#i need to start making it myself bc now im like trembling w need

[macroglossus]

i don't respect jello salad EXCEPT. except. the lime jello with apples and walnuts that my mom's side of the family brings to gatherings and that they have to put a ME limit on, because i'll load up my entire plate with it and eat nothing else. every time i calculate the likelihood of being able to make off with the whole bowl + how much i'd be able to eat until they track me down. my grandma makes a big bowl at thanksgiving and a bowl just for me

[jougogo]

tsukki, iwa, daichi, kuroo, sakusa, akaashi, and shibayam with an s/o who’s afraid of needles getting a flu shot

a/n: wrote this in honor of me getting of me getting my flu shot yesterday and NOT CRYING FOR THE FIRST TIME WOW WE LOVE GROWTH

characters: tsukishima kei, hajime iwaizumi, sawamura daichi, kuroo tetsuro, sakusa kiyoomi, akaashi keiji, shibayama yuuki

tw: mentions of needles

tsukishima

"kei, i don't like needles," you whined

"well, you still have to get them. are you really this weak? i thought you were stronger," he responded nonchalantly

ok that pissed you off

"HMPHH I'LL PROVE IT TO YOU" 

but once you were on the seat with the shiny syringe right in front of you?

all that confidence was g o n e 

"remember, you said you'd prove it to me." he smirked

you gulped and shut your eyes tightly

you could've sworn you felt his hand rest on your thigh as the shot was administered

you don't know what you were expecting, but the sting was only momentary and within a couple seconds, you were finished.

"ouch." you quietly yelped.

"see, you were just being a dramatic. tsk, weakling," he flicked your forehead

nurse looked kinda concerned ngl

but afterwards he'll carry your bags for you and open the doors bc he's proud

"good job, my weakling,"

"tsukki istg"

iwaizumi

iwa knew about your fear of needles

he found out when he noticed you grip the pushpin tightly between your fingers everytime you have to pin sticky notes to the corkboard you had above your desk

so when it was flu shot season, he'll def volunteer to get it done together w you

iwa bby being such a gentlemen gahh i cant

i can see oikawa as someone who was prob also afraid of needles, so iwa knew how to handle situations like this

"iwa-chan but they're pricking my arm and i'm gonna be numb how am i going to practice volley-"

 b o n k 

"get over it brattykawa"

jkjk he'll be so gentle and patient with you

"hey hey it's okay, dont look at the needle. look at me" he turned your face towards his, cupping your cheek to prevent you from seeing the syringe from your peripheral vision

you gazed into his pretty green eyes. 

oh, how they resembled a lush rainforest, full of tropical plants and-

before you could even realize it, the needle jabbed into your tender arm

"ouch," you groaned, leaning your head against his muscled chest.

"see, you did it!" he congratulated you, his lips curving into a small smile as he patted your head

he rolled up the sleevs of his t-shirt to reveal gloriously toned beefy biceps as the nurse administered his flu shot

ok this view is def worth the pain

as expected, he took it like a champ. manz didn't even tense up

afterwards he'll take you out for ice cream hehe

daichi 

when you confessed to daichi about your fear, he was so confused

"but i see you sewing stuff all the time?"

"dai that's different im not sticking the needle in my body bro"

ohhh ok ok now he gets it

he'll be so supportive the entire time!

"hey, i know you'll do great, okay? you're the bravest person i've ever met. you dont think a little thin piece of metal will get to you, do you baby?" he whispered reassuring words into your ear and brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face

when it was time for the nurse to give you the shot, you curled your body towards him ever-so-slightly

but he noticed and he thought it was the cutest thing

"hey, i'll protect you, don't worr-" he was cut off

you were gripped his shirt tightly in your fist and wincing at the pain

"ow ow ow" you mumbled into his shoulders as you felt the sting

"you're doing so good, sweetheart," he ran his hand up and down your back, attempting to sooth you

when it's all finally over he'll drive you over to his place so he can cuddle and "protect" you from the scary movie he very conveniently insisted on playing.

kuroo

"babe, you know you have to get your flu shot. what if you accidentally pass a deadly flu to my grandpa? you'd have to stop coming over to my house,"

your loving boyfriend kuroo was currently trying to get you to release your tight grip from the front door of your house

"i don't want to get your grandpa sick, but i don't want to have a needle poke me," you wailed, tears flowing down your cheek

he got tired and just carried you in his strong arms to the car and drove to the hospital, despite your protests

"THIS IS KIDNAPPING TETSU, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME," you screamed

he just whistled and rolled down the windows so everyone can hear

ofc, you shut up right then and there

"i'll get you back for this," you hissed

once you got to the hospital, you had no other choice but to oblige to kuroo as he dragged you through the halls to the vaccination rooms

the nurse was kind, but your heart was pounding

"te-tetsu, will you hold my hand" you whimpered when the nurse went to retrieve the tray

"of course, babygirl", he replied, putting his hands on top of your trembling ones

his large hands completely enveloped yours

when the nurse pricked the syringe into your arm, he squeezed your hands

"see, that wasn't too bad, right?"

"yeah, whatever" *sniffle sniffle*

also the type to take you for ice cream afterwards.

sakusa

"you may not come near me until you have received your flu shot," your beloved boyfriend declared

"omi omi but i need you. and also we were just cuddling this morning bruh" you pouted. "please please please will you come with me" *cue the puppy eyes*

"fine" he grunted. 

at the hospital he refuses to sit next to you, insisting that he stands def not bc he's concerned abt the germs on the seat

when you froze upon seeing the needle, he put one of his big hands on your shoulder

"you can hold my hand," 

"really?"

