this algebra cryptologic-&al my name is a sigil profane, known to all as the apostatic καστιμιρός-lost to the ambiguity of antiquities
ψarchaeology — what does the mirage say about who I was? the record of a bribe, an artifact left over from many aeons’ worth of things now fossilised, fallen leaves turned to stone under great pressures, the subject of my ψeudogeology, and as I find traces of what lived before, ψalaeontology—a daemon’s dessicated husk—i dust it off, exhibit it like some ancient pride, unaware of its own daemons, delving into ψeleology—a collapsed mineshaft, craniums accumulating loose dust of coal, inflammatory—i mean flammable—and burning up, a layer of ash, trails of dusts between two sheets of leaden granite leading me to ψtratigraphy, mapping it out like I would a blueprint of apostasy, of a master plan to build, or break, or back an altar to false gods, to those same demons I thought i’d left behind first in the Cambrian, then the cave, the mineshaft, the mummified remains of that faceless husk, the certitude and comforting weight of megatons of granite like a weighted blanket or a heavy sweater, an altar to false gods indeed—ψeudotheology they always catch up with me…. all i have is the ψeudo, the ψycho, the ψychic, the ψychotropic…. and finally the pervasive ψychedelic.
this is kinda shit bbut here you go. today i feel...unheard. or maybe just voiceless. both end up the same don't they? at least i'll blame myself for both. this poem was too shit for medium but i wanted to get it out there. it's definitely verbose, of course, it always is. but for what it's worth, it's meant to talk about my feeling of persistent otherness, my flight from my demons through various kinds of study of the past, various glorifications and fioritures, also inspired by the word 'cryptozoology'. and it's also inspired by my being high last weekend and my addictive personality. i don't take it as a coincidence that psychoactive and psychological are so proxinymous. i mean it's not, of course, they both descend from ψυχή, the mind...
i cant escape this.
i'll post another writing draft tomorrow. i do plan on working on this one again but i'll probably do that when i manage to leech off of someone's praise for attention..
satsu-san had a bit of mold growing. i cut it out but it looked like the inside of satsu-san was all brown and weird inside. i'm really sad about that. i've grown seriously attached to satsu-san and i feel like i've betrayed them. i'm a bad caretaker. i can't take care of myself, friends, family, acquaintances, not even a tuber.
pretty pathetic when you get down to it. i haven't taken my antidepressants in a week now. i skipped my therapist's appointment because i felt exhausted but now she's made me feel guilty. i hate this. i hate therapy and tbh i hate everything. sick of school especially. i need to check when the next vacations are in France. i can't think anymore. i can't do anything anymore. this isn't a cry for help, but i feel like it's becoming more and more a final cry into the night, the sound a candle makes when it's going out. pschhh.......
anniversaries every four years the (birth) day (of mourning) spaced out things go forth intermittently
the applause of a bleak winter day
is mimosa pods, dried out and clashing
dry rattlings in the tintless wind
turns out i was wrong yet again. i wasn't abandoned. i don't know what my deal is, truly.
a random piece from when i was high this weekend:
eyes' orbits like mandibles, like a sextant, aiming for those twin stars, the distance growing, open eyes under a slanted curtain, under ataxic eyelids; rapid eye movement pupils caught, encaged, by that spectre of sleep on that spectrum of irises like a rainbow prison (liberals.)
i need to write more. i've just been caught up in depression, schoolwork, friendship issues, and the vicious cycle of apathy and procrastination.
perhaps a piece on rewriting and giving up
like i wish i did.
big content warning: suicide. abandonment.
i've lost 明。i almost killed myself today. i went to the pont marie and the banks of the Seine and just stayed astride the fence, looking down. but i didn't have the courage; and then i told akira through sms that they weren't really surrounding me. and they said 'i can leave for real if you want'. which means they're gone. they're gone. it's so painful to not have my best friend to talk to about dumb stuff and more difficult things. i'm just feeling a lack, and an amical pining. i miss them so much. i finally have their christmas gift to give them, and i'm going to write them a little note.
as days lengthen, as spirits rise i fall into hibernation-i wee
i'm so lost i don't feel much of anything anymore.
i wish you could see my cursor go back and forth erasing words and writing them again and the pauses between my movements the hesitation that i think can be seen in how i write
leaden feet climbing cloudy steps, i might end up rising, soaring, threatening the night
today i heard from an old friend that a community i used to be in, calamity refuge, is back online. scared to look at whats left of my work there several dozen months ago.
