a place to put words

 what do i even say to a person who doesnt feel they belong in this world. anything but goodbye i suppose

learning music makes me feel inadequate which means i have to learn enough so i dont feel inadequate. fuck you. 

i think ive been thinking about if i desire to be interpreted and deciphered vs my desire to live a completely opaque life for a very long time, and i think my desire to be interpreted won, despite how cringe (for lack of a better word) hates it

there are three types of people in this world. horny teenagers looking for validation, suspicious people on the internet willing to give it to them, and people who have no idea that the first two exist.

i accidentally made a typo there, maybe there is something poetic in that. oh well, lost to time now. thanks for everything. 

am i disgusting for wanting to be groomed yes or yes

"I ATE A BIG BAG OF FACTORY REJECT SEEDS UNTIL A HEALTHY FLOWER UNFURLED IN MY CHEST ... I MISTOOK THE SENSATION FOR LOVE AND DIED"  - shovel2-deactivated20151204

thinking about the absurdity of this page. i have developed this infinitesmilay small subcutlure around my existence that is involved in so many deep levels of networks of existences. like no one follows or looks at this, yet it exists. i am waiting for some internet scavanger and discover this and see it as some beautiful expression of human existence in moderninty ingaged in so many layers or inorny and detathcment that it somehow is beuatiful? why do i desire recocnition for being irrecognisable dramatization. like if one knew it is existing is why it is beautiful yet wants to be seen as something beautiful, the two repel eachother. why do i do this if no one will hear it. i want to say (lmao i am so high) but i also dont want to because for some reason i care. i swear all i want but i feel some weird regard to talk about that. why do i care what you people think about me? but i do. no one will see this interaction, why should i care if it is percieved as bad. ok like subcatagor...

we find absurd ways to lick eachothers wounds, even if we know they wont  heal. there is immense violence and brutality in this world, one that is gruesome and gratuitous and painful. i speak of it as  if it is a single entity, evil. or  may its scattered and combining it into one thing is just another way of dealing with it. oh  well, another  lick. and still we keep living because there is nothing else to do. and  sometimes  people kill themselves because there is nothing else to do. in the face of it all there is nothing to do but help eachother lick our  wounds. hurt people hurt people. i dont want  to  hurt  people

Haha, yeah,

the creeping fear that you are actually a terrible disgusting human being, actually

we do things even though we know no one will see them. because they feel important even if no one else thinks so. there is more to life to recognition i suppose, i just wish i could feel it to be true

this sort of malaise feeling of modernity. i feel werid and out of place. like i want to cry but the tears wont  form because i dont feel like they are warrented. i dont desrve to cry, nothing has happened. maybe i  just feel isolated, socailly. ha ha social  distancing. ive been doing this for so much longer than you  fools. i feel abstracted. like the pieces wont come together.  my stomach hurts and that is the  only way i can actually come  to terms  with the fact that i dont feel so good. everyone says  my writting is  overdramatic and they are right  but nothing else feels genuine/sincere. i wonder if there is a difference between  those two words. "always genuine, never sincere" maybe that is the aesthetic of  modernity i write as if i know anything,  foolish of me

that feeling  of your hand shaking from fear. there is comfort in knowing  that i am capable of feeling  this visceral a feeling. my brain feels fine but  i suppose my body is soemthing different. i am not the master of my own house after all

why is it that i desire my own exploitation? that the thought of being corrupted by outside actors seems so appealing and comforting? maybe i want to do things that my moral compass doesnt want me to but some deeper, darker part of me desperately wants to. because if someone forces me to do something bad i can rationalize it and maintain moral integrity while also enjoying my own depravity. maybe i am just disgusting and everyone is correct for finding me a nuisance, but it's how i feel!!!! and i hate it.

The paradox of clout: one can only disavow clout upon achieving it, which means by extension makes their disavowal meaningless because they already have it. "Omg being at the top is so hard and stressful" ok cool I don't care because I'm not at the top and mediocrity tastes like blood in the back of your mouth and I would rather my head explode from the air pressure at the top of a mountain than blowing it out myself because I will never know what the view is like up there. But, if I am ever to get good enough at something where I can say "yes having clout is the worst" someone will tell me this. Thus the cycle continues and no one is happy. Maybe its better to never play the game of ambition at all.

our future was held hostage so we made out own swimming through the recycled filth of modernity we stitched together fragments and fragrances of beautiful things where context was destroyed we created our own, passing our creations along with stories of love and triumph, defeat and decay, but always looking pretty while doing it aesthetics born out of the feeling of comforting someone while you both know that neither of you have the answers, that it will only get worse aesthetics born out of a language with no grammar, one whose screams are unrecognizable even to itself aesthetics born out of a love for the majesty of ghosts and what they held dear aesthetics aborted we called it art, they called it imitation they called it degeneracy, we called it love if the goal of fashion is to die and be reborn, than let us be  the necromancers of futurity, carving crevices in our shared private hell and painting its ruins with the beautiful blood of corpses i just wish i was who ...

                                                    Do you really love me? I just don't feel capable of being loved right                                                      now                                                     Sorry that was a weird thing to say [name] why do you feel that way?                                                     It's unimportant                             ...

i wish i could eviscerate the will to speak. all my thought are  pathetic. the scream i use to cry out is  just as  pathetic as the tears which are just pathetic. even my  melodrama is fucking  stupid. grow the fuck up you piece  of shit, people  care  about  you are you  act like this? go listen to MCR and cut yourself  you fucking loser. no no nononononono ppl care about  me and i know that. i wish i wouldnt feel so pitiable. my  existence is so stupid  and meaningless. god i bet  you  think your so cool and edgy huh. why cant i  feel anything without having to second guess it. why cant i  just be  like some random white girl from upstate who can watch the  notebook and go to church and be happy in a sad kind of way. at least there is comfort in  knowing that i will die an incredibly painful and gruesome death some day. yes its macabre and probably not something i should ev...

i think the greatest mistake western metaphysics made was associating good with light and bad with dark. no no, evil grows in the light. with its roots in the allegory of the cave, it is a  false assumption. a dangerous one. for it's transparency is violence and its oversaturation blinds us to the possibility of anything more. that is the true violence of violence is its ability to negate the existence of good. doing evil not only increases the amount of evil, it destroys the possibility for one to do good. doing good increases the amount of good, but doesnt destroy the capacity for evil like evil destroys the capacity for good. this is why the only good comes from the dark, the underground. where we refuse the will to know and name and control and leave ourselves open to the possibility of feeling. intimacy in the dark. all good things are in the dark and underground. that's where the love is,  where the revolution is perpetual because it refuses recognition and articulatio...