my darkroom supplies, everything that i thought had been lost in the last move
yesterday i came home from work and spent 8 hours in my bathroom playing with film, and it was glorious
it is a good thing that i am hopelessly attracted to imperfection, for i have not an ounce of patience in my bones
i do realize that i lack technicality in everything i do
but i have no qualms about it
its the only way i know how to do things
ive abandoned art for all intents and purposes, save for the transfer of energy; my release of energy, specifically. for that matter, ive disregarded nearly every form of interaction between humans and humans or humans to objects, save the transfer of muddled thoughts from pen to paper.
a few days ago i awoke with blood smeared on my sheets. odd thing is, i wasnt bleeding. im terrified that i may have killed someone in my sleep and stashed the body in the trunk of my car. ill have to not open my trunk for quite some time. how long do bodies take to decompose in a trunk? perhaps it is not in the trunk at all, perhaps it was not a murder at all, perhaps i wrestled a bear.
i am convinced that something has happened to my brain, whichever part controls the ability to articulate thought through speech. when faced with the opportunity to interact in conversation, my mind hurls an unbearable amount of possible responses at me, so much that one becomes indistinguishable from the next, and i am left with a pile of indiscernable bullshit to sort through in a matter of seconds. which is why my responses usually consist of a blank stare, one word, or a painfully awkward, stuttered phrase repeated several times throughout the conversation. i am fully aware that i come across as unintelligent, ignorant, boring - everything that i fear. as of late i have only been comfortable communicating via the written word, which is romantic in its own right, but mildly depressing that the only real connection i feel anymore is with a piece of paper.
i think i have a wisdom tooth coming in. my gums are swollen up around my molars and i have had a headache for weeks. the good news is that one eventually becomes accustomed to the feeling of tiny men mining diamonds inside ones brain day in and day out. the bad news is, i dont have any money or insurance. i dont really know what im supposed to do.
im not so sad about the masturbation thing anymore, as i am temporarily repulsed by the thought of sex. i dont want anyone to touch me, really. this happens from time to time, and i will probably get over it as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
there is this haunting suspicion, this nagging doubt, this mass of slow, somber realization that has snuck into my bed at nite and made its way into my veins
and it tells me
that i am not who i thought i was
and its getting louder
'the older i get, the more convinced i am that the space between people who are trying their best to understand eachother is hallowed ground.'
mr rogers was smarter than you may have thought
all of this time (meaning, all of my life), ive been wondering why no one ever wants to date me. after pouring over years of data, analyzing my every feature, thought and action, and observing lesser beings experience love and fulfillment, i have reached a milestone. you see, men reject the idea of anything beyond physical attraction immediately upon first contact with me. so i began to think, there must be some sort of red flag; a warning of things to come, to stay away from this woman and never ever consider her to be anything other than a vessel for ejaculatory fluid or insincere compliments. lo and behold, i discovered that tattooed directly onto my forehead (yes, my very own forehead!) is the word:
DEFECTIVE
my god! how could i have missed that, all of these years? i am so embarassed.
all sarcasm aside, i am pissed that no one wants me. ive been pissed for years, and i will continue to be as such
and i am so fucking sick of being told that im cute
the mood is misanthropical
and the soundtrack is:
will oldham
anais mitchell
gillian welch
mazzy star
liars
stina nordenstam
neko case
the books