#ill miss him. im glad hes not in pain and not sick anymore. he doesnt deserve that. but im gonna miss him a lot.

[josecariohca]

.

[planetjisungie]

pain but make it beautiful- p.js

characters: quidditch player! jisung, hufflepuff! jisung, ravenclaw! reader ft. hufflepuff! jeno, hufflepuff! mark

an; uh this is the first of the nct dream hogwarts au series and mark doesnt have a hogwarts au so i gotta get him into all of them somehow

"come on y/n you have to talk to him at some point, im sick and tired of you staring at him like a lost puppy" jeno drawled, commenting on the way you were currently staring at park jisung, the star player for hufflepuff. he was currently sat on the hufflepuff table- where jeno should be- talking to his own friends. "i am not staring at him i am merely observing him" you replied back with a slight scowl on your face. the tall boy had caught your attention since the time he messed up in Slughorns potions class 3 years ago. the slight infatuation then developed into feelings after you started watching him during matches and practice from the window of the medical room where you were madam Pomfreys assistant, mainly for extra credit. "yeah sure you were. you know if youd just talk to him then maybe youd find out he is always staring at you in potions when you arent looking. youre both so oblivious it pains me" jeno let out an exasperated sigh, slouching in his seat and laying his cheek on the arm resting against the ravenclaw table. "excuse you, hes probably staring at sienna. theres no way he would even notice me" you muttered, discarding your half eaten toast slathered in nutella back onto your plate before standing up. "now, i have to get to the medical room to wait for the quidditch match to begin"

jisung watched as you left the hall, hair slightly blowing behind you along with your robe as you took quick steps. his eyes followed your figure, tuning out the conversation of the rest of his fellow hufflepuff players until you disappeared from his sight. "hey, park, are you listening or just staring at your girlfriend?" his captain elbowed him making him jolt before whipping his head to face him. "huh?" but before the captain could tease him any further, a disheartened and slightly irritated lee jeno flopped down on his seat at the hufflepuff table. "if one of you doesnt fucking confess in a week im grabbing your necks and forcing you to kiss" he seethed, glaring at jisung whos eyes had widened. "no way! shes y/n l/n, princess of the ravenclaws and practically untouchable, im just park jisung who likes to play quidditch" he quickly turned down even the thought of confessing. at his total obliviousness, the whole table groaned, slamming their heads onto the table.

later that week, you were sat in the medical room, jotting down extra notes for your potions and herbology classes. hearing the door to the room creak open, you turn your attention from the words neatly written in your notebook to the entrance. masking your shock and worry with a smile, you stood up and walked towards the captain of the hufflepuff quidditch team who was supporting an ill looking jisung. "you two okay?" you asked, your stare on jisung lingering a little longer before looking towards the captain who had a frown on his face. "jisungs got the flu, conveniently before our match against slytherin next week" he explained, watching as you cleared up a bed for jisung. "oh, im so sorry you must be feeling awful" you said softly to jisung who wanted to say something in return, but his throat was too sore to even swallow. wincing at the painful sounding cough he let out, you nodded towards the captain. "i’ll take care of him mark, dont worry" you sent him a smile to try and ease any nerves he had about this. after all, a match against slytherin with their star player either benched or feeling sick and unfocused throughout the game would not end well. "thank you so much y/n, youre really a god send" mark sent you a final smile before jogging away, leaving you to tend to the poorly boy. you got jisung to lay down, specifically in the bed that was next to the window so he wouldn’t get too bored. not that he could get bored with your pretty face to stare at, that is. "jisung just get some rest, when you wake up i’ll still be here so if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask" you said gently, already filling up a cup of water and placing it on the table next to him. "t-thank you" jisungs deep raspy voice attempted to show how grateful he was, but he was utterly horrified at how weak and feeble he sounded. you couldnt help but feel sorry for the boy as it definitely sounded hoarse and painful. sending him a nod, you went back to your work, where you spent a lot of the time glancing back at the asleep boy across from you.

when jisung had woken up, you were in fact still there. it was apparently the morning, so he had slept all night. seeing the boy sit up in your peripheral, you got up from your work and headed to him. you had actually gotten sleep last night, hoping he didnt wake up before you got back and apparently the gods were on your side that day. "how do you feel?" you asked him, already grabbing the Pepper-Up potion from the cabinet. "a little better. my throat doesnt hurt as bad" his voice wasn’t exactly ill-sounding anymore, but he did sound kind of croaky which was mosh likely from not talking for so long. nodding in response, you handed him the Pepper-Up with a small smile on your face. "well then, if you take this you should be good to go by tomorrow," then you pouted, "but it was nice having some company here rather than just me" you sighed. jisung chuckled, and you seriously felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. it wouldn’t surprise you if he could hear it to be honest. "i’ll miss being here too. the view is nice and its relaxing to not be surrounded by loud boys" he said, trying to avoid your eyes as eye contact was something he wasnt ready for yet. thinking he meant the view from the window, you turned to look out it with a smile. "it is rather beautiful" you uttered breathily. jisung stared at the side profile of your face, softened and smiling as you looked out onto the forest and mountains. "gorgeous" he quietly agreed.