"don't make me take it back"

"okie"

you put your other hand on top of his, your arm draping across your body

his fingers intertwined around yours and clasped it when you winced at the pain

he'll draw you a bath when you get home and wash your body for you!!

so sweet and loving 10/10 experience

akaashi

you were currently hiding under a desk

specifically, the doctor's desk

"my love. it's no use if you hide, we're already here," akaashi sighed

he spent the last 2 hours dragging you to the nearest clinic for a flu shot

"you need to protect yourself so you don't get hurt," he had explained calmly

only for you, his sassy s/o to retort

"so why are you dragging me to a clinic just so i can get punctured by a needle? isn't that like, pain? which im supposed to protect myself from?"

someone help this poor bby boy

but somehow he had managed to lure you into the clinic

"alright. this is the last level i have to conquer. and then everything should be fine again" he thought to himself.

just the shot. just a lil pinch. right?

w r o n g

you were hysterical and sobbing

frankly, he felt really bad. but this had to happen at some point, right? after all, your fear of needles had started since you were a child. he was bound to have experienced something like this, as your dutiful boyfriend

he actually felt really bad

so he turned to the method that has worked for him time and time again to sooth his anxiety

"here, play with my fingers, it'll distract you" he reached out his hand to you and helped you out from under the desk

it worked!!

when the nurse came back, he rubbed the back of your hand,  a silent "im here for you"

definitely lots of comfort and cuddles afterward!

"see, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

shibayama

the syringe was right in front of you and the nurse was currently disinfecting your arm with the alcohol wipe.

when he saw you tense up at the touch, he'll whisper lots of reassuring words into your ears 

"hey. you got this, i promise! it'll just be a little sting, and the pain is only temporary."

when he saw tears welling up in your eyes, he'll swipe them away with his thumb, caressing your cheeks.

"make me proud," 

how could you say no to his puppy eyes?? 

"i'll try, yuuki," you sniffled

he put his hand on your shoulder, gently drumming his fingers to the tune of your favorite song to help distract you

his other hand rubbing your palm

after everything's done, he'll give the bandaid little kisses!! 

awwww he's trying to kiss ur pain away my sweet baby

he wants you to know that even through pain, he'll be there by your side.

will take you out for ice cream pt.3

tags!!: @aka-a-shii (anna thank you for getting me into writing i hope i did akaashi justice), @toshisgarden (ily big sis mwah) @gigis-galaxy(bc ILY GIGI)

[cinna-vanilla]

s i g h s. hi. i wrote over 1k words on what was supposed to be a quick drabble. it’s really bad and i’m very rusty but w/e !!!!

media : darkman (bc im hyperfixating babey !!!!)

warnings : violence, body horror (briefly mentioned / implied), negative thoughts / self talk, a really fucking bad ending (lmao)

“where is he?”

a shaky wheeze was the only sound the young adult made as the hand around their throat tightened. tears welled in their blue eyes as they trembled in the strong grip of the thug. their luck tended to be slim and in all twenty-two years of their life, they couldn’t help but wonder how such an occasion as this hadn’t happened up until this point. 

they had only wanted to go for a walk. maybe choosing the seedier part of town wasn’t exactly an...intelligent decision, but nonetheless, their intentions hadn’t been bad. the main streets were typically always crowded and they hadn’t wanted to deal with it. clearly, their decision was an incorrect one.

“where. is. he?” the man shouted before shoving the young adult away in frustration. they cower pitifully on the gravel road. 

“stupid, pathetic, idiotic--” the man hisses and swears as he kicks their curled-up form.

a deep, primitive growl startles the thug mid-kick, causing him to stumble...which would have been hilarious to them if they weren’t being in the process of being treated like a human punching bag.

they weakly inched backward and away from the fist-fight that started to occur between the two men. the thug was very quickly overpowered and fled with his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

which left the second man alone with them.

the first thing they noticed was the bandages that wrapped around the majority of his face and hands. the second thing they noticed was how tall the man was. he was practically a giant compared to their petite height of five feet, even as he slowly knelt down in what could be assumed as a way to be less intimidating.

“who are you?” his voice was gruff, but attempted to sound gentle nonetheless. 

“c-cinna,” was their shaky, hoarse response. “i’m- i’m cinna.” they attempted to stand, not wanting to inconvenience the man any further, only to whimper in pain.

he moved closer at their cry of pain. “you’re injured.” 

bandaged hands softly felt around forming bruises to check for any broken bones. their gaze was distant, dissociating from the pain, as the man worked. every touch, no matter how gentle, ached badly. they were rather used to feeling like a burden for being in pain.

some pain was a bit too much to hide.

a single hand brushed their right knee, causing cinna to flinch sharply and curl away painfully from the touch. a loud popping noise was heard from the offending joint from their quick movement.

“s-sorry, i- i didn’t mean--” they whimpered apologetically. they knew that the man was only trying to help. 

he merely shushed the young adult as he finished assessing their physical state. “i don’t believe there is anything broken, cinna, however, i’d still recommend seeing a doctor.” 

by the time they stood up and turned to thank the man to his face...he was gone as if he had never even been there in the first place.

“thank you,”

even if only spoken into empty air, they wanted their appreciation to be known. simply thanking the man felt dull and insincere, however. he had saved them from whatever unfortunate fate the thug had for them. 

they decided that they owed him.

---

two weeks later, cinna wandered their way back into the very same place they had been attacked. truth be told, they didn’t know if he was actually going to be there...but they were going to take a chance. they had to, they told themself.

they awkwardly wandered down the uneven road, gawking at abandoned buildings as they walked. a large gift bag was clutched between their hands.

“h-hello? s-sir?” they nervously called out. 

they didn’t have to wait very long for a response to echo from amongst the buildings.

“are you mad?! what are you doing here?!” he yelled. 

cinna flinched from the angry tone, but explained themself nonetheless. “i-- i wanted to thank you...i brought you gifts...” they shakily held the bag out in front of them. “i know it’s dangerous i just...i needed to thank you properly.”

there was silence. moments later the man came out of one of the buildings and approached the young adult. he hesitantly took the bag, probably worried it was a trick, and reached a shaking hand inside.

the first thing he pulled out was a large ziplock bag full of cookies. 

they blushed nervously at the confused look the man gave them. “they’re homemade. i dunno what you like so i ended up making a whole bunch...”

