boring effectiveness > beautiful struggle

notes toward a theory of yearning

you shouldn’t ask your nine year old nephew if he’s in a fugue state. then you have to explain fugue states to him bc children’s favorite thing to do (admirably) is ask “what’s that?” when they are lacking knowledge. then he he will look slightly more frightened about existing in this world than he did 3 minutes ago. and then you will see the change in demeanor and be stuck feeling the weight of the knowledge that you have a part in shaping these creatures’ development in diluted, careless ways.

how to create intentional void?

dae want to fuck the pope

tonight, uncertainty (epistemologically, generally, irt reality et al.) is a yawning discomfort rather than a pleasant inevitability

i mourn for my father’s inability to accept reality. favoring the magical thinking that was built slowly, carefully over his lifetime.
and it feels as though i’m mourning him made whole, the man who instilled in me a sense of endless curiosity, questioning and want. it’s unfathomable to me to reject reality as he does. prioritizing wishes instead. even i, ever the agnostic, cannot abide by dismissing the observable. even knowing what we think we know we still have endless questions to explore. i don’t know why accepting the known and embracing the unknown is not enough for him. he must reject it all. my only comfort is that i may wield the doubt he’s blossomed in me in more exacting ways. holding to reality while carefully, gently prodding at what might yet be. i’ll mourn forever more.

perpetually, my soul
swells
starves
swells
begging for union
forever unwed

epistemically promiscuous

sometimes i feel like all my creative output is simply self copying self. unable to stray from the neuronal ruts i’ve etched.

sinking, vacant in the abstract

can’t plan my own escape

you ever see a baby and start crying bc you don’t want to be reincarnated

children’s literature. freshman year. i regret not remembering your name.

i was humiliated when you snapped at me for clicking my pen. only later would i come to understand. 7 months pregnant. teaching half-interested college freshman day in, day out. chastisement for my pen clicking an acceptable manifestation of all your frustrations (still, beyond my grasp, intricately imagined) made known. i lay here now, devour your annoyance. i never will be as strong as you and so i gladly soak up your imperative anger, twenty years on, spiraling into eternity.

w
e
l
l
n
e
s
s
c
h
e
c
k

you’re floating on a rock

i’m flying through space

you’re floating on a rock

i’m flying through space

you’re floating on a rock

i’m flying through space

i hate finishing a severely addictive book i gorge myself on it is a distinct sadness

i miss my book

it is uncomfortable.

it doesn’t matter that i’m 39 years old registering that i know more about a subject than he does in conversation with my dad about a shared passion is still illusion-breaking and i am unsure what this says about me, the way i experience the world, my unconscious biases and the possible existence of the detritus of mormonism that may be settled in my subconscious i suppose that i see it through a patriarchal lens when i lean further into it rather than a “one day you’ll discover your parents are just people” lens is indicative of the mormon-mire lodged somewhere as of yet untouchable i hate to think i’m still being softly-invisibly guided by the 22 years of my rabidly faithful upbringing but it does seem self-evident that the messages force fed to me from birth until my exit still linger in depths unreachable and unknown to me unless unfurled in thorny clocked-conscious ways

whatever aura i emit is evident enough to make the cashier at 7-11 start calling me my dear and changing it, after an extended ellipses, to friend. still unclear whether this is good or bad.

everything has been sucked-slurped out of me and all i can make
if i can make
if i can crushed-create
is bad art and
everything has been sucked-slurped out of me
i exist
a functional shell whose stability negates
subjective hell
and everything has been sucked-slurped out of me
i stare at the wall
the same as
everything all

(i dont know who you are i dont know who we are without the things that hard-defined us not even soothing-echos of what we were before i miss your endless fascination your never bored cum-living your ease of soft-creation your vast-deep lust of knowing i don't know who you are)

uncomfortably sincere pleads to the universe

i wish caplyta was a person so i could torture it to death

wellness check

day 8

i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying i cry and i cry and i never stop crying

things i have cried about today:

not being alive for first contact
the utah state song
a baby losing his shit over a woman playing the violin
totality

“what did you expect”
more
more than
confused happiness
so
i was

im normal

i have developed an addiction to ice helmets that has become severe enough to warrant an intervention and i can't help but think that my addiction is prescient and these things will become embraced and normalized within a short while because they sever the anxiety at the head but i am probably just unwell

baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths replace showers replace baths

i create to create to create
i create i create to create
to create i create

wellness check

some of my most creative writing is done in the comment section of the daily wire. emotional elicitations that, devoid of context, have little to no heft

tell me a sleep time story, perfectgirl.com
what is anthrax? how old was davy crockett when he died?
are you a saving alterity or a
perilous zone of fearful emptiness?