the rest of the day you had spent just talking with jisung as you wrote even more notes. you and him were both glad that you could finally talk to eachother, first without any of your friends teasing you, and second because the situation kind of forced you together so it would be awkward if you didnt talk. he had found out little things about you that made his heart melt, such as your cat that was called mr snuggles, your pet sugar glider that you kept at home which was called mr cuddles and how you had a love for all animals, leading to your dream of becoming a veterinarian. he had also found out your undying love for small things and how you always looked so cute talking about them, your eyes sparkling. similarly, you had found out about his little sister that he would do anything for, his owl that was just called hoot which you found both adorable and hilarious, and how it was his sister that basically made him start playing quidditch, just wanting to make her proud. you had also found out about how clumsy he was, after immediately tripping on air after getting out of bed to sit closer to your desk, sending you both into a fit of giggles as he had pink dusted on his cheeks. it was safe to say the two of you had become closer during his stay in the infirmary, and when he had to leave, you had immediately missed his presence.

during the days before the slytherin match, you and jisung would greet eachother in the halls, and you switched deskmates so he sat besides you in potions now. his team and jeno couldnt believe their eyes when they saw you two walking to the hall together for dinner after you had had potions last period. so naturally, when you waved and smiled at jisung from the ravenclaw table, and he winked in response, jenos jaw dropped. "since fucking when did you two get close?! my prayers have finally been answered, about bloody time!"he very animatedly said, waving his arms around for exaggeration. "he was like the only person in the infirmary, so he became my friend i guess" you had shrugged to jeno, but you couldnt stop the wide smile pulling at your lips.

when the match had finally arrived, you firmly put away your books and sat in the stands, as madam Pomfrey had told you to watch from outside incase any players would fall. bounding towards the hufflepuff stands, you slid in next to jeno, ignoring the looks you were getting from the other hufflepuffs considering you were literally on the wrong stand. "you come to watch your boyfriend?" jeno smirked, nudging you with his elbow. cupping your hands to your cheeks to hide the bright red glow from the comment, you stamped on his toes harshly, smiling at his screech of pain. "shut up and lets watch" you glared at him before cooling down and removing your palms, turning to face the field as the players all filed onto it. jisung searched the audience for you, finally finding you waving at him like crazy making him grin happily. mark patted the boys shoulder. "lets have a good match so you can show off to your fiancée but make it girlfriend" he joked, jisungs cheeks turning a similar colour to yours previously as he shoved marks back.

the game started, and you grew increasingly worried at the violent plays of the slytherins, though it was to be expected. the hufflepuff team however, had managed to easily come back into play after every brutal shove, or chase, giving them both an equal shot at winning. "well this is an interesting match" jeno lifted a brow, leaning forwards slightly so he could get a better view. "on god if they hurt jisung im putting them all in the infirmary myself" you said, leaning back and looking at the slytherin team, very unimpressed by their dirty plays.

"you won!" you giggled, jisungs own laugh reverberating around you, his chest pressed against yours sending vibrations into your own. grabbing his cheeks, you stared him in the eyes before smashing your lips onto his. the crowd only seemed to cheer louder, jisungs frozen arms slowly wrapping around your waist, tilting his face and kissing back. jeno and the quidditch team let out whistles, reminding you that you were in public. a wave of embarrassment hit you, and you buried your face into jisungs chest, the sound of his rapid heartbeat matching your own.

[huphilpuffs]

flares

chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

[luisneer]

selected tweets 2016-17

These are tweets from my first @luisneer twitter account. Recently I made a new twitter account with the same username, after having deleted my account and having been without twitter for several months. These tweets are from August 2016 to March 2017, which was most of my first year of college at Shepherd University, in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. I don't go to Shepherd anymore; I transferred to West Virginia University, in Morgantown, WV, after my second semester. My tweets from late March 2017 to [July or August] 2017, when I deleted my twitter, were not archived. 