“i--thank you, cinna.” he replied, surprised. he reached his hand into the bag again and his eyes widened as he pulled something very soft out.

cinna watched him hold the bundle of material in his hands curiously. “it’s a scarf!” they explained, voice undeniably proud, “i crocheted it myself. those bandages on your face can’t be comfortable so i thought maybe that could help.”

the man eyes went from the scarf to the young adult in front of them.

“this is- oh, child,” he sounded close to tears as he spoke, “i don’t--”

cinna stepped forward, worried. “i’m sorry, please don’t cry, sir!” they wrung their hands nervously, afraid they had messed up somehow.

he shook his head, quiet sobs escaping as the young adult continued to stutter out unnecessary apologies. they felt like they had made some great mistake to have made him cry.

“you are a very sweet child,” he murmured in between tears, “and please, call me darkman.”

the worried expression remained on their face as they nodded. a heaviness grew behind their eyes and they began to rapidly blink in an attempt to prevent any tears from falling. 

“...cinna?” darkman questioned, head cocked slightly to the side.

“i’m- i’m fine- i’m--” they stuttered and stumbled. trembling, they turned away, refusing to let themself cry.

darkman...was such a sad-sounding name. it sounded so cold, so cruel compared to the actuality of the man in front of them. it was embarrassing, but they couldn’t help but tear up when they thought of how such a kind man could have ended up with such a name. not that they wanted to, by any means. they didn’t want to end up burdening him with their emotions, with their thoughts or, anything else. they had already done so enough at this point.

they flinched as a hand brushed their shoulder, jolting the young adult out of their thoughts.

“sorry- i- i have to go!” 

embarrassment flooding through their veins sent them running, even as the man yelled after them. right now, all cinna wanted to do was to hide for a long, long time. they felt like they had ruined everything. they felt...a lot of things, a lot of things they pretended not to feel.

even still...the young adult couldn’t help but feel as if this wasn’t going to be the last time they came into contact with darkman, and truthfully, they didn’t know how to feel about that.

[garbagequeer]

hey hello im writing a piece for laptop ensemble that involves sampling and i need the most repressed/tender/yearning quotes you got. just as gay and heart wrenching as you can. but also no pressure I know youre a stranger on the web I just feel like you post that kind of stuff a lot thank you bye

hope this isnt like too late school keeps me busy :( (also can you put a read more on asks? guess i’ll find out).��i ended up choosing many quotes from the same texts cause im indecisive as shit but i’ll bold my favorites from those in case that makes it easier for you!

anyways first of all you can never go wrong w richard siken as obvious as that is. these are both from you are jeff

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story 

this one’s from planet of love (the format got fucked bc tumblr is not actually a finctional website but :/ )

I have a megaphone and you play along,                                                                 because you want to die for love,                                                            you always have.     Imagine this:You’re pulling the car over. Somebody’s waiting.                      You’re going to die                                            in your best friend’s arms.             And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down,you’ve memorized it,

from litany in which certain things are crossed out 

I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re            really there.Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?                                                       Let me do it right for once,

sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell                                    and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.            Especially that, but I should have known.You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together            to make a creature that will do what I sayor love me back.

We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,            smiling and crying in a way that made meeven more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I                                                                                just couldn’t say it out loud.Actually, you said Love, for you,                             is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s                                                                                                 terrifying. No one                                                                        will ever want to sleep with you.

from snow and dirty rain

I had a dream about you. We were in the gold roomwhere everyone finally gets what they want.

that scene from when harry met sally where sally says:

One day I was taking Alice’s little girl fro the afternoon. I’d promised to take her to the circus, and we were in a cab playing “I spy” - you know, “I spy a lamppost”, “I spy a mailbox” - and she looked out the window and there was this man and this woman with two little kids, and the man had one of the kids on his shoulders, and Alice’s little girl said “I spy a family”, and I satrted crying, you know? I just started crying, and I went home

(like anyone else sometimes cries when u see a family doing something nice? is it because i want to participate in a sense of family of my own but have been excluded as a gay person from it’s portrayals and it makes me go :^( cause i dont feel there’s room for me there but i want there to be and i just have to long for this nuclear family heteronormative way of life that i’ve been made to believe is idylic? is it because my parents got divorced and my dad’s an ass and my mom is just a very angry lady and i want to re-do my own childhood? who knows. should we ban movies? yes we should!)

from maurice (ultimate source of tender)

“There was something better in life than this rubbish, if only he could get to it, love, nobility, big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend”

‘Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just “my friend”, he trying to help you and you him. A friend’ he repeated, sentimental suddenly. ‘Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep’

we are all so lucky i don’t actually own maurice in english this would just turn into me quoting the whole book

ee cummings voices to voices, lip to lip

the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid.

from virgina woolf’s letters to vita

7 september 1925

january 21 1926 vita writes

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this—But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it …

and on january 26 virginia writes back

Your letter from Trieste came this morning—But why do you think I don’t feel, or that I make phrases? ‘Lovely phrases’ you say which rob things of reality. Just the opposite. Always, always, always I try to say what I feel. Will you then believe that after you went last Tuesday—exactly a week ago—out I went into the slums of Bloomsbury, to find a barrel organ. But it did not make me cheerful … And ever since, nothing important has happened—Somehow its dull and damp. I have been dull; I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don’t believe it, you’re a longeared owl and ass. Lovely phrases? … 

from virginia’s diary, about vita on december 21 1925

I like her and being with her and the splendour–she shines in the grocer’s shop in Sevenoaks with a candle lit radiance, stalking on legs like beech trees, pink glowing, grape clustered, pearl hung.

from virginia woolf’s to the light house

What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs Ramsay’s knee. Nothing happened. Nothing! Nothing! as she leant her head against Mrs Ramsay’s knee. And yet, she knew knowledge and wisdom were stored up in Mrs Ramsay’s heart.