today i've been thinking about a number of emotions that lack names.
not being sure whether something actually happened or if you dreamt it (and being too shy to ask someone if it really did)—forgetting why you entered a room or why you're doing something and just staying frozen and confused trying to remember—that thing where you try to trace back all the stuff you did since you woke up trying to remember where you put something
and many others but i've forgotten.
today i was quite depressed. i still don't feel like i have my emotions and thoughts and life under control...........
i should write down my writing ideas somewhere. currently i'm working on a "glossary of pseudochronologies" poem on medium but i'm kinda hitting a low point. also i'm going to work on my philosophical conlang more. so far i've got a vague idea of what i want the key pre-morphemes to be: objective (exterior), dialectial (observative), and subjective (interior); and absolute (independant), relative (referential), and perspectival, with morphemes as permutations of those categories. from an aesthetic standpoint i'm planning on integrating tone perhaps as an evidential, which might be superfluous since the obj-dia-sub dimension already entails evidentiality. i'll see. perhaps all things could be categorised and qualified as permutations of those different dimensions: notably "a friend" would be... well i suppose those permutations would be applied to the seme as such. like, friend.obj.rel is someone who is objectively close and who is a friend to us.
it would seem like the intrinsic solipsism of a human perspective would command to have a very neat divide between what I consider and what others consider. of course that would apply to everyone. i don't know. i'm winging this feels post as well.
i wanted to write about visual snow, about how my mind is covered by a layer of static
perhaps i should bury my feels.
but i am malcontent with this i still seek what? i don't know.
i told 明さん about my issues with マリー yesterday. it's good to feel like i can trust people with the secrets i'm most afraid of. i've got a complicated relationship to truth.
today i read If It is a Man by Primo Levi. i need to know it well enough to get a good grade so i read
the first 200 pages tonight. there's a moment where he quotes Dante, and--
"the vast open sea", that moment when the coastline disappears behind the curvature of the earth
and you're left sovereign of this disc, this complete and perfect circle of sea, entirely open,
and you're free to imagine that the rest of the world is this sea. and wherever you go, as long
as you're in this vast open sea, with the horizon seamless, you can believe you're still in the
same place as you were. and i don't know what to do with this reference, which i think is really
beautiful and poetic, but i could interpret it as a happy thing, distancing yourself from your
pain and remorse and being free in the vast open sea, or as a sad thing, finding yourself lost
and only finding peace and calm when you shut out the world. or you don't shut it out,
but it leaves your line of sight.
and a friend drew a very cool piece of figurative art. i'm this close to asking her for advice on my game project Marin. i tried using a game engine but it's difficult to use and i don't think it would blend well with the art style i want to go with. i really need to get the hypercard stuff sorted so i can start creating those graphics.
tonight i wanted to write about the word "still", in both its senses. both immobility and actualisation. i'm still alive, my soulbeats are still.
but instead i watched euphoria and it just hit too close to home, dude. i'm seriously aching. keeping myself from crying right now but it's difficult, it really is. i feel so lost, and lots of stuff that jules went through that were told i related to. that shit about her mother; loving someone that's far away... loving someone who doesn't love you back. not getting how people could love you as much as you love them.
still waters run deep
oulipian thoughts—it's been a long time since i've oulip'd last
i want to go away not to any spot in particular just away i want to b "away". as if living was a 90's chatroom go away! i say to my own mind slowly going mad, in this loop of swaying away
falling down... polynymous "still": blood still runs through my body but my soul's rhythm is still still living living still
and now i'm full of ideas and i just don't know how to formulate them.
i feel like that's a good example of how my borderline mind works these days. i think borderline personality disorder is a good descriptor, semantics-wise. i do feel like i'm on a borderline, like i'm standing on a tightrope between two cliffs. i can feel the abyss just writing about it. more often than not i actually feel like i've fallen off the rope,— or like i'm holding on by my exsanguine fingers, their articulations jarring and angular, their skin yellowish from the tension, and my fingerprints burning from the friction of the cold metal wire i'm holding on by. you know that kind of metal rope.
the two cliffs are "pain and rapture" to quote Tame Impala: they're absolute bliss and self-blindness, loving people to the absolute highest degree, doing things, being confident and ready to take risks... and then they're also pain. sadness. cumha. melancholia. depression. suicide. psychosis. loneliness. isolation. darkness. abandonment. destruction. a good half of my vocabulary is synonyms and proxinyms of pain. right now i've one foot on the rope and another one on the sturdy yet scorched earth of the cliff of pain. i'm not sure which foot i'm balanced on, if there is one at all. i've half a mind to jump off the cliff—i just realised how weird the word "cliff" actually is— in all senses of the phrase, metaphorical and literal.