I'm creating this blog post so the world will have access to some of my tweets from the deleted @luisneer, in case they have any merit as literature. I'm still not sure if I will continue to use twitter in 2018/the future. Usually when I use twitter I feel like I'm actually wanting to be doing something else, but I don't know what; or wanting to be using "another app" that doesn't exist. Twitter generally seems bad for me. Questions about my tweets August 2016-March 2017 can be directed at luisneer@gmail.com. Thank you

    2016

   morgantown has ~48 vape shops

 **morgantown has ~480 vape shops

 siri has werner herzog-like inflections

 considering changing outfits when i take several walks in one day (so nobody thinks im a serial killer, stalker, spy, alien)

 think i remember ~5% of things i said today

 imagined vague connection btwn 'vitamin d' and 'reptar'

 felt distinctly that i was a monkey or chimpanzee while crouching in the corner of my dorm room eating peanuts out of a jar

 just thought (as a request to my mom) 'fax me my skateboard...'

 looked at toilet in bathroom stall with expression of 'utter terror' for what felt like ~15 seconds while it flushed

 listening to bright eyes with headphones at house show

 feel that the toothpaste i use is advancing decay of my teeth

 feel 100% certain that i could train myself to use telepathy to operate my phone during classes

 enjoying the sensation of my right leg 'falling asleep' during psychology class (left foot is also 'asleep')

 felt 'sociopathic' after eye contact w library worker who watched me pick up & pocket a pair of apple headphones someone had left on a chair

 left stolen apple headphones on gray bench across the street from my dorm

 repeatedly placed/removed sunglasses while walking in hallway

 strong desire to remove all positive patterns from my life and perpetuate/embrace all negative ones

 feel that my laptop 'knows' which parts of its screen im looking at

 in winchester, VA

 thought of my own music as having 'no compelling audible elements'

 thought of myself as being legally named 'the fuck up', then couldnt remember my actual name

 successfully, i feel, duplicated 'sociopath facial expression' during eye contact with arch-nemesis in stairwell

 ive taken 13800mg ibuprofen since i got to college

 feel compelled to ask my 9 yr old brother for advice re 'college-level' personal issues

 feel smart after sitting on couch in painting studio + reading art magazines for 2 hours

 persistent notion that 100% of students at my college personally hate me

 psychology professor muttered something like 'scary snake... endocrine system...'

 feeling heavily drugged/sedated in psych class

 psych professor seems obsessed with/terrified by snakes

 imagined kanye smoking crystal meth and tweeting something like 'please help me... cant feel mouth... need help'

 saw a moth at open mic, thought about god

 experiencing difficulty trying to smile

 enjoying using numerous cliches ('the case is closed', 'taking a step back', 'harsh realities') in an essay

 intrigued by conversation i had 9 hrs ago w/ 2 boys who countered my tone (calm, eloquent) exactly by being loud and rude in a friendly way

 felt simultaneously really cute and really lonely while giggling with my mouth closed in french class

 imagined kanye inventing the word 'compactualize' and using it in a sentence during a televised interview

 enjoyed 8-sentence john updike bio in norton lit anthology

 perceived person standing outside bathroom stall occupied by me could 'sense', via something like echolocation, that i was/am depressed

 spoke to french professor in what felt like a distinct persona/alternate luis neer called 'marge simpson voice' luis neer

 feel confidently that the public debut of 'marge simpson voice' luis neer was a success

 feel that 'marge simpson voice' luis neer is the culmination of an unconscious process that initiated in my mind maybe 3-5 years ago

 i want to identify/analyze additional alternate luis neers

 i dont like videos

 i came to college and got weirder, better at writing, more arrogant, more defeated, more sensible

 simultaneously feel that i should run 3 miles and that, at this moment, i would be incapable of running any distance

 feel urged to draw new attention to my 'marge simpson voice' tweets

 huge power outage at shepherd lol

 realized theres no such thing as a 'nation'

 remembered ive blown off obligations to several people, not just one person, so my irresponsibility doesnt 'have a focus', felt comforted

 feel that my follower count is 'crystallized' / will never increase or decrease ever again

 struggled to convert 'stick-and-poke' to past tense during conversation in line at sheetz

 feel it would be pleasurable to take a donut + bottle of coca-cola from this sheetz via armed robbery

 crossed busy road, felt really surprised i didnt get hit by a car, also i wasnt wearing glasses, was walking to sheetz, bought an icee

 laughed alone in my dorm thinking that i should print out a picture of barack obama to put on my wall

 drank from separate glasses containing soymilk, coffee, iced coffee, apple juice, cranberry juice, water, sprite for dinner/breakfas

 just thought 'from adorno to zizek' sans context while shitting

 opened gmail, emailed my father, closed gmail, opened gmail again, viewed email to my father, forwarded it to myself