name me the civilization that lives under the earth’s crust
name me the civilization that lives beneath my core
waste and pine and waste and pine

awake, asleep, awake

5 6 7 8
do you want to procreate

i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola
i need a pepsi cola

w e l l n e s s
c h e c k

wellness check

not so
but
not convinced

someone on tiktok accused me of being a bot and honestly that's a really good compliment

thankful for

danny
Perfect Sleep Schedules
newfound internet scavenging methods
internal resources
water chores
familial support
32gb
my shitty apartment
hypomania
cold weather
vivid dreams
videochats
uncertainty
ice helmets
weighted blankets
forgiveness
patience
understanding
(from others)
being An Adult

My words are merely fingers
pointing at the moon

not the moon itself.

i'm the saddest girl at the ball

my envy, strong as ever,
is consuming all around me
like TON six hundred eighteen
no thing escapes the orbit
of my cocoa bitter-hatred
resentment abject-malice
for those unripe and ripened

who have been

will be

with you

i still hear your voice
long,
echo in my head
you can’t or it’s
you won’t
diana

reading me to dead

in the church parking lot waiting for g*d

waiting for g*d in the church parking lot

where are you ETIs

ever just watch yakko's universe and just sob

eating stale pringles alone in bed

sometimes instead of googling something you can just ask your dad

i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible i do not want to be responsible

i wanna belive in anything as much as tom delonge believes in aliens

i want to to be a stereotypical bipolar patient and refuse to take my medicine that i know willl make this episode calm down and it is bad and i should not do that i should b e responsible and take my medicine and not do what i want to do i should not

olfactory hallucinations that's a first now i have caught all pokemon

every day
and every fucking second
i could be dead

that’s just the way that life works

every fucking second
of every fucking day
i could be dead

that’s just the way that life works

the day, desperate, disappears
(endless cycles)
like all others
(like all others)

The crow
he says
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird
I am not
a bird

w e l l n e s s c h e c k

wellness check

I think most people
 
 
 
 
engage in mutual
 
 
 
 
eclipse.

i read 0 books in april

its definitely the vape

i cant decide
which fate is worse
a missing vape
or cherry chapstick

silky
smooth
all
serendipity

meltdown at
red robin

shook-shaking in my head
i know this was just zelda
vyv-ey withdrawal, unfed

but im sorry at your birthday
i cant keep it a ++
and i weep i moan for sacrifice
that always fills your cup

and i wish you were another
less-less selfless one instead
but you are not and so i leave
these scratching words unsaid

i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost

i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost i will be a smoking ghost

restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs
restless needs

i want to be born under you
i want to come into existence
under you

Wordfuck
Playfuck
Mindfuck

ghosted by my therapist

i ripen in the storms of spring
patient for the change
into something as infinitely
relentless as
thundering fate

I’m acting like a robot
in image search
in life
but in life
without a captcha
to determine if alive

towhereitbentintheundergrowth

moon death

fresh disturbances from the long fondness.

slipping into mind-fraught slackerdom
guilty accusations faux or realized
effect still intact
rotting action attacked
smells like sour milk

today i will
today i will
today i will

(i should be)
(i should be)
(i should be)

crying in the bathtub again

what a hazardous sigh had i
believed in
i found
all of the past, all of the future
in this hanging wind
every unsettled thought
now above

clouds which make men grimace

hither and yon

maybe tomorrow with its shiny skin
will teach me how i can live again.

god hates me

I left a long period of rain
emerged
bright, restless
unanswered
and now
even more than i was echoes and fades
i am unsayable
like a verse catapulted out into
unequalled, infinite space

2022 Books In A Particular Order (1-60)

everything is making me cry

wellness check

i need the threat of observation without the fact

wellness check

i am sick of being paranoid and hallucinating without my euphoria i don't understand why i am getting the bad parts of mania without the good parts i don't understand why or how i feel like this if i have to have the bad at least temper with the good

twenty pounds of aching longing stuck sticked lodged inside my skull

wellness check

never knowing ever knowing that i never will have known

wellness check

https://sadfem.bandcamp.com/track/plz-stfu-remix