相思 told me he thinks my writing is nice to read. i'm happy for that. i miss him, which is weird considering we haven't ever formally met. i'm not giving up, though. one day......
i want to write about/using the metaphors of kanji and their radicals, how i love being lost even though i don't want to and i don't know what being lost, and loss itself, means, and erisianism. i already evoked Eris in my last feels post, in that small poem i wrote. all i can think, or say, or write at this point (i need to stop saying "at this point" and say "today" or "tonight" instead, try to work on my language patterns; i'm thinking of building an experimental philosophical language to help me with that) is fragments.
how about erasure poetry? it seems like an easy thing to do, which isn't necessarily a plus for me. as edgy as that seems i don't want to make easy two-line poems that get half a million likes on instagram that just go like "i'll wait for you / to wait for yourself" or some bullshit of the like. my verse is also too verbose, i think , so idk i might experiment with that.
i love 明 so fucking much. if you're reading this, 好きだ、アキラちゃん。i should make more "Miru-kun and Akira-chan do X" drawings, they seem to like them. they're such a good friend. i'm going to miss them so much next year, i know it; but they assure me we'll stay connected, and i'm trying my best to believe them. i hope we're still growing closer.
i've managed to write a little today.
this is a draft, a work in progress, I just wanted to post something before the night matured.
I've had to delve
Always deeper, coursing through
Years, millenia, aeons, eras geological
Physically immaterial, past
Gazing as my sentiments deposed
As sediments, as thin lines
And bands and banners on the face of a cliff
I'm the reverse alpinist, the spelunker
Gazing down into the abyss
And watching her look back
Seeking out answers, petrified, as fossils,
Thin lines of ash tracing that which killed Eris
And Eros, the cataclysm, vanquishing Euros and Eos
Setting them all to rest
My mass extinction event, my little ice age,
Six (hundred) (thousand) (million) years have passed
Over my calcified memories surfacing slowly
Floating weightless, lighter than my twenty grams of soul
Passing above me-for I am caught by quicksands,
The cliff bringing me to my knees, and torso, and eyes,
Turning me to sand, to a thin line of blood-red rust
Marking my little dark age on the cliffs of those who will follow
nowadays i am sane in a minimal liminal space only, the kinda space that you find in a leap second or in-between ancient blocks of marble
tomorrow i'll talk about this thing that's bugging me, this sense of manipulating people and my elusive understanding of the solipsistic philosophical standpoint that is growing in me and that may be the end of me. stay tuned folks.
by the way, for the folks who are concerned about satsu-san: they are growing steadily, beautiful leaves with visible bordeaux nervures. stunning, full of vitality. when it grows sturdier i'll plant it in soil.
i feel like the snow
just a star, two-dimensional,
with no weight, dragged down only by
some dark winds, and melting in
the sunlight before i can find repose
i can't write anymore.
yesterday i had a really intense breakdown
realising how i'm fundamentally just a big
amalgamate of pain and sorrow
i'm just a sorry person
i was aggressive to sosi, and 明, and eugénie
but they're still here....what does that say about me?
probably good things
but i can't see them anymore
it's like my vision has been tinted by absinthe
yellow and swirly and i can't tell what's yellow
and what's white apart, nor does anything look straight
i'm holding on but i don't know why.
i'm afraid of people wanting to help me because
i know things don't work out for me. but 明 sure
was reassuring yesterday.