Love had a thousand shapes. There might be lovers whose gift it was to choose out the elements of things and place them together and so, giving them a wholeness not theirs in life, make of some scene, or meeting of people (all now gone and separate), one of those globed compacted things over which thought lingers, and love plays.

there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her insignificance, keeping house for her father off the Brompton Road, and had much ado to control her impulse to fling herself (thank Heaven she had always resisted so far) at Mrs Ramsay’s knee and say to her—but what could one say to her? “I’m in love with you?” No, that was not true. “I’m in love with this all,” waving her hand at the hedge, at the house, at the children. It was absurd, it was impossible 

(fun fact: the spanish translation adds something that i’d translate as “one could not say what one meant / what one wanted to say”, which i really like and i was disapointed to find out isnt on the english edition)

It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain. So it was indeed. The world by all means should have shared it  

from the great gatsby

I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away (…) Just before I reached the hedge I remembered something and turned around. ‘They’re a rotten crowd,’ I shouted across the lawn. ‘You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.’ I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him

from kafka’s diaries

may 27 1911: Today is your birthday, but I am not even sending you the usual book, for it would be only pretence; at bottom I am after all not in position to give you a book. I am writing only because it is so necessary for me today to be near you for a moment

parts from a from a letter he wrote to oskar pollak on february 4 1902

When we talk together the words are hard; we tread over them as if they were rough pavement. The most delicate things acquire awkward feet and we can’t help it. We’re almost in each other’s way; I bump into you and you - I don’t dare and you. When we come to things that are not exactly cobblestones or the Kunstwart, we suddenly see that we are in masquerade, acting with angular faces (especially me, I admit), and then we become sad and bored. Does anyone make you as bored as I do?

then I fall silent and you fall silent and you become bored, and I become bored and it’s all like a stupid hangover and there’s no use lifting a hand. But neither wants to say this to the other, out of shame or fear or - You see, we are afraid of each other, or I am.

Of course I understand it. It’s boring to stand for years in front of an ugly wall and it just won’t crumble away. Of course, but the wall is afraid for itself, fro the garden (if there is one), and you get out of sorts, yawn, have headaches, don’t know where to turn

You often talk with her, not only for the sake of talking. You walk around with her somewhere here or there, or in Roztok, and i sit at my desk at home. You talk with her, and in the middle of a sentence somebody jumps up and makes a bow. That is me with my untrimmed words and angular faces. That lasts only a moment, and then you go on talking. I sit at my desk at home and yawn. I’ve been trhough it already. Wouldn’t that separate us? Is that so strange? Are we enemies? I am very fond of you

from his leters to milena

Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.

jane wong. from clearing

We want to believe everything has meaning.Plums blossom over a power grid

and I am in love again. The shame of it.

from leslie harrison’s [sirens]

I’m not Penelope married to faith married to waitingbound in fine soft strands of silk dyed and stretchedin my world longing has teeth and fins has a tastefor blood longing is a room built entirely of knives

Lorde’s melodrama tour interlude

Don’t you wish you could go inside a heart, see the strings and atrium’s, everything beating and bleeding. It’s kind of funny, I spend almost every minute thinking about love. Being guided, and divided by love. But I’ve never seen it. It’s just a rumour, a comedown, an afterglow. I wanna see it, in colour. In the summer, I can almost picture it

from Andrea Long Chu’s on liking women

One day, you tell yourself, it will give you what you want. Then, one day, it doesn’t. Now it dawns on you that your object will probably never give you what you want. But this is not what’s disappointing, not really. What’s disappointing is what happens next: nothing. You keep your object. You continue to follow it around, stash it in a drawer, water it, tweet at it. It still doesn’t give you what you want—but you knew that. You have had another realization: not getting what you want has very little to do with wanting it. Knowing better usually doesn’t make it better. You don’t want something because wanting it will lead to getting it. You want it because you want it

ada limón, In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me

But love is impossible and it goes ondespite the impossible. You’re the muscleI cut from the bone and still the boneremembers, still it wants (so much, it wants)the flesh back, the real thing,if only to rail against it, if onlyto argue and fight, if only to missa solve-able absence.

i dont think i need to get into mitski songs because you probably already know but basically pink in the night/come into the water/once more to see you/in happy when she says if you’re going take the train so i can hear it rumble one last rumble/in i want you from the first verse to the first time she goes “i just need a quiet place where i can scream how i love you” (YES the card thing is very important)/the first verse of i will (w emphasis on everything you feel is good i f you wold only let you)/abbey/strawberry blond

sufjan steven’s futile devices obviously predatory wasp of the palisades you know the drill 

was going to find some twin fantasy lyrics but i started thinking about famous prophets (minds) and like. emotionally left my body so. i wont be thinking about it or any other songs anymore it makes me too crazy

from frances ha

It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it and they love you and you know it but it’s a party and you’re both talking to other people and you’re laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes. But not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life and it’s funny and sad but only because this life will end and it’s this secret world that exists right there. In public. Unnoticed. That no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.

from ellen lee’s notes on twin fantasy that i revisit constantly

there’s no going back to deliver these words to the ones they were really meant for. That’s how heartbreak feels, I guess. It feels like your heart in between the teeth of someone who’s looking away. When you’ve lost your loved object, what happens to all the things you have to say to them? When they’re turned away, what happens to all the things that you couldn’t, but desperately need(ed) to, say to their face? He dissociates himself from his own romance until it becomes a fantasy. You have your bleeding heart, you have a finite set of memories — when nothing new enters and you’re unwilling to let go, then you have a fantasy. The loved object enters into you and transforms.

the journey home by dermot bolger(havent read this at all dont really plan to/dont know a thing about it either i just came across this shit like 2 years ago and i still think about it)

I wanted to hurt him; I wanted just to touch him. What I wanted I’m not really sure. If he had stopped and opened his arms I would have walked towards him; I would have sat on the kerb all night with him

adam b, sweet i have a (really gay) heart

i feel like my body is the extension of a lake. i feel really badabout not telling you the truth, sometimes. i feelreally small next to you. tall boys remind me of bean stalks.i wish i had your legs. i wish i could know your handsbefore i even touch them

aaaand i think that’s all i could think of and track down, hope this is actually helpful and not too long (i am indecisive no kidding). also ksjdfg it’s nice that you thought to ask me this and i did have fun going over all these quotes so thank you 💖💖💖

[bonbonswirl-blog]

Safe (a little sequel to "impressive"?)

