september 19 2024
the wonderlight sets sooner now but that makes sense because we’re approaching autumn. it doesn’t make the wonderset any easier to deal with though, i gotta get one of those clocks that emulates the wonderlight rising and setting to help me adjust i think. would be cool if i could shine it through a real salt rock lamp thing. not that temu bullshit but like a real wonderlight salt rock lamp i can lick. i think synthetic wonderlight salt would taste good. am i alone in this? i feel like i hear people say that all the time.
september 19 2024
there’s this road i take when i want to get my mind off things, it winds around a lot and cuts right through some extremely beautiful scenery and it would be a lot more beautiful if i could sit and just watch it, sketch it, listen to it, but i can’t because i need to drive to get my mind off things, and i usually use the road to get to a certain store that sells probably some of my favorite elixirs, but in this instant i’m driving past that store, no elixirs for me, thanks, i’m just interested in winding around on this road until it becomes another road that winds me further and further up, and i mean up, up to an area right before the boundary between you and the stars, but it’s still a little far, and you’re looking over a canyon that extends far out to a mountainous horizon, and i’m not sure anything is past the mountains, i’ve never seen anything anyway, but the stars are really close, even if they’re far, and i think if you just step over the canyon, act like it’s not there, put your foot out onto thin air, you’ll be supported, you can touch the stars with your bare hands, they’ll be like warm salts and sugars, and when you look down you’ll see how far you can fall, and then you do, but at least you got to touch warm salts and sugars, not many people get to do that
september 20 2024
there are deeper reasons for my long sleep, but they’re also not even deep. they’re more like an honest arrangement of true statements. the day never held much for me besides frustration, fatigue, facsimiles. the night was the end of all that. so the end result basically aligns itself according to the preceding facts. it was always going to be this way. that’s what i mean when i say there isn’t a deep reason: it’s like that because nothing else is possible. that’s pretty simple. and when it’s 4:44am and i’m throwing my head behind me to lock eyes with whatever fucking spirit has decided to start chattering its hatenoise into my ear, that’s explained pretty simply too. it means i really should’ve gone to bed earlier. but i couldn’t have. oh well.
september 20 2024
it ends eventually. i don't like repeating such a simple statement all the time, but i do it anyway. i liked to think it made the loss easier, but it never did. i'm not under any assumption that saying this to myself over and over again is doing anything of help, probably the opposite, but it's the only real phrase in my head. it's the unique thumbprint of my brain. if you dipped it in ink and pressed it to paper, you'd see letters microns thick telling you how everything becomes lost and even this too will inevitably end. i don't know how to cope with the impermanence. with this impermanence comes replacement, and the replacement never fills you, never again, not like something else used to. and then you wonder if you have anything left to fill.
september 23 2024
a lot of things don’t get discussed when it comes to signs along the highway and how quickly and efficiently they communicate information to you. we’ve all seen the pvg gray video about how the highways are numbered, but something he didn’t mention (and thus is often overlooked, taken for granted) is that the blue on the interstate insignia gets progressively lighter as you approach home. when you reach the last sign you’d see for an interstate before arriving home, the shield will have a light, light blue, not quite baby blue, lighter than sky blue, it’s so much lighter. it’s the same color as the sky on a random day in your childhood, i think you were 5, and you looked up at the sky and realized how big the whole thing would have to be, and you took note of this blue, a blue that is so light you’re not even sure if it’s blue anymore, it might be a cool white, the color of the light right before you surface from a lake. and as you stared at this sky, you had a feeling you couldn’t articulate, but you knew somehow that you were from there, yes you were, you really were, that’s where you came from and it’s where you want to return to. but you can’t, you’re so young, you can’t do anything but just hold that desire. and over time it fades, and you think of it less and less, and eventually you forget this memory, but for some reason, when you see that blue as you’re driving, you feel like you finally might reach home.