and then i got drunk on ouzo. not my brightest hour,
but my stepbrother was having a party and i was
coming to terms with how antisocial and isolated i am
you can't see this if you're not reading this from
~town, but my lines are broken by &60;br&62; tags and
it's like it breaks my thoughts into equally long
pieces. i don't know if it's an accurate
representation of my thoughts and my process
because my thoughts are like a long long line that never ends and goes beyond reasonable bounds and doesn't stop and doesnt have any pauses to catch my breath nor punctuation to be expressive it's just words
i cant do this anymore
i'm trapped in my mind
my dreams tempt me with eyes that aren't mine
a life that isn't mine
a mind and a body and a soul that aren't mine
they make me see myself, but alive
living, truly living
i just want to see my own world fall apart
but i can't do anything anymore
i can't hide in nightmares
i can't look myself in the mirror
i can't see anything
my dreams show me what it's like
to love and know and show and tell
to be able to
to write and read and say and hear
and feel inner and outer worlds and myself
breathing, not like i'm separate from the world
i can't find solace anymore
i can't recognize the words i write
nor the letters nor the stories
because there are none
i'm the not yet dead
and the no longer living
flip a coin and i'd be either
just to get out of here
i can't hide in the superficial
pretty moments, when i laugh
anymore. i can't try to dream
fall asleep awake
because what's real is still real
and it will be as long as i'm here
why do i try
why do i still try
i saw my psychiatrist and went to psychodrama today.
the inszenierung (forgot what the word is in english, or french for that matter) of the day was me and a friend who i thought was abandoning me. i've had a bad week, really. in that scene i played first my friend, then my id, than myself, crushed by fear
i haven't written any oulipo content lately nor have i written any poetry or anything at all, really, it's lamentable.
but for now 明 is still here... that lets me breathe. people here are so fuckin nice. it's crazy.
i gotta get better.
satsu-sama has begun producing leaves i can see its roots are kinda still the same, long and thread- like. it's beautiful and the first time i actually grow something that works. i'm so happy about that.
well, not happy, but, you know.
i'm so tired. i have a philosophy paper to rewrite even though i got perfect marks on it. i need to correct it and follow the comments the professor left on it but i'll do that tomorrow. i need to get 明 their gift.
they're going to be so disappointed.
i'm so fucking tired dude.
like seriously. i still gotta work and all but i just can't anymore. i'm this close to giving up and just completely breaking down.
i'm sick of pain.
i was standing on the windowsill a few minutes ago. i don't know what hurts more between not being able to live and not being able to die. at least if i really wasn't allowed death i could rue that
but the thing is, akira's right. it's easy to die, i gotta stop convincing myself it's not.
but i'm sick of loss. and everyone is.
and i don't want to cause loss. i want to be surrounded but also to be abandoned, for there to be no one to mourn me and that way i can actually die. i can't keep living for others.
i'm going to try to write a poem about that feeling of, i semi-quote: when you think it's too late to do something but then it turns out it wasn't so you feel bad but now you think it must really be too late and actually it still wasn't but what about now? so you still don't do anything.
a quick analysis of this indicates that the inhibition, the fact that i'm not doing something is caused by anxiety, or fear, of something or someone. the object of desire is something that requires some time to do, an opportunity. the status quo maintains itself, as it always does, and the nasty thing about this is that you actually feel the regret increase every iteration of the "i could've, now i can't." scheme. so, in order to make it into an ideogram, i have to ask myself:
why am i afraid? what will happen if i don't have time? what do i want to do? how much time do i need? how do i realise how much time i have?
this last one seems to talk about how much time i have.... alive. i'm afraid of my own death and i'm trying to build something, to live. I'M AFRAID OF PEOPLE LEAVING ME, AND I WANT TO BE HAPPY WITH THEM WHILE THEY'RE HERE BUT SINCE I ALWAYS THINK THEY'RE LEAVING I CAN'T EVER DO ANYTHING.
i feel like i'm losing my mind.
i don't know how to describe this feeling in an orderly fashion, with proper syntax, so i'll just give it a stream-of-consciousness polish (ulysses <3)
i look into the abyss and the abyss looks back i feel alone only i see with these eyes these are the only ones i'll ever have what am i doing and why if society doesnt exist why am i still here waiting waiting waiti- for whar? doing tasks mechanically without thinking or just the minimum, nnot thinking about how this makes no sense and akira told me theyll love me if i love if i live or die i don't what why is this happening how can i take control i feel like i'm taken in my the storm, by the maelstrom, i'm being sucked in tick tock tick tock i'm losing my mindand theres no one nnor anythinng to help me keep it
as always, confusing, then again it's the product of my cluttered and blurry mind so what did i expect. more orderly than i'd expected. i feel like my whole life is stream-of-consciousness. I can't take a step back, ever, and i'm just busy doing my silly little tasks.
i haven't cleaned the mold off satsu-san. it's probably too late. i'm going to create the word for that feeling when it's not yet too late but you always feel like it's too late before you realise that it wasn't too late but it's probably too late now until you figure out that actually no it' wasn't yet to late but what about now? because typing that out is automatic and mechanical, like all i do these days but i need a word.
