At Brad's. Woke up maybe an hour ago, and the grogginess that persists behind my eyes is evidence enough. They shoved a science ficition book in my face the second I got here, reserved to the couch as the adults talk about broken knees and meniscus. I sent Chloe my old website and it’s inspiring me to continue to use it. I forgot that I was writing so much around that time with the looming thought of someone else reading. It’s funny, even now I perform my words. And with it comes the art of inference. I value the intelligence of another over my own. And with that comes the line. I seem to produce better thoughts, intricate musings, and literarte poetry when another is to assess. There is no one to assess this. Is there more value to the dependence on viewership? Is it not vain to expect praise? But then why does its limerence instill
I like not ending sentences. I also like having a book associate with a time. For instance I read the secret history over this thanksgiving and it twirls in association with all the two abstractly signify.
I actually did not know it was possible for two people to get so angry over a hotel bed. I didn’t know it was possible for me to get so angry about two people getting so angry about a hotel bed.
What does it matter that this is our main referential point? Imagine a boy. A boy who grows up watching movies about how he will fall in love with a girl, and from then on, he would be happy. He spends his early years looking for love, as was shown to him. He finds someone. He’s jubilant, delusional off the love he now knows he has. But then Nothing. He feels nothing. The prophet told him what he should do, how he should do it, and yet, still having completed all the appropriate tasks, the litany of rituals, it does not feel right. He breaks it off. Devotes himself to preserving the idealized version of this love into a story, a film, a film that will perfectly encapsulate that feeling that he knows is out there, how could it not be? Now his movie comes out. It's successful, archetypal. They say he's a genius, encapsulating that which no one else before had ever been able to achieve, to communicate that message which has failed to be answered. The novel before him, the image before her, and what before that? We have always perceived the world through reference points, what is so debilitating about this one?
At the beach. Having to remember that I like the sun. I hate that feeling. That resistance that comes with any words I put on the page guhhh there it is, so abrasive, coarse, and painful. And even those words don’t in any way compare to the sensation. I am at the beach. Donovan gave me his Dodgers hat since I forgot most everything one should bring to the beach: a hat, water…really I think it was just those two. We all reapply sunscreen every few minutes. The rest of the group will get here sometime in the next hour, and we will want to leave. Caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the phone. I hate having those little prickly reminders jut out every 12 hours. Tiktok is a fear mongering state. I could see myself making a series,, where I go through tiktok by slowly forcing my algorithm nicher and nicher into an insane topic. Yup yea that sounds good. I do not know how to be away from the pulse. It’s so infectious. The peripheral connection. Just knowing you are a part of something more infinite than yourself. I was telling Donny something about this on the way back from Hermosa Beach.
“Mark Fisher had this thing he wrote about.”
Donny nodded his head, “Mark Fisher.”
“––What was that?”
“Nothing. Keep going.”
“It was about one of his students. How they were playing music into some wire headphones without evening listening. The kid said something about how he wanted to stay connected, and how the different webs of media make us feel like we always have to be involved––and even worse, that we like it.”
You ever see the drummer from Rush?”
“Yeah. My dad showed me the dudes drumkit when I was kid.
“So cool.”
“So cool.”
back of my knees ended up sunburnt. I could write whole love letters to words, but they wouldn’t quite capture it. There is no logical sequence of words that would be able to describe it, I think. I could get close. I could spend my whole life trying different combinations of words like fluid or fluttering or convulsing or matte or even make up a word like poliriknic or