7/30/22

i think i am going to die soon. i feel it deeply and viscerally. the death will be self contained. my body will betray me or i will betray my body. my skull hurts. my jaw hurts. my teeth hurt. my chest hurts. my heart wants to stop. what i want has no bearing on what i will do. i am going to tear my eyes out. i am going to find a ballpoint pen and explore the hole forming in my chest, pick and tear at it until i can see inside myself. my organs will come out of each hole in my body. i will have seen it coming for months.

Mikhail Alexandrovich Bakunin

 

this guy was the goat. still waiting on that roadtrip bioptic.

interesting things (noncomprehensive)

-prehistory

-objectum/objectophilia

-body identity integrity disorder

-SCPs

-wild animal welfare

-UFO/angel sighting overlap

-LAKE AND OCEAN CRYPTIDS

-lesser known biographies and backstorys of historical figures. i cant read an author until i know what her life was like/where she grew up/what was happening at the time

-evolution of ideas (esp evolution of religion)

-three body problem 

-Bicameral mentality

-humans getting eaten by wild animals

why do we give children crayons

 this shit sucks. how does crayola make any money at all.

dreamscapes

there's this feeling i can't really get over when it comes to dreams. it's the idea of never being able to escape from one location. i had a dream once where this scary appalachian family kidnapped me and made me tend to their homestead. i did chores for them around a burnt out house, ripped directly from another memory of mine. and i was the only person who could get close to this monstrous goat. its mouth took up its entire face - just rows and rows of teeth. i would feed it and milk it. and i knew better to complain, better than to speak most of the time. but i wanted to know what would happen to me when the goat was grown. there was never an answer. and then there was a fire. it came from the edge of the forest inward. they all got into their trucks and drove towards the source, and that's when i ran for it. i made it to the edge of the highway, where people were all standing around trying to coordinate some kind of evasive action. the flames were everywhere, the kind you see in california summers. in the chaos, i couldn't get the police to listen to me. it would be hard to make anyone understand even at the best of times. but they got me away from the fire and back to town. i don't remember what happened next - some bullshit. but as i felt myself begin to wake up, i had a vision of myself back in that burnt out shack. the pots and pans were all clashing and jankling. the chickens had come in from outside and were walking around. there was a light from above and i walked towards it, up onto the table, reaching out -

i woke up then. 

i've been thinking about this dream for a while. can you haunt a place while you're still alive? when you're hurt somewhere, do pieces of you break off and embed themselves within it? is a part of you always going to be stuck in the place you're most afraid of?

no disrespect to appalachians. i'm sure most of you don't kidnap young girls and turn them into terrorkeepers.

piss

 there is no square inch of space on this planet that has not been untouched by piss. i was sitting down in a public park enjoying some ice cream and not five yards away from me i heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. on my break at work i see some yuppie taking their dog to piss beneath my favorite tree. i sit there, asshole. back further, one of my earliest memories is searching after this baby bird to rehabilitate, saint that i am, where from the view of a back alley i see a teenager pissing in the corner of the school yard. the 18th century british stage actor once said "’Tis impossible to be sure of any thing but Death and Taxes". what he should have said was death and taxes are as certain as the piss seeping into groundwater. better don your stillsuits, boyo.