september 27 2024
i can hardly believe it. a confluence of peers and all of them know my names. there was a time when even hoping for this felt like a sick pain. the rot in my gut lingers into the moments that bloom before me. i've worked around this discomfort my whole life, no reason to stop now.
october 2 2024
i should be wandering. these legs can't be stilled for long. every time i walk without a goal, i feel like everything i'm looking at is only ever going to be seen by me. these sacred things are only mine for as long as i'm looking at them. they disappear from my memory as i fall asleep, though their emotional imprint remains. sometimes i feel sad for no reason in particular.
october 24 2024
you feel it as it unwinds. first it tugs gently, asking permission. then it starts flowing out, tracing you as it leaves. it spins around all of you, your body versus your essence. finally you are without form, and with your formlessness comes emptiness. isn't this what you always wanted?
november 12 2024
you're in a place where nothing comes to mind. transience passes around you but the age of it all stays the same. it is out of time, beyond it and lacking it. if you stare at the sky, you can see stars during the day. you're never here long enough.
february 2 2025
there’s not many things in this world today besides truth and lies. lies are an inverse of truth, so really all there is is truth. so some things are true, and other things exist only by extension of these truths. this is why you can always trust what people say. it is only true. there are no lies. no one can lie to you.
february 12 2025
out past a gate, down a dirt path, standing side by side in a small clearing, are two gods. they are alike and different. one stands on four legs, one is a spire. one hisses, buzzes, hums. the other resaonates in such a way that takes up an impossible space. they both hold an energy you feel before you see. these gods are not here during the day. facsimiles take their place. nothing familiar is found in daylight. the moons and stars arrive alongside them. some say one is the moon, and the other is stars. i think it could be true. the scent here is sandy, pale and dark with cheap cigarettes, crisp. the sky has no atmosphere. nothing is protecting you from the vastness outside of yourself. the ground beneath you is electric and strong of heart. you understand why these gods sing sometimes.
february 21 2025
i spotted a cat as i was leaving my friend’s place the other night. its eyes shone in the reflection of my car’s headlights, though as i passed their glimmer persisted. its coat had a lovely ombre, pearlescent, the shine of bleached sunlight coming in through a memory of your room’s window. i could make out some satin marbling on its wings. they had a profound tenderness, cool as ocean moss. it stood in a crepuscular light emitted from its halo, mostly illuminating dust and aether. it scurried under a truck, but i had seen this cat in the neighborhood before, so i knew i would see it again. honestly i just felt lucky to see a cat at all. i counted my blessings and headed on home.
march 2 2025
i didn’t do everything i planned to do today. i cleaned up my room a little bit, organized tapes, and was whisked away to the walled-off city of the gods, but i didn’t do much else. i planned some sickly reminiscence but just didn’t get around to it. i didn’t get sentenced to death by a panopticon, hold a dream’s sorrow like a memory, or throw myself at a brick wall. hell, i hardly even spoke.
march 6 2025
everything changes in front of you. most times, changes occur so gradually that they don’t register to your perception. think of your hair a day after a haircut. now, a day and a minute. this is what most changes seem like to you. but every once in a while, you can actually witness the change when it happens. your vision vignettes ever so slightly, colors saturate, there is a focusing and unfocusing. the arc of time unfurls clearly showing the path for all things. then, your vision normalizes, the webs of time dissipate. you know you’ve witnessed a development, and you’re filled with warm splendor. and you think to yourself, “man that chord change is sick as fuck.”
march 8 2025
i can see the moons through my window as i lay in bed. this is a rare sight, as usually i’m going to bed long after the moons have submerged into the horizon. tonight i’m graced by two crescents, one waxing and one waning, and between them is a half moon. their inherent halos are astigmatized, sharp points of luminesence, fuzzed out in static. they sit right above my windowsill, perched as if to observe me as i sleep. and the dreams i have under them- i wonder if they see. do they see these glimpses into my fantastical worlds where the roads i drive are fixed points, never altering size or destination? do they see me reading static text? do they see the sole moon that graces my dreamnight? i wonder. i glance at the posters on my wall before i close my eyes, just visible enough from the light leaking in through my window. “DON’T WORRY NOW,” one says. i blink slowly, caught off guard by how eager they are to stay closed. “IT’LL BE OVER SOON,” the same poster says. another blink. slower. heavier. “AND IT WON’T EVEN HURT AT ALL,” it now says. i hardly finish the sentence before it happens. i’m gone from here now.
