What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons? I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel? I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective. We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier. Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight? (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.) Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely. Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage? Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
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1/14/2024 @ 14:16
At some point I must have crossed the boundary over into "normalcy" by the standards of people I used to think of as internet peers, or those who were somewhat as socially incompetent as I had been. But I don't think anything ever really changed. I was never really ever an other, only as much as I believed I was, and I imposed that separation from the normals on myself. All the people worth knowing are strange to some degree, but plenty of them move through the world just fine without compromising on the expression of their individualism.
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1/14/2024 @ 14:13
Started to think about how I've developed my own interests recently, interests that aren't for the sake of somebody else but have come to be organic. It's wonderful, having a self, having things you feel passionately about that serve as a marker of who you are. Sure you're flesh, bones, the whole nine yards - but you can give people an idea of what your soul is through what makes you feel something. People who likes trains certainly have the best souls of all of us, no contest.
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1/14/2024 @ 14:10
I remembered a few dreams I'd had that have stuck with me since I was a child. I think I'd like to try drawing some of them, as nobody really gets much from having somebody else's dreams described in lackluster words. Not that you have to necessarily understand me, but I like to think I'm putting my thoughts out into the universe to be taken however they may, or not considered at all. That's the beautiful thing about expression. I have the freedom to express myself, and you have the freedom to not care.
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1/8/2024 @ 14:50
It's safer to love things that are long gone than those that are still here. You can come back to a memory like an old show, look at it any way you like, and feel those old feelings in a different way - you have control. You can "romanticize" it in the purest sense, and I'd like to put it in a frame or a bottle, maybe in a locket to wear... you could be as close to the incarnation of a thought and a feeling as anybody could be. Get over this habit.
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1/8/2024 @ 14:46
My dad once told me I treat my sweater like a "safety blanket". I think some people will always need something to wrap themselves in, although I've made my blanket larger now, it's my bedroom. It's a nest, and if I put enough nice things in there I don't need to leave it and risk feeling or changing anything at all. Why would I? There are teddy bears wearing knitted sweaters. :-)
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1/8/2024 @ 14:43
"You wouldn't believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it." Kafka really does put those tragic feelings in the corner of your mind onto paper better than anybody. Mourning the life of somebody you never knew is interesting.
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1/8/2024 @ 14:27
Had a discussion with somebody about the aesthetic superiority of Catholic spaces over Protestant ones. I think I'd like more than anything to be the kind of person who prays and means it. But really, it doesn't need to be a Christian God you're speaking to, I assume He gets the message regardless, unless there's some muddling of the heavenly wires or something. We see our own God every day, whether in an incredible stone feat of architecture with stained glass or in the field near my house that asks me to come stand in it. I used to go to church camp to be around people that really believed with all their hearts in a Christian God and His world. It's comforting to be around people who are so resolutely devout, sure of themselves. I really shared in their feeling of awe when we watched a thunderstorm at night, although I feel we might've understood God's presence in different ways. Good for them.
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1/8/2024 @ 14:23
It's David Bowie's birthday today, apparently. I remember sitting by the window watching Labyrinth on VHS as a kid. It's incredible to exist in a world where a feverdream film with Jim Henson, David Bowie, and Jennifer Connelly was created. Think about how those movies you watched as a kid might've dramatically altered who you are as a person now. Neat, huh?
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12/12/2023 @ 21:38
Close to every day I feel this strong need to create something, to at least express myself clearly, through any media possible. New silly little ideas pop into my head, draw this, make this, whatever makes sense for that day. I only come to the realization of how strange a preoccupation it was after the fact. Have you ever had a dream where you're being chased, or need to run like your life depended on it, but you just can't? You're moving in slow motion, despite your best effort. It's a terrible, frustrating feeling. It's a bit like that. Not sure where I'm supposed to head next.
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12/12/2023 @ 21:26
I do sort of mourn the loss of the relationship I think we had before you moved on, which was understandable for you to do, of course. But you were like a mom to me, so thank you for trying even though you didn't need to. Something makes me think you have an inclination to helping headcases, but that doesn't make your effort any less important. Sometimes I feel we're further apart than we were before we met one another, maybe because it's odd for me knowing you know everything about me, more than I know. Does that make sense?