i've stopped writing. my mother's answered me though.
i think i'm going to write a long letter to all the people i've ever thought about in secret ways, revealing my secrets, that way they'll know all i thought of them and they'll choose if i was a good person or not, if i'm worth mourning.
does anyone read these? i feel selfish, like i'm using up this space to talk to myself about myself.
i need to get out. akira said they would always love me whatever i chose. the one secret i've kept from them is that they've saved my life time and time again and they're the reason i keep going. fuck man.
they said it's easy to die, and if i'm still here it's that something is holding me back
and it's people. those i love, and those who still love me.
but if i'm actually alone in the world ontologically, if i'm the only perspective that i'll ever know, that falls apart.
am i raving like a madman? i feel like i'm going insane.
so it looks like i've gotten through that patch with 明ちゃん. i'm having trouble believing that but hey. i'm always surprised people aren't leaving. i'm so glad i didn't fuck this up permanently, i guess.
i've stopped writing. lately i've been making my own ideograms, i'd like to make some for intranslateable words
like schadenfreude and agnosthesia and that feeling i get where i wait and i wait because i think it's too late but it isn't actually too late but then what if now it's too late? so i wait some more and turns out it wasn't too late but what about now? among others.
heyyy friendo! just wanna give you a quick trigger warning for what's below. if you're as down as i am you probably won't care about it but here goes: self-deprecation, depression, abandonment anxiety and shitting on holistic psychology.
looks like i'm still fascinated by linguistics. but what i love is poetry, and writing, and oh my god i hate seeing one-line "poems" being featured everywhere. like bro u wrote an aphorism. not the same thing. and they're always the same and i hate this holistic approach to life so much. lemme try some
love others as they love you
why though? it's so fucking dumb. just be sad. these are trying to appeal to the demographic of mentally ill people but you know what appeals to us? to us unhealthy feckers? this is what your aphorisms sound like, and this is what i hear
others don't love you, so why should you?
if it wasn't such a huge trigger warning i'm sure an account like that would have a lot of success. except people don't want to show that they're doing poorly so they share "you are beautiful" on their stories. they try to convince themselves that others will think that about them. god this is depressing. except i actually don't believe that other quote. i think people do love me, even though i'm unlovable.
akira said my superhero alliterative name is Prozac Paradox and i think that sounds lit. and accurate. i'm prozac paradox babyyy. convinced people are both gone and going away, that they both don't care and care enough not to want to hurt me.
thank god i'm not paranoid as well. if i had no one to depend on i think i'd probably be gone
and now.... the mandatory sweet potato update!
satsu-san has grown a small bud with reddish, greenish leaves i can start to tell apart. tiny bud but they're growing. tsuma-san had grown a lot of small roots, so i guess satsu was the right way up. btw they're all the mitosis children of satsuma-sensei, the japanese sweet potato i cut in half. this one is a test i'd say, even though i don't like talking about my plants like that. i've got a japanese supermarket near me so i can get another one once i figure out if they really do grow, and if so, what side is up.
good night. just make it through the night i guess.
dark nights. and darker days. not even dark anymore just gray
fragments from oulipian thoughts:
i saw a bird unbound today.
i think of iconography, and what will stay of my work on this orb at hours of my passing.
i want to build. through writing, or loving, but to build an altar, a fanum, to pray to what i lost and for what i will find.
i stay conscious, but for what, for whom? dark days past and coming.
what is normalcy?
i'm tired of this. here's some writing.
today i feel abyssine gazing down, and a mirror it looks back i want to dive-what holds me backwards i keep walking-i don't want to die! i do!
i dreamt once that i was trying to jump off a cliff to escape my father.
he was a monster. whatever. you know how dreams are. can't be too real or they actually get scary.
cause that's what's scary right? the possibility of being real. that i could be real. that's scary. and yet in my feels i talked once about how i'd like to feel real. (oxy)moronic of me.
i think i'm breaking up with my best friend. who might as well be my only friend. and it seems poetry and writing made sense when i was still hopeful. i've fallen down now though (and i can't get up).
dark feels man. TW: suicide
i feel like my life is in italics constantly. like i'm quoting someone else, or quoting sentences from my past. that's how i feel, actually. like i'm stuck in some past and somebody else's directing cas's life, and i'm just going along. like i'm inert. that way i don't feel responsible, i guess.
i wonder if somebody's going to read these one day. maybe if i'm dead they will. pretty sure i'm more disturbing than---anything, really. anything and everything.