march 13 2025
so when i was a kid, right, i had to do a project on a planet, and i was assigned pluto. most kids doubled or tripled up on some planets, but since there still wasn’t a lot known about pluto at the time, it would’ve been weird to have multiple kids up there saying the same 2 facts about pluto. so it was just me. i remember reading through the one book my library had on pluto over and over again, just in awe at how little we knew and how much more we could learn. the book was probably at least 10 years old, but it didn’t matter because it’s not like there was any reason to update it. its sole, singular photo of pluto was probably 6 white pixels with 5 gray pixels as a border against the blackest black those printers could print. we didn’t even know what it looked like. of course i formed a personal relationship with this planet, i was a lonely kid, it only made sense. new horizons launched not long after i did my project, so it was something i paid attention to. on july 14, 2015, i saw that pluto had a heart. do i even need to try to explain what this felt like to me? i think you already know. during this same deluge of information, we learned that pluto was a binary system. charon, which was thought to be the largest of its moons, was actually an equal part of a set of bodies, orbiting in reference to each other. do we even need to try to explain what this felt like to us? we think you already know. all of this is to say that we’ve formed a strong psychic link to pluto and it’ll be our second moon somewhere around the year 2222. try to stick around to see it, ok? it’ll be beautiful.
april 3 2025
yeah, i’ve been on this beach before. right at this time of night. the moonlight is only so bright as to barely illuminate the surroundings, but nothing more. everything is the blueblack of space. it’s cold, the waves are crashing, there are clusters of lights all around you. streaked yellow lights with the odd green flashing to red. the night is so dark despite having all this light. you’ll never make sense of it. even your camera can’t. every picture comes out shaky, though one is clearer than the rest. the sky still has its stars, but the sky is not black. no, it’s the blue of a sky that is about to set. but it isn’t day. it’s just a very bright night. and this is just the eternal state of the beach. it’s like this every time, and no matter how many times i come here, it never makes sense. maybe it’s not supposed to.
april 17 2025
you really can just spin up any scenario you want in your head. you can knowingly exaggerate things just to figure out what your response would be. you can play out individual segments over and over again until you get the right series of words out. you can end it explosively and it never has to happen. and in doing all of this, you do chip away at something. you understand that everything you’re thinking of is extremely conditional. maybe you’ve figured out one second of what could end up transpiring. only one second would be exactly how you needed it to be. would it count? probably not. you know you can’t figure it out. you won’t know what happens until you’re there, experiencing it live with shaking teeth and skin. so your mind wanders, and without you even realizing, you’ve been thinking up another scenario again. it’s less calculated, entirely raw feelings and fears all bearing their fruits. it comes forth in waves. rushes of sentiments breaking, crashing on each other. it happened without you knowing. you were entirely out of your control. your body and face were moving and words were being said but not by you. sick footage and audio of you acting so predictably. too predictably. so predictable you think it couldn’t possibly be you. you feel confident this was the most accurate scenario.
july 29 2025
there's an odd new feeling out now. i was dreaming, and in this dream i had a memory of some other dream. that memory of a dream felt so much like a memory of reality to myself that i operated as if it was true. and the dream went on to be as dreams often are, weird and meandering and mostly comprising of things that don't matter. but when it came upon me to justify something in this dream, and i used this memory to explain it, i was shut down. "that never happened. that was a dream." it was an integral, formative memory that shaped who i was. it had to have happened. who would i be if i wasn't what happened? and then i woke up. so i'm feeling whatever the fuck that is.