Existential nausea

The mundanity of this moment taste metallic.
The grey treetops stripped naked by the cold stretch out like scarecrows, like swaying cemeteries. The wind circling around them seems bereft and in disbelief as if in denial, like a mother clinging on to her child who just breathed his last, rocking back and forth with him in her embrace.

The scariest part of life is that life is independent of will. Spring doesn’t rush to protect nature from the cold because the cold is also nature… Ironically, for spring to interrupt the shedding of life would be to interrupt life itself. So I guess in that regard death is creation. Life wouldn’t be life without unexpected endings.

Expectations are human creations. It rings hollow and shallow because every time it approaches the depths it’s yanked back by the leash of control.


Feel all of your Self all of the time without trying to make the stream run into the ocean of your mind
Stop trying to control, confine, retain, manage, analyze, postpone, protect, mitigate, quarantine what flows through each moment for the first time ever in the existence of everything

You’re expending your all holding back an inevitable tide from coming in
Meanwhile you’re dying to be cooled, to be washed over with the new, to be swept away
You’re dying for the very thing you’re fighting.

Dust ball

Scrolling through timelines aimlessly. Alternating between apps and websites endlessly. Drifting around like in a car in an empty parking lot at night, circulating the same block until it’s safe to feel again. Dissociating is like hiding under the bed from the monster that is sleeping in your bed. It should be the other way around but I’m always the one punished for the terror that drifts through me aimlessly like a heavy fog that closes in unannounced.

When I can’t be real

Presence of condition means I can be disconnected at any time. I turn against myself in anger for not wanting or being able to meet those conditions, because I feel suffocated by anything that splits or fragments my energy. So I retreat into isolation, every time. At least I don’t have to choose between me and me when I’m alone. And yet, that means I’m not flowing. I’m stagnant. It’s not long before the suicidal feelings set in. After all, what is the grave but the ultimate isolation.


Rid me of the ways of the world

Roles can’t replace meaning

And yeah, you say you intended well

But your impact says otherwise

Don’t strangulate me with wishful wires that aren’t grounded anywhere

Not even

I just discovered Mitski and at once I feel like the young girl in me was given the long longed for permission to be without having to entice others. She just screams wild woman and I love it. It’s difficult when you go all your life feeling out of sync and nowhere to recalibrate.

I’m convinced that emotions are revolutionary, visionary and yet reassuring. Like they’re saying it’s ok, you don’t have to rebuild the Tower of Babel to feel divinely connected. Close your eyes and hear the susurration of time as it was passed onto and through you.

No hiding from the light

Love is an initiation that is far more dreadful than war.

At least in warfare you get to protect yourself and hide in trenches. You get to exert your strength against the other. But in Love, there is no other. There is no hiding. There is no showcasing of strength like on your best days. It’s to let an inner war rage through you while you stand in the middle of the crossfire without flinching. Naked, alone, vulnerable. The sight of another in that state feels like a burning bullet but instead of death you feel more intensely alive.

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