 'camcorder' would be a good band name

 i thought arnold palmer had already died

 willem dafoe doesnt make me uncomfortable

 i want to stop being mean

 i hate bfs but i want to be someones bf

 wishing i was in a car with friends and no cellular service

 tangled up in myself and others

 twin peaks is depicted as a small town but its population is greater than that of every city in west virginia including the state capital

 eating shark

 thought of my own intelligence as 'frightening'

 thought while walking to class that ginger ale should be made public domain

 had the stitches on my chin removed today, touched the scar tissue for the first time

 i miss being in therapy

 i love carpet

 i love carpet !!

 just thought about my own tweets and lol'd

 mood lately very fragile

 this is what i get for staying up til 5 am

 all night i've felt a wave of dread swelling up, now it's really hitting me

 sound of laughter in public still frightening + unnerving

 my instinct for when to unfriend people on facebook has adapted so that i unfriend people over statuses that make me feel no emotions at all

 fuck, im feeling so much terror

 gucci mane was born 3 days before conor oberst

 the other day i mentioned that i was a poet and this vape guy interrupted me to say "and you didnt know it" and i went fucking nuclear

 interacted with mailman who was picking up mail as i was trying to mail chapbooks, he didnt notice at first that i was talking to him

 what if old people have secrets

 my dad is making me root for a football team but im in pain emotionally

 i feel guilty in general

 thought of my poem "portrait of a nation without any people" as the "lead single" for my full length; it appeared in potluck 14 months ago

 im close friends with satan rn

 feel like travis scott never intended for people to spell his name with a $

 from now on every time i get honey on something ill list the thing in this thread

 finger

 desk

 coffee cup exterior

 pajama pants

 knee

 carpet

 chin

 phone

 shirt

 shoe

 thought that my elderly geography prof. moves by "shuffling"

 feeling shorter, broader

 the only part of the new bright eyes box set i want is the booklet

 is there a booklet? i know there are nvr b4 sn photos

 the song "lime tree" came to conor oberst in a dream

 i like citing things in MLA

 i write essays by pretending im werner herzog

 doesnt seem to be getting later

 lit professor gave my project (sequence of 6 sonnets) a C, i wish she would have gotten me expelled, shelley + ginsberg both were expelled

 heard someone in another room ask "where's wal-mart?" as if wal-mart were a person whose location could change

 i think i just swallowed a filling while eating popcorn, i am very scared, please help

 crazy how things get worse

 there are people on my floor having tons of fun and im upset

 bit my mattress while sitting in the chair next to my bed

 weird that chance the rapper only has 2.4 million followers when he's sort of one of the most famous artists in the world rn

 also weird that donald trump has made 34,000 tweets, seems like an incredibly large number

 the strangeness of yesterday was, for me, augmented by people on the internet talking about a tv show that ive never seen or heard about

 the sunlight is obscene

 im so upset about the sun being so bright im afraid to go outside

 im glad im the only poet who likes trailer park boys

 i slept in a blanket fort under my bed and havent left it all day

 yr = your ur = you're

 my favorite things are pdfs

 now that ive adapted my living space to allow me to never leave my blanket fort i feel like my roommate, omar, exists in a parallel universe

 i hear him but i never see him

 i love latte art, i drink many lattes

 thought that twitter "isn't worth it" in an upset tone while drinking mtn dew

 felt pleasant considering uniqueness of all parent-offspring relationships

 went through my closet + made sure all shirts and jackets were zipped/buttoned

 my blanket is generating flashes of light from static electricity

 record store guy became visibly sick of me several months ago; feel a little guilty every time i enter his store to spend money

 i prefer EPs

 felt "out of control" walking downhill listening to dead kennedys with headphones

 writing an essay is difficult because idk how much relevant information other people have already considered / moved on from

 have been wanting to write at least one poem inside my blanket fort but i don't think it's going to happen, i don't know why

 the internet isn't big enough

 usually when i think "i dont understand the uproar about [event]" i realize there is no "uproar"

 "uproar" is media's way of manipulating the public spotlight and distracting people from important tasks

 feeling helpless + melancholy after dying 15 times and killing 2 stormtroopers in star wars battlefront

 the only way to attain conor oberst-level emo hair is to lay in bed and sob for hours

 i'm sad

 my mom was confused when i told her my first book comes out today

 was luis neer in odd future

 thought "sometimes i just want to end it and start all over" in an exasperated tone re my goodreads account

 becoming increasingly convinced it would be best for me personally to take myself extremely seriously/never joke about myself

 thinking that my tweets would seem terrible if i were a senator/governor/other politician

 imagined doomsday device for future @starwars movies: the "death train," a normal train that exists in space and destroys planets

 how does anyone do it

 in science fiction movies, spacecraft usually look like shopping malls

 everyone in the world is high except me

 feel like i want to have poems published immediately

 having delusions of grandeur

 im sitting on my record player

 my most-used word in 2016 was "bleak"

 prepared and ate garbanzo beans w a lot of rosemart at 2:00 AM

 my brother has a friend over and is being mean to the friend

 all i want for christmas is to never cheer up, ever

 watching eyes wide shut and hugging duckuc

 my nose feels like it's going to bleed

 im sad because every bf looks like me

 getting better at eating ice cream by punching it with my tongue

 the internet is too freaky...