NONE OF THE CHARACTERS BELONG TO ME THEY ALL BELONG TO @BRUEKLYNN ONLY I OWN NOTHING.

U dont really have to read "impressive", but you may get really confused about what are the characters talking about here and wat happend bc the idea is like lil sequel to that fanfic. Something before we get to some action fanfic guys! also sorry bc one of the characters is a little OOC here (or maybe even both!) enjoy if you can lol.

Its been two hours since rob was searching for jim to ask him for his opinion about the new script he wrote for the new jokey episode. The proplem is, he cant find the stuttery storyboarder anywhere in sight! He looked in many rooms, He asked a lot of people if they saw him, with only samuel replying to him that jim was running away strangely like he was in a hurry, before telling rob to leave his office. Rob didnt really understand why would jim run that quickly like this in the studio, he was always so cautious about every little action he takes, espicially with the 'dangerous' things to him, running in the studio is an example, he knows that jim would tell him that doing this have many bad outlooks. like, he may fall and break his bones! Or have a few scars on his face! Or maybe fall hardly to the point that the ground break down under him and fall to the second floor beneath! Thinking like that was a little funny to rob, he never met someone before with the same thinking method. But presently he was tring to give jim some excuses for running like he did, what if he maybe had a meeting that he was late for? or he forgot to do something important in his job? or he was alerted about something and wanted to tell everyone? Rob wont know the exact reason, but he hopes that jim had done whatever he needed to do and right know, Rob needs to find him to finish this script review before the night come, he was already too tired of searching for jim. It may be weird to think that someone would hide all day in one of the studio room until the night, but everyone told rob that jim was noticed to be absent from the view since hours. With no sign that he went out of the place, the only option left is that jim locked himself in one of the studio rooms, which is the last option Rob wanted to consider since the studio is reeaally big and have many many rooms there....

Rob was already exusted greetly, his legs in pain, He looked in every studio room out there, expect for five ones, and good thing for him those are the last five. Whats even better? they are all in the same hall. Finally! Jim must be in one of those five, and all what he have to do is open and close the doors. those rooms seem to be some kind of store rooms in the studio, with each one having random things stored inside it.

Rob walked to the first room in the right and opened it, wishing jim is already there. But he saw nothing but some music instruments, he closed the door and went to the second room in the left, opening the door, finding just a bunch of papers everywhere, closing the door in dissapointment again, this is really boring and he is tired and want to end this work now. He went to the third room in the right, he was about to open it but....suddenly before he do...he heard a voice...a very low and odd voice.....but the hall he is in was so quiet that the odd voice was the only thing that could be heard, other than rob own footsteps. It was a very unclear and inditinct sound...it looked like it was coming from behind him, which was the forth door in the left, that is right behind him. It must be for jim right? Who else could it be for? Jim is the only one who must have locked himself in that room. When rob moved softly near to where the audio is coming from, the voice started to become a little more clear, but when rob drew his head near that door he tried to figure about what this voice is saying or who is he talking with. but he couldnt understand a word, perhaps those are not words and this is..........is this sobbing?....no.....he hoped that this is not what he is thinking about right now........he was really very worried about what is happening inside.........he even forgot about his whole purpose when he was searching for jim and just wanted to check if he is alright there.....he slowly moved the door handle and moved it down to open that door only to be greeted by..........

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHH!!!!!"

Jim screamed in fear and jumped so high when rob opened the door, breathing so heavily and hardly! on the other hand, rob screamed when jim did out of that sudden move, he just jumped a few steps to the back, he did it! he found jim! But before he utter any word he saw jim and..........he was highly startled by what he saw........jim face........all of it was......so ruddy......even his freckles were very hard to be noted under all of this redness..... his eyes...so puffy....so dark.... so swollen.....so dry......dry because all of the tears inside were used....the traits of the endless river of those salty drops that streamed down his tight face were etched on it as if he had been crying since forever....even some drops were still falling from his chin....his face was wet, on every inch of it......his shirt and hands even drenched....

".........Jim!............." " r-r-rob!.....I-I-I!..........I-I.....I....." jim whole body was trembling....he couldnt bring himself to say something.....how can he explain now? he looked like if he is trying to hold himself up strong...but he just..... gave up....collapsing on his knees, looking at the ground woefully. Rob was dolorous to the scene in front of him...he never thought that one day he will see something like that happen to one of the dearest people to him...... he tried with tender steps to approach his quivering friend, when he did.....he sat on his knees too, very placidly putting his hands on jim fallen face to make him look at him....but looking at jim crying face only made his heart sink....sink deep to places he never knew where there...it seemes that rob had a spot for his friend. That was a horrid thing that rob didnt want to witness again, Or jim...That cordial gloss that favoured jim eyes was no longer there... The look in them were so lonesome. The glint they had that revealed a world of darkness, his eyes revealed it all. The dark, colourless eyes that mourned his despair....rob gloomily moved his hand gently up and down his soulmate wet cheek, as if telling him that he will be ok, everything is alright now, he gave him one last sad look before starting to talk.

" ...What happend?..... " jim eyes went to the ground, the muscles of his chin tremble like a small child, despite the consolation feelings from his friend warm soft hands on his tensed face, he couldnt bring himself to speak of what happened, what if this ilwas a stupid reason to cry or to be afraid of? Rob waited for an answer, but it never came, he could sense that jim still have some doubt and terror inside him. Rob closed his eyes with a sigh, pressing his hands on jim face to make him focus on his once more "....jim....you are a very dear friend to me....my best friend...my soulmate....I really feel so worried about you...know that whatever happend...im here with you...I will always support and be next to you in whatever goes....I cant be fine when I see you like this...you can tell me anything you want to..I promise that I wont tell anyone...and will help you in whatever you need...please let me be a shoulder to you..and let me understand whatever bother you...." jim was....moved by what he just heard...that reminded him of how much lucky he is to have someone in his life like Rob, oh how much he loved being with him. He forced his desperate neck to look in the eyes of his understanding soulmate, he wanted so bad to be able to start narrating the story.

