it was my ex's birthday and i didn't text him. i'm sorry, bro. i didn't have it in me. i can't tell you happy birthday if i don't fw you.

i'm learning the lesson in real time. i remove obstacles from my path, but sometimes i try too hard, overcorrect, and get stuck with attachments that i don’t want.

is charmander still a fire-type if you can’t see his flaming tail? yes, because the fire is also inside him. the fire on his tail is more decorative than anything. no, not just decorative; it represents his nervous system. he famously does NOT like being around water or out in the rain. it makes him feel scared that the fire on his tail will go out. we don’t know what would happen—at least, i don’t. i should speak for myself here.—if his tail extinguishes. he might not know, either.

maybe it will never actually go out. the fire inside him will keep his tail lit as long as he has faith, and as long as he’s alive he will have faith enouogughghghghg, even if only a mustard seed, to get him through the day, flame intact, no matter how hard it rains.

i had a religious experience listening to this old lady talk about her ketamine therapy. the truth was flowing out of her. i can’t reproduce it right now because it.....

she asked us how to hold onto the truth once she’s found it. holding grief and gratitude at the same time... when i try to flatten it into words eight hours later, i've already lost it. truth is a fish, once again. slipping through my fingers all the time. goddammit.

but that’s the point she was making: “yeah, sure, it’s nice that i can let god speak through me right now (paraphrasing heavily. i’ve been using the word ‘god’ recently in a way that makes me think i might actually believe), but what about the days when i can’t get out of bed?”

looking in the mirror and seeing a skull, remembering that you’re gonna die. no time for trifles.

viral i’m going crazy, and the whole reason is because my left maxillary sinus is being colonized by some virus, and it’s convinced all the cells in the area (shaking my head as i type this) to take up the virus, too.

i believe we’re on the precipice of a catastrophic body dysmorphia epidemic. if the colonial situation is allowed to continue in the united states much longer, we'll fall in. it’s already happening. if you weren’t aware, it’s cuz you’re not talking to the right people. go outside and talk to them. build enough rapport over enough weeks, months, and years until they trust you enough to tell you that they tried ozempic because they have body dysmorphia and it’s making them vomit. if i had a nickel for every time, two nickels, blah blah, weird that it happened twice.

but it’s not weird. it’s consistent with everything else you see. they got serena williams advertising this shit, broooooo. it’s not gooooood, brooooooooooo. they got twinks on youtube making videos talking about how they want to go to the gym for themselves, “but at the same time, blah blah, male beauty standards in the gay community, i need to be hotter, nobody wants to fuck me, i want to be used as a sex object and i get more gratification when i think i'm aesthetically pleasing.”

oh, god. you gotta start this shit over. we’ve gotten to such a level of degeneracy that i don’t even know what to say about it anymore. what else is there to even say? fuck ozempic, fuck israel, fuck the president, fuck mickey mouse?

back to the old woman on ketamine. i was building up tears while the truth poured out of her, and then she said, “humor is the best therapy, aside from sex and dancing,” and that’s when my tears finally fell. i think she noticed, but she didn’t say anything.

two months to go. it’s going to finish a little at a time, then all at once, isn’t it.... ISN’T IT????? this apartment, even. as eternal as it feels to be in here... it’s not very eternal at all.

everything is still romantic, and that’s pretty much all i got to say.