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Hanif Abdurraqib interviewed by Ruth Awad: Joy Is Not Promised to You

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every time i make a mistake im like theyre going to put me down like a sick dog

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must be nice to be able to let things go, unfortunately everything that has ever happened to me never leaves my mind

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i envy churches who have their MYAFs as active as their youths. i mean, i know that my ates and kuyas have their own lives to conquer but leading these young people would have been easy if they are just there. easy to reach.

:((

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I’ve never liked how loneliness is portrayed in film.

Every attempt I’ve seen feels incomplete.

It’s never been able to replicate the complete hollow bottomless pit that forms in your chest,

that spreads to your stomach, then your arms, then your legs.

And suddenly your whole body’s gone rigid,

a chill that could freeze hell seeps into your bones.

The room feels like it’s tripled in size all the while the walls are caving in.

The feeling creeps up on you, and it plants itself in a corner of your mind,

it’ll spread like a weed, tangling through every aspect of your life.

You’ll feel it in the supermarket.

You’ll feel it when you’re at home.

You’ll feel it on a walk when the weather is just warming up.

Even in the most pleasant moments, it’s roots will find a crack.

It’s a rotten thing.

I want film to show it as such, to pull a persons mind apart piece by piece,

Trying to find an undisturbed fragment, a crumb,

Anything that loneliness hasn’t ailed.

All for it to be fruitless.

No corner of your mind, no branch of your life,

has been spared from entanglement.

I feel that film always leaves a shard behind,

a glimmer of hope, one last chance.

Something that can be kindled and nurtured into a being well beyond its original form.

I suppose that may be true for others, it’s certainly what I hope for people.

But for once I’d like to see loneliness played straight,

rotten roots and all.

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i pray for you because that’s all i can do for now

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“I feel like I’m waiting for something that isn’t going to happen.”

— Unknown

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and at the end of the day, people will still hate women.

because beyonce is a terrible songwriter who has a good body and nothing more and she's really nothing compared to olivia rodrigo, that stuck-up bitch who steals other people's music, but taylor swift is an old, bitter nothing who clearly hates other girls. and sabrina carpenter deserves to die because she followed her heart, not her brain, and that's exactly why zendaya will never be good enough for tom holland. don't forget about kylie jenner, who's stealing precious timothee's innocence away and dating her is like committing arthouse cinema suicide, or how we said the same thing about miley cyrus and her disgusting profanity, think of the children, poor liam hemsworth, trapped in a marriage with such a horrible woman. lana del rey was hot until she was big and she made trailerpark sexy until her ass got a little too fat. and ariana grande, talentless homewrecker, and selena gomez, jealous and unreasonable, and hailey bieber, even more boring than the blood drying on the knives you are so quick to pull. sophie turner is a bad mom and megan thee stallion deserved whatever was coming to her.

and amidst all of this, we still don't know these women. we cannot fathom the pain of having a public divorce, one where people choose sides and hurl insults at you until the battery on their phone dies. we don't watch them chase after sweet-cheeked children in tucked-away backyards or play board games with their best friends while their chests heave in laughter. we don't know their marriages and we don't know their solitudes. we don't watch them unravel themselves, time and time again, preparing for the battle that we have made of their lives. they can never make a mistake. they can never cry. they can never be who they believe themselves to be.

and we take all of this and we go to work, we ride the bus, we go grocery shopping, we walk in dappled sunlight, and we let ourselves shrivel. i compare myself to every body i see and i comfort in the fact that i can still encircle my wrists with my fingers. food turns to dust in my mouth when i think about the fact that taylor swift thinks she's fat and people still hate sabrina carpenter for sticking by joshua bassett's side when he almost died, for God's sake, and now the people on my twitter feed are saying GUTS is the worst album they've ever heard. i liked it, the tiny voice in my head cries out. she wrote songs that made me feel noticed. they're calling the song i relate to the most a total skip.

so i close the app. i try not to think about the endless profiles screaming about how much they hate a nineteen/thirty-two/thirty-eight/twenty-three/twenty-six/forty-two year old. i try not to think about how much they would hate me, if they knew anything at all.

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Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals

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José Olivarez

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healing is no art just like how pain is just pain :)

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today is stab day

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i hate this feeling. the thought you might have it easy :(

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The loneliest feeling of wanting to run into arms that don’t exist anymore, I can’t find my way home I’m lost.