" R-Rob...can I tell you s-something?...." " ofcourse! You can tell me anything! " ".....I....sometimes rob....I....really w-wish that...I had a...n-normal childhood like all t-the other people...." he paused for a few seconds because that was something he wasnt certain he should talk about, rob looked at him with a confused face. " you s-see.....I-I just wished t-to run around in an o-o-open feild after butterflies like everyone...p-play in those small playgrounds in the b-backyards...d-draw with those colorful watercolor p-paints without being s-so scared to touch them...I-I-I just w-wish I was given t-the opportunity to try new things l-like all the others, without my freedom b-being held back by 'them'....if I j-just had a better people that could h-help me grow u-up...Insted Of Having A M-M-Man That Always Make Me Scream In Fright E-Every Moment He Comes home! A-And Cry Myself To S-Sleep!..." jim didnt know if he felt better or not after admitting everything...rob listened to him with every detail...he understands it all now... ".......jim.....I....Im sorry.....I-I understand you had a troubled family...but its alright...you are away from them now...you are here with us...that 'man' was all just a bad memory from the past..." ".......no.......worse......he wasnt j-just a memory... h-he was here.....h-here in the studio....h-he was trying to get me....a-again...pull me back to h-his drakness...He a-almost catched me...but t-thanks the gods samuel w-was there to save me..." rob got confused again, he thought jim was talking about his bad childhood, but it was more. He stopped. He gets what really happened now. Linking together what jim and samuel told him, he connected all the puzzle pieces together now. Jim father was here in the studio hours ago, jim saw him and fled away quickly, with samuel saving him in the last moment before being captured. Jim looked at rob, looking broken " r-r-rob!....I-I-I cant let him s-see me again...I-If he had me in his hands one more time....h-he.....h-h-h-h-h-h-h-he......" that last part was choppy as if jim tongue got tangled, his body shivering again, looking down in sorrow

" Jim "

The shy storyboarder, shakingly looked up hearing his name being called, his eyes started having a tenuous layer of water over them. Rob didnt speak a word. Insted, He opened his arms, as if telling his friend to come over here, rest his head on his shoulders, lay on him, and let it all out....jim understood it, he was taken aback by rob sudden genial offer, but he accepted it, crawling to him, then wrapping his shuddered lanky arms around his friend, resting his lumbering head on his best friend strong chest, feeling his mild heartbeats. Hearing it reminded jim of the nice and tenderness waves he feels when he is with rob. Who just closed his eyes and toke him in a sympathetic embrace.

Without hisetance, The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face, unceasingly, hands clutching at his holder back, who held him in silence. Perhaps these tears will help wash the blood out. He pressed his head against his friend chest, hoping that those heartbeats will soothe him down just like the patting in his back do. There is a static in his head once more, the side effect of this constant fear, constant stress he lives with. He hears his own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of him he didnt know he had left to give. That's the way it is when people are hard. It's like a theft of the spirit, an injury no other person can see. Rob held him in silence, rocking him slowly as the tears soaked his chest, a tiny lapse let jim pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapse again, his howls of misery worsening. The pain must have come in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurling him back into the outstretched arms of his grief.

" Shhhhhhhh.....Shhhhhh.....its alright jim.....you are here with me....in my arms you will be safe.....you are safe now.....you are safe...."

Just a few more minutes and jim was done, he now really feels better, he feela.....safe....a feeling he didnt encounter for such a long time ago, in Rob arms all his troubles have been washed away, how much can he be thankful to have him here with him? He lift his head after that break down to look at the script writer in gratitude, trying to find the right words to say, But before he do rob placed his hands on jim shoulders, making jim back stright, rob stared for momebt into his eyes.

" Now I want you to take a breathe and, inhale.....exhale....inhale....exhale" jim was taking deep breathes after rob. feeling the remaining weigh of stress go away.

" Now I want you to repeat after me..... My name is jim gooder. " " M-My name is j-jim gooder....." " I am a talented storyboarder. " "I-I am a t-talented storyboarder......" " and I have many friends who are by my side." " a-and I have m-many friends who are by m-my side....." jim stopped for a moment, he felt that he was a new person now, like he was reborn again. While rob gave him a friendly smile, feeling so happy for his dear soulmate recovery.

[castlehead]

:a Not which one is right but which one is more like you Let's start now // this is a few makeshifts on the deity,

dint realize y i was gettin poor marks in college till i realized comic sans wasnt mla format for essays, but i kept on with it bc im anti establishment and my dope ass literary insights should speak for themselves.

my 'experimentation' as one nonplussed professor put it, with the font, progressively got crazier, and in the end i was doin all caps zapf wingdings mized wih herculanum

needless to say, i got my degree.. IN BEIN A BOSS.

na but yeah i got kicked out of that school. still bummin on campus actually, and probably psychotic from this ecstasy i keep taking. this guy in f comp makes his own, has a pill press nd everything.

the shoes i original got as a college present from my parents got stolen, or in any case i woke up in a snow drift next to the commons dumpster without them on, so i just wear slippers. my toes are purple. ther always feels like there is something in my teeth or throat i cannot dislodge. i am the campus transient, avoiding th. RAs and ignoring the eviction notices. like raping the willing, one cannot be evicted if one is homeless. with the help of a few friends i sold drugs to when my rents still gave me money and i was still enrolled, i alternate between various dormitory hovels, hiding out from the campus police like some ghastly dysfunctional version of anne frank.

