It had to be over 80% humidity, opening the front door, it hitting me. Of course it was a warm hug. Notes of georgia. Hints of sacrifice. Hues of devotion, comfort. I’m in love here.
My practice must include the eletronic spraying of wires. Equivalent to a condensed feeling of growth, learning, evolution, progress, development. Thought and sobriety. My practice must also include a hallowing of voice, feel, instrumentation as voice. To let the restless be restless, the heart be heart, the shouts be shouts, the ghosts be ghosts, the tears be tears.

In this moment, I feel my writing and production of writing change, to find some thing of a middle ground, somehow in the middle of a mountain and a valley, but not floating, a 4D oscillation cross section.

something sacred is, has to be based off of a great deal of separation and isolation.
for a thing that you build, create, let expand must have no expectations. it is not for people. it is based on something sacred. a weekly friday night movie watching with your roommate. a coffee with an ex every month. an end of the year sleeping on the couch at home.

there is no knowing me.

Today I write because I fantasize about an extended break from living skin, and servitude. though, the reason seems to be out of spite. just so people sees and feels what it would be like if I stopped doing what i did. bitterness. toxic. though it’s what’s right I do believe, that i need a break.

my current practice is sending picture word association messages on hinge, and chronically checking a lack of returned messages.

i no longer hyperfixate. i no longer feel passion. only obligations and moral duty to keep them. — April 12, 2025