明ちゃん, if you're really gone, know i'll love you forever. especially if i'm gone (i know they arent going to read these)
if they leave me that means i was hurting them since the beginning.....
i don't feel like i ever manage to be happy. nor to feel normal, not normal as in integrated, or similar to others, but physiologically normal.
i never feel normal, determined, happy. i never have any energy nor any resolve to go outside of my comfort zone. i don't know. i'm just tired of this. my mother wrote to me again. but this time i feel like my attention's plummeted. i don't feel the need to answer. i don't know what i'm looking for. what i want to see, what'll make me better. but like this i feel like days go by and i don't do ANYTHING.
take today. i woke up. went onto tilde.town. checked my irc mentions. ate lunch, took a train, and now i'm here. all these things are separate, not sewn together. or patchworked. there's no coherence to my life, no cut i'm following, no texture, no colour. i'm a haze and i'm in a haze, always.
i've stopped writing, first in french and now in english. i don't see the point. 2021 is starting terribly, to be honest. i feel like giving up on school and work and everything, life even. that's not new but now i feel like since i've gotten through 2020 i can give up entirely in 2021, which, in turn, just makes me more and more depressed. i've gotta find a way outta here. but i don't know if i can anymore. i feel like i've gone past this tipping point, like if i was rocking back and forth on a chair or letting myself sink into wet sand on the beach, where i can't actually get out anymore, and where i realise i'm going to fall backwards. like a point of no return.
i've found a good allegory of my situation with people i love, and vis-à-vis myself even, in dani's situation in "the haunting of hill house". there's this undead person, my past, something i've tried to escape, something i've fought, something i always think i've vanquished, and i live in constant fear of when that void will catch up to me. "i'm not sure how much time i've got left".
god, these are depressing.
they don't have to be. i've planted a sweet potato in water today, in two halves, and i'm hoping to get a new plant friend. i've always kinda liked botany. i really want this to work, to have a little plant to talk to/with and go mad with. i'll feed it ketamine-actually nvm plants can't get high. that'd be cool though. a friend who'll stay and i don't have to worry about. until it dies.
hey, it's the last day of the year.
and yet nothing changes. i think we should stop celebrating the new year and just recognise it as a change in calendar. we don't hold elections or increase the minimum wage or publish any poems or open any exhibitions. and yet we expect the climate to change
so i'm reflecting on the past year today. it's easier to focus on the last 365 days because i have a vivid memory of the new year and things from 2020 are marked in my memory as stuff from 2020. lockdown i feel like was the big event of 2020, probably as for many other peeps around here.
i got really depressed and i had a relationship that ended very poorly with me just breaking down entirely. sad times for sure. and then i got into the hospital and stuff. my year's been a pretty big overturning of everything i thought i had. the summer was marked by me feeling alone and giving up on friendships.
the autumn was better. i connected with my best friend and that's one thing that's going well for me, evenn though i'm super anxious~all the time.
the winter... the winter's just started. the saturnalia have come and gone, and i feel like i haven't been very aware of myself and my eclipse lately. though maybe that's better. i don't know.
also, i've decided i'm not going to make new year's resolutions. i feel like i'm left at a fork in my fate much more often by random, non-orbital-related events than by a change in the year. but hey, maybe i should be more optimistic. at least january 1st comes with a dawn, so it's as good a time as ever to wake up better.
regret seems to set the rhythm of my life like a dance, a tempo, a cyclical leitmotiv the same steps i repeat over and over again a choreographer of grief oftentimes i create (friendships-art-capital) and i destroy, and i regret destroying a triolet, a ternary beat that my existence seems set to my feels, written, buried, and now mourned i hold death in my hands irresponsibly and in rueing those things i bury alive i rue myself, my fate, my own death
--i know this seems depressing--
-and it is, for certain, i know-
the moon's completion has come, and gone, but i remain here, never begone my nights are no more sleepless when the sun's reflection is seamless as those days eclipsed, the crater is never fully lit, i am the blight that turns sunlight into moonlight, the sheet of silver, the aluminum mirror the corrupt, the monochrome losing a dimension or two, or three, the filter the dark
[don't judge my writing on this. i'm tired.]
moonlight moonrise moonset moonstone moonshine
you know, i really do try to overcome myself life death
always death. such a bore. goodnight.