i havent taken my pills and smell. i emaciate my already rejected body, rejected by the establishment goons, with cocaine, and remind myself of the leftover chicken carcass and neatly lined bones whose tomb was a disgusting box of dominos buffalo wings i ordred and consumed my first semester here and that remained in the same place until i abandoned that radioactive dormroom to die slowly and painfully, and metaphorically, since living quarters do not possess life. i am starting tho to wonder if i myself possess that as well or if i did once and now am but a structure, a part of the collegiate landscape, sniffed at by diligent students and attempted to get thru to by intellectual slackers, decadent addicts themselves on their way to where i am, and wooks who need someone to smoke with on a sunday 4 am and know i always keep track of what festis are goin on on campus; i receive the next round of empathy from a new stranger who maybe heard of me or has seen me around and wondered what i was still doing here.

empathy, empathy, curiosity as to the quirky insane dude fried by mdma and a shitload of adderall for no purpose bc i have no practical skills. a monotony of empathy ripping off and using for the metaphorical shit on my metaphorical ass, like swquares of toilet paper who fancy me a hobo poet in need of on top of text books i never opened, on a desk i used as a trash receptacle. and speaking of wings, i think i might be literally going into a dissociative state because all the leaves on the trees look like zapf wingdings. my clavicle is not only visible but sticks out of my body further than my chest does.

watch out for hell day today, for something godlier than god. i deliver it.

The effect I wish to give, as it always has been, is that of a truth clearly viewed, in utter horror. Gods factotum, shuffling thru abandoned files that sometime held a secret forgotten, tho no less true now, and the horror perhaps, that we forgot something so crucially, fundamentally true, and so long ago.

​this work is twisted, sad, manic, strange, fluid, stilted, inappropriate, foolish, magnificent.

if god doesnt exist, neither does the version of myself with dreadlocks

. .  .   .    .     .      .

one has no choice in the end but to resign oneself, and drop their head. and yet, where do they look, if one in shrinking away for the purpose of humbling hisself afore the god of anxiety, and receiving his respite, knows nothing more than but to resign? where is the clarity here? there is no clarity 'here'. it is there, and come upon in moments of fear and trembling at the dread chaos, the doubt in a heart and split in a mind.

it is there, for one is staring at the ground, awaiting an end to the necessary aversion from the sight of a higher morsel of GOD.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

atheism should not be an opinion it is not the result of not believing in god it is simply living life without a thought as to a religious god. we are not reacting to religion we are IN reality just as the catholic is IN reality. saying "I don't believe in god" is like equating nothingness to a lack of everything. there is no reactive state to atheism at its purest. it is not an acknowledgment, in other words, of no god, but an acknowledgment of what is before one's eyes, this vast neutral space I defy you to say is different from the religious folks' apprehension of objects and desires, all before them, swimming in ghostly revelry or not, only figurations anyway. o this insanely divided world.

i have a secular conception of god based on my teleological hypotheses re the nature of a causa prima, causa sui. it's the definitions that need defining, not the thing with a name on it that needs explaining. physics already does that.

remove intent for the case of nihilism, and you will have what i am saying here. no case at all. no 'response' so to speak. atheism can be evangelical

im not an evangelical atheist because what i believe changes based on the day but is always just as real haha. belief is tenuous. i go by that

it's the definitions that need defining, not the thing that needs explaining.

my conception of god is that it is the only thing that does not exist. so in a way, yes, i am an atheist.

'God' as defined in its easiest terms, is an ultimate uniquity. like, an outstanding substance. anyway, idk. at the end of the day idk haha

Kant's own a priori notional form of perception comes to mind. in front of our eyes is what is real. the observer initiates the ocular nerve, and the thing or situation burns into the receiving blankness of the mind.

like, have we reaped all the possible benefits of fire by now? surely the wails of prometheus fall not on deaf ears!

. .  .   .    .     .      .

twisted, sad, manic, strange, fluid, stilted, inappropriate, foolish, magnificent.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

green tortilla chips my ass. he said with no attempt at disguising incredulity, wiping the tears from his brow.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

whereas god is all, i am only myself, knowledgeable of only myself; therefore, unless god is simultaneously aware of being myself alone along with being everything, and of that everything knowledgeable of each and every thing as if god were only that thing, i am then let in on an experience of individuality that god is unaware of.

this is a question of how to be the most purely omniscient, omnipotent, etc. that is the question that our conception of god is asking.

corollary: if in the case of being simultaneously the experience i have of myself, and being all, then it is quite logical to say that our experience in life is in fact a godly experience, since i, too, would be unaware of being all, as goes the route of any human perception of things.

when i say i am only aware of myself i mean it in ontological terms, fyi -and also in, i will admit, somewhat absolutist terms. of course as people, psychologically, we can put ourselves in another's shoes, step outside of our comfort zone, change an opinion [or five] and every person is an environmental sponge -we can adopt varying personality traits from the culture we is born into etc. -this argument presupposes an absolute view, kinda,- in that, IF this were how it went, it wld go such nd such -this statement of mine does not examine a phenomenological or spiritual connection between people but examines the relativity and possible logical gaps in -the idea, or notion if you prefer- of omniscience.- there is only theory haha <#

we create our gods but they exist as much as we do

. .  .   .    .     .      .

turn your back, find yourself faceless, at least, to someone.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

wondering if I got a problm w. th prostate bc sometimes when I feel a shit coming I piss n it goes away. Don't change much re bathroom routine tho since I already sit down wen I pee in the first place, and according to my second ex wife this means I am a lazy fat whore

interested in the concept of the devout as being the truest sceptics.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

Thought has the coherence of being but is not being, i.e. beginning and ending in our living heads as something not itself alive, but a mere transfer of connection willed consciously to create that inert unbreathing grand called the magnificent bullshit, the idea.