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12/12/2023 @ 21:21
I'm thinking of laying on the grass alongside my friends, on that sports field at our school. We'd spend ages there shading our eyes against the sky, it was so painfully blue and clear. My eyes would water from the brightness. I don't remember what we talked about, though it'd be nice to remember some. Lauren, Karen, Karina, I think. I really hope things worked out well for them.
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12/12/2023 @ 21:16
Long time, huh? I like this expression of my brain through code, it's the purest sort of honesty. My New Year's resolution is to be more positive, given there's really no point to being so critical in life even when I am sad, much less expressing that unhappiness. It's really pretty selfish, I think. I've been thinking of my family and the nice roll of the dice I came out with, they're really lovely, compassionate people. It's easy to take them for granted, but they keep me living, and I hope to be as purely kind as they are. From where I'm standing, they seem to have cracked the point of living - do your best, be happy, at the very least on the outside when you're able. Thank you for everything, all.
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3/11/2023 @ 20:21
I'm maybe a bit delusional to think I can participate in society and not be apart of the rat race. I'll keep working on that. Did you know that up to 15% of the US population took amphetamines in the 1960s?
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20/10/2023 @ 21:11
My friends and I were chased down by a crackhead on Tuesday. I wonder what he wanted to talk to us about.
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24/9/2023 @ 18:46
All I pray for is the happiness of those who try and realization for those that don't. Or a frontal lobotomy. That works, too.
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24/9/2023 @ 18:41
I refuse to allow the scrambling, desperate masses of unhappy unfortunates to ruin my renewed appreciation for living. What is it about their lack of self-awarness and unhappiness that compels them to make the rest of the world as miserable as they are through acts of cruelty or apathy? Some people simply don't deserve the power that comes with being human.
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13/9/2023 @ 21:53
I think of a cabin somewhere, covered in earth and leaves. Books, a fire, a pottery kiln, an old-fashioned door, a tabby on a floral tapestry couch with a quilt, illustrations in the style of medieval liturgical texts on the walls. My friends and anybody else who cared to could come and sit with me. The smell of coffee and the rose perfume she gave me, and the sound of ducks in the pond. In perfect isolation here behind my home, I'd wait for the worms to come.
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13/9/2023 @ 21:39
Allowing space for your child to make their own decisions in life is a parenting technique that is not suited for the internet age. I await the destruction of the internet by nuclear war with joyful anticipation.
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13/9/2023 @ 21:32
It's been a very long time since I spent my time in front of that old CRT TV with the VHS tape player. Do you ever miss the feeling of feeling things as strongly as you did back then? Bowie's gone now, but I can keep watching Labyrinth like he was still here. It was really the idea of Bowie that was so attractive, though the man himself was surely nice enough. But I didn't know him like I knew him through that old tape.
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13/9/2023 @ 21:27
"I think you just feel the need to keep changing things because you believe you'll feel better afterwards."
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13/9/2023 @ 21:16
"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was. A time of innocence, a time of confidences. Long ago it must be... I have a photograph. Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you."
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13/9/2023 @ 21:04
Nowadays I think of the car rides, the movies on the couch, and the weekend trips to the farmer's market. It was always Sinatra Sundays on the radio, we'd drive past that carniceria on Victory. Everybody always thought you were my older brother. You asked one day what kind of music I listen to these days, and I told you about Radiohead, Nirvana, and Nine Inch Nails. So we listened to them in the car together. In Rainbows was your favorite album, and mine as well. I forgot you had me when you were that young, dad. I love you very much.
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13/9/2023 @ 21:00
Somebody on the bus smelled like my mother, with that mix of cigarette smoke and fruity perfume, maybe mingled with some confusing incense. All smoke and something nice. Remembered that I drew a picture of her when I was a kid, with her next to a full ashtray. She was proud and hung it on the fridge. It was in the house where we stared into the trees, watched for lights in the backyard and I stayed up too late watching gore horror.

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