i watch marmalade congeal in the insides of small birds because emo bands told me two circular.
how many eyes do you have friend
random assortments of language permeating the mindless schism of chasms of endless featureless divides standing along atop the next cyclone that pitfalls my juxtoposed hell hellz bellz bells on my vans ringing about ice cream creamed ice icing the cream that contains multitude haha lets keep writing and see what a mind space sees when it limits itself to language the words that scream from inside of my memories of all the things i was never given or allowed to do or told that were worthless how can i be a person when the most basic elements of personhood were sold to the lowest bidder biddor bidet biden will win but we will all lose the semblance of freedom but that is ok because only children want to be free we want something deeper something more important we want to be home oh shall we continue on this the second day of documentation but the manyth day of quarantine well george bardo beardo saunders believes that we must document meticulously in order to provide future generations with evidence that this happened but honestly do we really believe future generations will be a thing also if they are why do we need to convince them of our reality and of all realities why is this the one we want them to believe existed like hey guys yeah we were terrified of a strong flu and killed tiny proportions of the population and so we abanoned out way of life and the things we believed we needed in order to stay home and watch other people watching other people watching other people watching their pets stay home but like really what is happening is that white people are not willing to pay the bill on their lives and their choices but i mean we have been forcing other people to pay this bill for decades with slavery and death and degradation and pollution and murder and defilement and all that was cool because we liked shopping and drinking high end gin tonics but then nana might have trouble breathing and die and all of a sudden holy hell its not worth it consumerism is stupid how could we possibly have likved this way not nana or god not nana please no not nana but honestly nana had her time and we have all had our time and we hold onto life too strongly and it is not worth losing the things we believe we love in order to keep living i am so filled with love and i have no idea where to put it i wish so badly there was a vulnerable space i also really hope my lipstick arrives today maybe this will be the moment i look back on in 12 years when i am a cabaret dancer in northern ireland working in underground drag clubs and think oh man that was the first step on this wild journey of self discovery it boggles my mind that anyone would want to be one thing and would spend their time perfecting that one thing i want to be everything all the time consume and internalize and succumb and engulf and have all those things done to me oh well and anyways and on and on and hello hello goodbye goodbye no never goodbye because the things that move us never end hopefully we move them too objects or people or those that are both or neither can all be moved by love and passion but lets be sure not to descend into casual emotional complancency the type of emotionalism that is not objective and allows for exploitation and sees endless beauty and trust me no matter what they say there is no benefit to adherence and acceptance and looking on the bright side because the bright side is blinding sometimes and sometime it is nice to be blinded but sometimes boy howdy it is not nice it hurts and keeps you from seeing the real beauty the less incandescent things that require genuine attention and care because they are fragile and effervescent and deserving but what about the greatest rap verse of all time which is clearly bun b on murder and my goodness is it dense and intricate and evocative and it is poetry like baudelaire and how do we still think concepts like high and low culture make sense and how can we still be so racist and strange claude claude claude you paternalistic hack you brilliant purveyor of culture you white saviour you beautiful messiah you pottery expert you discerner of face paint rituals you should come back to life are you dead and mate with renee bach to save all the uncivilized swine what would they do without your direction and your ascendence how do we even start to understand history without letting it succumb to our linearity and our dependence on cause and effect when really it is not those things it is hyperobjectified ok ok ok but genuinely what am i trying to say here absolutely nothing this is the best decision that i have ever made because the words they pile up inside of me like bile like black bile like ancient humours affecting the flow of the other humous like galen i think is the person i am thinking of let us try to avoid conjunctions because punctuation is worthless but we do not need to get crazy and lose our grammatical minds here but in any case galen and his humours and the words pile up and bile up and rile up the mindscape space skating across spaces icey with loss and shame and the fear that what i love will be taken away and lost forever or maybe just not love me but i do not actually think that is it i think it is about what we love being forbidden so these words need an release and this is perfect because it is some geocities manifestation like netscape navigator got transported into the future some jason statham it film but anyways these words will languish on the interweb without consideration or thought but the key point the salient point the endlessly necessary point is that they are not in my head anymore and i wish i could write them down but goodness i do no have enough ink and my hand cannot write fast enough and there is a belief in my mind that the consistency of paper and ink and the fact that it capital e exists imbibes it with meaning and purpose and we must give it the same meaning when constructing and vying for the use of limited resources but the interweb my god is in my mind endless and effectively infinite so there are no limited resources and i do not for once oh god for once in my life need to feel guilty that i am taking from others who do not have what i need i am so scared of taking from others it cripples me the idea of taking something from another person and having them look back and think or goodness that man that boy that animal took from me what i never wanted taken because so many took so much from me and i cannot fathom doing it to others so this medium that no one will read and will exist in perpetuity but also non existence because as we know from economics in the absence of limited resources decisions become meaningless one does not need to choose how to spend their time if the time is infinite so because i perceive this space as being infinite i do not need to worry about how i use the resource