i just adore that feeling of liquid malleability that you get when drunk
that seems to seep from your very bones
where your marrow becomes a viscous fluid that feels the very nature of the universe.

It just feels so nice
like
i am a part of nature
and it’s so much better than feeling inadequate with regards to your course mates
because fuck that

Fuck. That.

I just love detention more than a lot of things

Mostly I want to do work but I can’t seem to muster the ability. It’s not even as though I can’t focus in that usual sense, instead I’m caught in this odd inability of disinterest.

Why I don’t know

Have I done too much recently and used up all the focus in my brain??

Do i need a day or so off?

I don’t even know what I did yesterday

oh wait, Nietzsche, the gay science.

I’ll read the folded over pages and see if that get’s me started

I think I just want to do creative stuff. EHHHHH

♪: The Lumineers, Arcade Fire

why was i even that miserable last year?

i think i know

my father,
my loss of all meaning and solidity,
my education
the world

i feel like i want it again

but i don’t know why
am i falling back into that conception of the world as being something greater when felt in deep misery?
i don’t really know.

i think i’ve just circled back to the point of wanting something greater for myself
but not knowing how or where to get or find that something
It’s hard

HA. that’s life.

♪: Osca

i just really love being able to light the match and burn people to the ground
the power of it
the ability

In simple, select words

I don’t know why

Perhaps when i said I didn’t understand, or feel, the desire for power
in actuality, i just misunderstood the actual concept?

I don’t know

Lectures today consisted of everyone talking about happiness
it is never more obvious to me that my adhd affects me exponentially
than when in these lectures, with friends and lecturers, i zone out and in doing so can contribute nothing at all.

perhaps i just got used to zoning out to particular voices
to not actually listening
or perhaps i’m just bored
and on the edge of something akin to, but in no way the same, misery of last year.

Last year and the prior year.

What a mess.

I don’t know
perhaps i did drag you down
but you came willing
and you loved it
so fuck off

♪: Osca, Flyte

I don’t know

i guess i thought there’d be some semblance of a back and forth
or dialogue
(a dialectic. HA)
but it turns out you fundamentally misunderstood who i am and what i’m saying and you’re basing it on nothing
sorry i’m abrasive to you and that we don’t understand each other
and sorry that i know a heck ton about you
that i now can’t forget

and
that whole drink thing wasn’t even me
amelia is the one who commented on it
the fact that n didn’t put any money forward

like i couldn’t care less
but then was a bit unsure.

i still remember waking up having only managed to take off one shoe

i still remember
waving to you as you walked down the drive
and that friend treating you just terribly
I’m sorry for that

i remember running around
early hours of the morning
and my friend placating you
truly, we didn’t know each other that well
or rather
i knew you brilliantly
but you knew little to nothing

and now
you’re not with them anymore
and i smiled
but mostly i cried

i’m such a whiny crybaby
sozbro

you’ve ruined the name for me

(you haven’t really, i love it too much)

i do love you an awful lot.
more than you’ll likely know
i’m sorry i dragged you into my crevices
into my mountain ranges and across the skies

i didn’t care for collateral damage

and you’re just so brilliant
and bright
it hurts

i know you’ve had roughages
and sours
(and sores)

i know

but i didn’t mean to bury you with me

and i’m sorry for that.

i should never read other people’s writing
and yet i always manage to do so.

you don’t get it
and you won’t get it
but that’s okay
it’s truly fine

really
but please stop equating our experiences as being the same
because they weren’t
and stop being angry at me for something that was beyond my control.
i was in ruins, there would be no possibility
in any sense
of speaking to you
i’m sorry but it’s the truth.

I was thinking earlier about how to approach and appreciate a band you’ve gone to see? Having initially been thinking about the inevitable moment when my sisters and I converge after the death of one of my father and having to deal with that and considering all of the experiences and love and wonderful and terrible events, but then i was realising that i would be so terribly sad and likely cry (i’ve always had a thing about not crying in front of others, likely the same reason as to why i wore solely blue for years, internalised misogyny, whatup) and knew that my sister would want to hug me but i’m also a terror for being hugged, especially by her, i’m not sure why.

Anyway, i then clicked on the video for the Head and the Heart’s Down in the Valley and having listened to them prior to, but also in, America and managing to feel that singularly magnificent dream that is the American...

“the essay is condemned as hybrid… the essay form has not yet, today, travelled the road to independence which its sister, poetry, covered long ago; the road of development from a primitive, undifferentiated unity with science, ethics, and art” (Adorno, 1991: 3)

It’s true, essays and essayists reside in no globally understood ~art~ form yet they too can be as creative and aesthetic as any poem or prose. In fact, it’s in essays that i feel as though my niche is illuminated. It’s in poetic conclusions and sweeping, wave crest knots of loose ends being tied up that the world is made.

Writing critically and aesthetically is beautiful and to argue that theory and thinkers do not write in such a way is barbarous. Everyone who writes does so in poetry, after wall what is the use of words other than the inevitable use of metaphor and therefore creation.

♪: the sounds of the library and this...