 i think 2017 will be a year of realizing things

 im watching the angry birds movie

 the angry birds movie is so shitty... why was it made...

 ive never had a new years kiss

   2017

   im weird

 eating medicinal ice cream

 im not going to do any drugs in 2017

 made a medicinal phone call

 i want to drink some blood

 i dreamed that roger ebert wrote a negative review of life after ppl and called it "liner notes"

 years dont kill people

 feel inexplicably/explicably really scared about the future of my poetry career

 i've felt stoned since i was a baby

 downloading google earth

 made eye contact in starbucks with possible luis neer incarnation from ~50 years in future; bon jovi "dead or alive" played through speakers

 realised that at some point in the future i will become extremely interested in watching football

 i recommend reading poems extremely slowly while touching the text with your middle finger/index finger

 experiencing cognitive dissonance

 used phonetic clues to correctly predict meaning of & use the word "tandem" while discoursing with myself internally

 i miss steel pedal guitar sounds on conor oberst songs

 my previous incarnation "college luis neer" has evolved to become "high school luis neer-like luis neer in college setting"

 thought "man, i got to stop caring what people think about me" in an emphatic tone that seemed confusing/interesting

 mediocore

 beyonce is cool i think

 i want to re-read "v for vendetta" and to not tweet about it

 remembered that i own a pinata

 i will be at awp

 how could i make twitter a better place

 i saw 4 people wearing yeezys in dc this weekend

 feeling increasingly self-conscious about how much i use the phrase "in the world" or refer to "the world" in poems

 felt robot-like while attaching detachable headphones cord to my headphones while wearing the headphones

 watching shepherd univ lacrosse team practice from "safety of" student center

 i invented releasing two chapbooks in one day

 im dumber than me

 reasoned mentally that im more likely to produce accurate drawings of myself because "i basically look like a bird, so i just draw a bird"

 i want to have a "fake tweet" (e.g. a simple phrase) to tweet repeatedly every time i feel urged to tweet an uninformed/unimportant opinion

 my fake tweet for the foreseeable future will be "i dropped my textbook in the stairwell". when i tweet this it means i have an opinion

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 does anyone remember the chapter of "the hobbit" where bilbo avoids starvation by ingesting peanut butter, honey, cherry nyquil, and water

 sensed that all my college friends just simultaneously shifted from having vague/non-serious negative feelings about me to hating me

 resulting from continuous building of irrepressible/inevitable conjecture in the friends' conscious thoughts

 eating chicken and squash

 i click on 100% of poetry links tweeted by poets i follow

 when i was writing Waves i was obsessed with waves (e.g. energy waves, frequencies) and used the word "waves" at least ~10 times every day

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 white nike swooshes on shoes of boy in library look vibrant/magical

 terrified of being cool

 walked to library really slowly while listening to noise music through big headphones

 i was really, really yung when i started publishing and i'm still really yung

 2 chainz always looks like he's walking in an airport

 i have 5 twitters

 i didnt know what bill paxton looked like, i was thinking RIP gene hackman

 why doesnt anyone blog about me

 thesis statements arent real

 thinking about my book

 i deleted both my tumblrs by accident

 sad about my tumblr

 my name is all over the internet

 im a lizard

 someday there'll be no more ppl

 a lot of conor oberst song titles have parentheses

 feeling sad about the actions of my clone, who passed away

 idk how to use venmo or what it is

 present-day tumblr is like the end of the never ending story where atreyu is talking with the rock biter and the nothing is swirling around

 when someone, anyone, is upset with me im afraid im going to be assassinated

 the views-era apple music ads that depict drake working hard in the studio have really affected and inspired me

 on tumblr i have 4 followers

 almost all of my tweets seem unimportant

 feel that if someone told me that one of my tweets made them upset i would just apologize and delete it

 ground control to commander venus

 i like my new tumblr

 i would be wearing a cardigan rn but i dont have one

 feel that i will continue to generate bright eyes-related content throughout my life

 is everything ok

 i look like michael moore