so for once just one time there is no guilt in creation and i am not taking the attention of anyone because no one is here and if you are oh god you should not be you should be devoting time to something meaningful do not let me take time from you i cannot remember the last time i used the word mollifying in conversation i am only vaguely aware of what it means but i can feel it og jesus i love words you cannot define but can feel like moist or love or pornography famously defined by some american judge and those words are the best words because any word that needs to be defined by other words seems weak like a person who only exists in relation to other people that seems sad and desperate and it would be so much better to exist on your own and engage with agency not need and these words engage with the world with agency and damn that is the best kind of word you mark my words is there danger here i mean the kind of danger that corrupts a beautiful thing because it becomes self-referential or parodic or purposeful when it should be pure and endless i think maybe the truth is that the first eight lines of each iteration will be false but then the next three or four will be true but what fascinates is that there will be no way to demarcate when one starts and the other ends so i mean will i be able to go back after the fact and determine what was real and what was fake oh god can you even imagine reading this to oneself after writing it i mean why would anyone revisit the most mundane parts of their mind it seems like complete madness like the opposite of nostalgia like accessing the most middling parts maybe that is the true purpose here to expel the middling parts all of the things that just take up space like do i have enough money and will i ever stop hating my body and will i ever look in the mirror without crippling shame and fear and like what is the reason behind aspargus and pee smell having a connection these are things that need to be expunged like criminal records like the things you did when you did not know any better and society is kind enough to say hey good sir you have made a mistake but we will give you a pass the mind needs such passes and freedoms but it does not have such things because the most mundane parts accumulate like old issues of time magazine that we tell ourselves we will one day read even though i mean how long has the war in yemen really been going on do i need to read articles about how it started or worse like the third month of the thing when honestly what else is there to happen but it is not just that stuff that accumulates it is the horror the madness but it is worse because it gets locked up somewhere dark that we cannot access but it screams so loudly that it corrupts the sound of everything else we hear like the telltale heart but not like that because the sound is not guilt it is real screaming and anyone who tells you the screaming is not real is lying or insane or both or some strange combination of those things a wild combination arthur russell watching things fall out of sunsets oh that would be such a dream a scream dream to see peace fall upon your head in a glittering pastime and i read someone describe the setting sun as first an architect and then a painter and i thought wow that sounds a lot like our minds or at least the sad memories the memories of a childhood when everyone was scared and yelled at each other and nothing was safe and the house was so heavy with lead and hatred and the thoughts were palpable and tangible and it was both spoken and felt that the child was not wanted and that he was never wanted and the mind has memories of those things and those memories are first architects because they build us around that thing because let us be honest these are things that happen to us they are us our selves our bodies our minds get built around them like moats meant to guard or hide the true fact or our existence and then these memories hidden from view but looming largely paint and colour and modify all that comes next and after and later and we cannot escape and in this way they are both architects and painters arbiters of the thing we call the self but it is not the self it just the sum total of our cultured responses to our own trauma or joy or specific constellation of feelings that came before we knew any better and then when we did know any better we did not know what we were building the knowing parts around like gothic novels with miles and miles and miles of underground castle passages where ghosts live and maidens are beheaded but really it is the unconscious the single driving force that will never be rectified or find closure because really if that thing whatever that thing happens to be ever gets fixed or changed then what is left of us what good is a veil with no scars to hide so obviously i read read read many things all day every day consuming ideas through the eyes eyedeas maybe but a rapper has used that so i cannot take credit in any case how in the world is one suppsed to separate an idea from a mind and i mean this is common ground but really it seems of fundamental importnace like claude oh claude he is hitting his stride i was pretty annoyed with him for a while but now he is in the thick of it just dropping knowledge from his extravagent madness and it tickles the bone that few things tickle but then there is this culture the bororo living somwehere in south western brazil or some such place and he spends like 10 pages describing in intricate detail their rituals following death and it is beautiful and the ceremony takes weeks and the men reenact dead spirits and the women act as the living and there are two polarities of medicine man and shaman and the whole thing seems predicated on the idea that they believe there are creators and organizers which is weirdly like the idea of the sun or brain as architect and painter but then i suppose what else can one really be but a creator or organizer if we believe graham greene that destruction is a form of creation thank you donnie darko side note the greatest film that a teenager can ever watch it just makes you believe that you are not alone in seeing the world as a weird place and that sounds simplistic but man oh man is it true and the truest things clearly need to be simplistic like stereotypes and cliches because they have been watered down through countless minds and shorn to their barest form and that is why they are so memorable and simple but anyways this society does their thing and claude describes it because he was there and then he takes half a page and dismisses it all as some human expression of order and system building over an inherently unequal class system that they seem to have adopted that will forever ensure that the rich or whatever rich means in the amazonian forest marry the rich and the poor marry the poor and he essentially strikes a huge black line through all of his other writing and descriptions and ideas because