the quiet horror of the mundane dailyness.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

i think something elitist and say within, Well that was elitist wasnt it, dan. then pat myself on the back at my ability to check my arrogance, specifically when i see the thought thru the lens of something a cousin of mine with generally liberal views and empathy who fishes in alaska for money and lives off the grid would remark to himself. then, i get slightly nauseated after mentally leafing thru all the times i have been proud of mentally criticizing myself for something in the first place outwardly bad. and there goes on the circular drudge of ugliness, not evaded outright, but felt the pangs of guilt in the says within, that say me again and again in my inertial brood, of void i would hope, of searching for clarity i wish, but that is probably more like a moralizing, limited gauge, like feeling better about something ugly that is yr fault by feeling bad about it for a little so you can get that part over with without the possibility of another harder wave of guilt for not feeling bad at all about the ugly thing, and therewith reacting with doubts to doubtful reactions, until yr whole value system is a wilderness of mirrors.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

im a perfectionist when it comes to sensation. the beautiful feeling must be experienced in the proper setting that would maximize its potential. i think this is y i used to do lots of drugs, which by nature are the commodification of sensations. probably also y i was super miserable doing them and kept doing them despite that. there is a certain ring of the hoarder or magpie in this perfectionism that wants to connect physicality with ego that i see as well in the idea of paying money to literally feel specific sensations; equally, the result of this on the psyche is as tenuous here as with the futile idea of thinking the perfect setting for doing drugs is always at hand, which it rarely is, or at the least there is something to mar the perfect dream, that dragon, that pursuit of happiness, life, and liberty via thinking on how best situate the chains to, in essence, 'maximize' your mobility, but nathless remaining held in doom. the drug world, uh, is itself volatile; perfectionism and volatility dont jive so well, usually. and so on. hm. hegh.

heh.

. .  .   .    .     .      .

I only like Eminem rap and that one NWA song like hell naw the rest is garbage now let me go back to my trailer in the woods where I live in harmony with the Elves who have seemed to appear more frequently now that I have that bathtub meth dungeon set up in my basement where skynerd plays ceaselessly from an unlocatable place. My hero is Ed Gein. But I don't do the lampshade thing. I do however have a human skull I bought from my buddy who owns a war relics and parephernalia shop, he had to go in the back to get it and lock the store so nobodys would come snoop. Turns out some folks comed snoop to see if he figured any more available and he got mad at me for blabbing, an I said, Giles, ya know I ain't blabbing, but he dint believe it, an now we just kinder avoid each other at the local NA meetin. People tryn cop there and some do and theys go behind the water tower tagitit, I int do that part tho, a tad fucked up I mean, these people try n getting clean an all, why make it harder n it eyis? But if y'all wanit I get it tiya, come by and share a chaw almighty God. Gib ye a gude price too. *PATOOEY* I. Uh am sober myself. 20 yrs. but damn ye ye make a buck more n working garbage detail selling home cooked meth I reckon ye. Don't touch the stuff I don't anymore after I heard this queer fella from out a town got his arm chopped off when he mainlined eyit. Tryn I guess do some sex stuff and a days travel from the city. City folk don't know it's diffeRent strength down here's doe. I reckon. *MEDITATIVE PATOOEY* yes sirn. Huhm.

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The thing abt the Sex Pistols is, tho they engineered the punk genre immeasurably, they seem to no longer be in the cultural conversation, except within factions of grey haired aficionados. Even the more radio friendly The Clash seems notably absent in this regard. Has punk developed beyond its early stages, or is punk, being the genre that it is, dependent on whatever the moments youth zeitgeist is? punk is visceral because it is held in time this way. first gen punk, cbgbs headliners of ago and ago, do not exert these days the same walbreaking feel, bc I think there's so much virtuosic music being made today that the path of what will develop is harder to determine. Musicians in throes break down walls without batting an eye. Any musical iconoclasm expressed in the music of the past, then, especially to the contemporary ear, is bound to seem bathetic. Like microaggressions as expressions of racism, our society's opening of mind leads to a closed mind, as one can justify not being racist by simply saying they do not think they are better than marginalized peoples, have never done anything racist, think we are all equal, are not clansmen lol. what ruffles feathers is less obvious, in turn, bc expressions of the ersatz new and the real new are harder and harder to determine. The surplus of media, ideas, and opinions, I think, will lead us to a place where "cultural norm" becomes an oxymoron, hopefully. But then, what else will be left to invigorate, if so much is already so much done out, already? Does there exist a perspective, artistic or no, that is not liable to become passé? Or even some thought never thought before? I know there is, I for one know there is, because as a poet I see much to fix, and much that I work to do bc I see it nowhere else; and this most crucially is not an impression of mine based on today's lit but every days lit there has ever been, throughout history. Just I can literally not even yo, yo

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Mathsmatics can transcend thru the grandeur of its implications but not thru the means towards said implications; philo can do the same, but it's better penchant is for transcending thru means to electrify a mundane conclusion or give a system of reason to a general thought-trope such as, "reality is an illusion" or whichever flat idea u prefer to follow. Since it is pure logos, philo differs from math in being more readily universal; tho the applications of math are more readilly useful than the positives that come with mental clarity at the understanding an achieved unified system. Poetry is all means, so then must dazzle, and needs no evidence, conclusion, or even subject, but need only sway with beauty. Therein is the problem with the existential issue of selfhood. Reductive analysis of self becomes psych, and the only pure philo to be had in selfhoods exegesis is not to be found in anything like a system of proofs or syllogisms, etc. selfhood, as Kierkegaard recognized, is poetic bc it exacerbates reality, exhausts all of it. it is individual, and so copious a thing has no one forged path to what it is, or even any path at all, to what it is, since like Pascals God the self is a circle whose point is everywhere and circumference nowhere. Figuring out a reality via a teleology or thru logic is nicer to attempts at systems. But individual self is too mucky for any proof to say it exists; the murkiness shines, as it always does, when the means are prevalent, since the means, being held moment to moment, rely on nothing but expose a variety of paths to more variety. Philo then is better at least than Math for finding out something obfuscated, but nothing but poetry can so deeply probe the self, as its humility is lain in the respect for a complete dissembling of systems.

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the iconic ny jewish deli sandwich is in essence a robust mountain of roast beef held feebly between two unnecessary pieces of sad, chickenshit marble rye

the roast beef, of course, wld be kosher.

I create; I waste. Yet nothing is perfect, nothing, nothing. Not even dignity.