latest journal entry
June 15,2025
I need to be in the mountains with someone that I care about soon or else I'll fucking explode. Or at least with someone who can make decent conversation. My heart yearns for the intimacies of late night chats about nothing and everything. Something about night air makes me more true to myself. Maybe it's the stars and how infinite everything is. It makes me feel so insignificant, but in a beautiful way, in a way that makes it seem like it will all be ok.
In the end, I know the stars and the rocks will always be there when I need them.
but if I can get in a car with the people that matter then
maybe I'm meant to be alive - hospital bracelet, south loop summer
(I wish it was something that felt safer to do alone, and at night, but you know.)
I wish things were more interesting. Everything in my life is so mundane, I almost feel like the world's most inefficient robot.
I know I'm sad again, I'm just unable to locate where it really stems from. So instead it feels almost guttural. In a way that's unignorable yet so still. I forget sometimes that I need to let myself be guttural. That not everything can be controlled and calculated.
I desire to be skinned alive in a sense, for the vulnerability it would bring. For the burn of it, even.
Or maybe it's that I yearn to be cut open, and have all of my insides carefully removed and examined.
I to be known on a level that I think only the internal can describe. that only whatever Pharmakon, Faetooth, and the people who do the sound design for Yellowjackets seem to understand. (I think I try to in my art to express this, maybe I succeed at it, I hope that I do). The rat on my thigh understands, it knows more than I ever will. All its guts spilled out. At its most vulnerable.
Yet whenever I really truly feel that's how it is. I am the same as my rat.
Visceral. Laid bare and open for whoever to see. Vulnerable.
All of it in a way that i both love and hate.
is it in our roots to be this way, forever? - faetooth, white noise