and just keep laying more stuff down! Stay stoked and inspired! Try your hand at all the motivational tropes you see out there; debunk personal growth; destroy the space between you and others, accept we are the same rushing blood; let this be your protest against war, anti-doomscrolling is making whatever’s in your heart, vomiting it up on the butcher block of the personally branded internet, being an OFFENSIVE POWERHOUSE when it comes to honesty and crafting possibility, risking losing the academic blowhards who see a certain way, or those who think about money all day, and comparing, judgment, sorting, labeling; staying in the chaos, the fresh place, the dream place, the combinatorial place…is of course the right thing for me to do, AND IS HEROICALLY LONELY WITH NO ANTIDOTE OR BALM, except dissociation and disappearance and Actually surprising myself with my writing voice, rather than spending more time waiting for Notifications — do something worth looking at; make something worth pulling a band of attention to your thing RATHER THAN THEIRS, MY ESTEEMED PEERS I LOVE SO MUCH, I AM IN COMPETITION WITH THEM FOR YOU, me versus Bradley Cooper and Netflix and Rupert Murdoch ~ maybe the competition’s all in our heads…but nothing can do Duration and Longevity and Endurance for you, and no one has endured these banal days, powerless and mum, living happily during the war, protesting but not enough, yielding to our democratic penchant for tapas and chardonnay, becoming inevitably what we despise
my posts are just my manias becoming science; it’s a battle against silence and incoherence; also memory, also sexual desire; it is a way of earning anew everything I can remember; it is a balm against what never happened and what won’t, because of math: girls who won’t like me, etc., until I have money — the fact that women don’t love men, they love freedom, they love lack of fear which yields the floor to delicacy and performance and validation, the irresistible vanilla-lavender macarons of well-to-do female life, the creative moneyed class, the professors and artists, the ones who fret over Instagram…it’s me, I’m what I hate, and the page is where I work it out
and if right now, you don’t hate yourself, you’re not paying attention
(other accounts you follow can do self-love…but I do self-hate right)
why not just embrace the music of confusion?