for him these systems are useless and i mean like ok i get it this is common and we all do it and i cannot imagine a society that has ever existed that like 98 percent of it was not systems created to hide truths from people or to convince them of something when something else is real but damn claude can you just have let these people live and let your words live and i guess what i mean is what does this say about claude and his yearning for the system in things and his structuralist ideas colouring his interpretations and like his ideas end up creating the system he argues is accurate because the stucture of his thoughts boxes in all of the other things he sees and maybe these people just like playing dressup or maybe they saw the class divisons and did not care and maybe they were happy but no claude has to come along and end all of that and reduce them to us and it sucks for their memory but it sucks even more for people who want to learn because how am i supposed to learn anything if everyone is convincing me that everything is the same all of the time and that human nature is incontrovertible and that we will never overcome our limitations as a species and like jesus why does no one want to be more than human not transhumanist grimes and musk trash because that is just another form on control or like what was it called technofascism god i love that people liberals on twitter are annoying but superbly clever anyways why can we not just yearn to eclipse the structures that limit us without seeing that yearning as one more structure like damn meta structures and meta meta structures and hyperobjects and can i not just for one damn second think about what i want without praying to something i am really concerned that people are trying to hack me or discover all of my secrets but like it is astonishing that i think anyone would care enough to go to the trouble like oh no someone hacked my email and realized that i subscribe to stockx shoe update newsletters like i have been so conditioned to be ashamed and afraid that even this even these thoughts i am paralyzed with fear that someone will read them and they will be disseminated but honestly i have no idea why i have no idea where that fear comes from or even i guess that solipsism because it really is the height of selfishness to believe that everyone is hunting you and wants to know your secrets as if you could stop anyone from taking anything they want as if security even makes sense in the world anymore like i lock my door and feel super safe in my bed while everything that has ever been known about me just floats in the aether but again the salient point is not that it is out there or that it can be accessed but that i care or that anyone cares why do we care about the things we care about it is exhausting to try and be concnered with so many things i mean if i needed to care deeply about all of the things i was told to care about i would have no brain power left to blink or breathe this sucks it sucks living in this century it is the damn dark ages a genuine black hole of life where nothing about our perspective or our intelliegnce or our socialization matches the world we have built for ourselves oh ha ha it has been days or maybe just hours or minutes who knows but probably years and it fills up you are right obviously because you are right about most things it just fills one up and there is no where to put it i mean i can try to put it here but it is not the proper vessal not the right place to place things with a proper place a place i know that is proper but improper at the same time cruel cruel fate providing the cure and the disease in the same vessal such things are funny cruelty is always funny much like death should always be sublime ok so i wish i had something to say or maybe i wish i had some way to say the things i need to say or some way to communicate the things i need to say which i suppose is different but anyways what i really wanted to say is that everytime is the first time but like can i not get this out of my mind for five secinds i used to have capital t thoughts and feelings that seemed objective and responses to the world around me but now i respond to only one thing only one stimulus evokes s response and it is not a bad a thing it is probably the best thing the thing that informs and permeates and precipitates sentience and purpose and man oh man the eagles it is great when derided things are actually great and you cam look upon society and yourself and say man i wonder if the things i deride are actually great but i just get into this rut of derision and criticism and to not be oneself for two minutes who knows what you could see i mean really see and how different would being yourself be after not being your self for just two minutes you would end up being more of your self which seems ironic or cruel but i guess also funny because what else is life but a series of times when not being in something would help you be better at the things you are doing i have little to say so little or maybe what i really need is to say the same thing a bunch of times like i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you how many times would empty the soul would free me from this feeling would let me back into what i was oh wait maybe this no of course not that is stupid ok back to it i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i love love love love love love love love love u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u and know that none of those were copied i toke the time to enter each iteration individually here are a few more to really cement the sentiment i love you i love you i love you haha oh god how did this happen how could this have possibly happened well whatever how can i debate perfection i love you your eyes jesus in heaven your eyes your god damn scintillating eyes and those clothes and the feeling of your judgement i love you i love i love you i love you i love you i love you spaced out because he was out of it spaced out because he was sick spaced out because he was a genius spaced out because he had dementia arthur arthur are thur are thursday days better than mon days i am watching a man describe the combing of his sons hair as it fell out during chemotherapy because of cancer from aids and his son was a genius and they had no idea he was gay and i just what is the attraction to cornfields for me why have i spent most of my life waiting to visit the midwest united states probably read too much david foster wallace growing up so what if he is charlie's gay lover is said by those ancient iowans and holy god it is nice to know some people are open we are i am surrounded endlessly by closings music you cannot really tap your foot to genius that is absolute genius fetch the bolt cutters let us remove the remains the leftover restrictions that inhibit our souls and take the toes from the toads of idealism
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