⠀ my stream of unconsciousness ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣼⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣱⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠛⠛⢿⣷⣤⣤⣤⡴⣯⣾⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣮⣗⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠶⠶⠶⣖⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣻⣶⣋⣓⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠿⣽⡁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢙⣲⣦⣤⠴⠾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠓⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ hi! this is essentially a disorganised outpouring of whatever leaks out of my fingertips. i try not to edit. very raw and academia defiant. 24.10.24 blew off my friends again, might be the third time i just can't face putting on this face again i'm lying through gritted teeth trying so hard for the same old thing blew out some smoke again stone-faced cold frame put the cat inside so it wouldn't inhale my shame wind gentle stroking fingers my little campfire crisp, crackling in my chest, a landfill a wasteland where i dump my sweet nothings the tears they acquiesce glazed cake, frozen-over lake hardening stone statue medusa blurring a-stigmatised lamppost light i won't change. neither will they. watch the flame dwindle watch it pass away 07.10.24 i met a french exchange girl in my seminar today. she had tresses of brown hair, dark clothes, and a liquid eyeliner which fashioned crosses beneath the eyes. i was so anxious today, but i spoke for her, answering questions in a shaky voice playing an academic. we turned to each other at the same time, mouthing thank you (since she helped me with the answer, and i spoke for us). it was coincidental and intimate. after the class, i told her i was heading out for boba, and asked her favourite kind. 'taro milk tea', she informed me. she seemed to follow my trail, as if waiting for something to be actioned. i asked her, 'will you come with me?'. in honesty, i was exhausted, but her eagerness to come was revitalising. she beamed at her taro tea, which honestly was subpar to my drink, but i sipped it to entertain her, and so she wouldn't feel so bad about sharing mine. with the streets flooded with school children, we came across a wooden bench. she said it was beautiful, but i saw her looking my way as the words escaped her lips. what does it all mean? a statue of queen victoria towered over us, where the rust looked like cried-off mascara. we wheezed as i almost choked on my tapioca. i learned her grandfather loved Debussy too, i told her 'he's my favourite composer'. she asked me to teach her the piano, to which i replied 'one day'. she loves raclette in the winter time. she loves radiohead, who i actually brought up first. she collects records and believes in listening to albums exclusively in canonical order. i thought, 'maybe she's pretentious' until she showed me her guilty collection of twenty one pilots. and so, she's a stranger? i have got to stop fictionalising everything. i don't know if she looks at me the same, all i know is that she's going back to france in three months, of course. of course. 03.10.24 i moved into my shared home last week. every so often a pair of long-haired cats come to visit. maine coons, i think? nevertheless, they perch on our garage's corragated 'roof' (it has two gaping holes). the cold metal is softened by their warm palettes: the cats are brown and black. the brown cat is majestic and regal, its outline blurred into the radiant sunset like a gradient. the black cat is energetic, with striking yellow eyes, wide and curious. they both love me in their own ways, i think. i held the black cat closely to my chest and let my irises be swollen by the sunset. it takes centre stage around 7 o'clock, a celestial veil draping over the skyline. all the old builds, the telephone wires, the weaving web of black bins, they all emanate this golden glow. it lingers for a while until dark, where i am still outside savouring the final morsels of day. i think i'll buy some treats for the cats too. they're not my cats, but i don't mind. it's enough to actually love something, even if it isn't mine. 12.09.24 i have an idea for a story, it's set in an enclosed community in rural, southern america (or perhaps another place), a cultish one, you know the kind. i'm excited to research the relevant history, but, i'm also considering fantasy. there's something incredible about making my own laws and timeline for my writing to fall into perfectly. but there's also something sickeningly real about placing your words into lived events. i'm torn between them really, because a large part of the basis is concerning a strange wlw relationship, and its persecution. also, is it shallow to only write tragedies? does there have to be some redeeming, hopeful quality? i have a plan for this nevertheless: to frame my characters as 'sacrifices'. for what? queer freedom? or just a story of two people amongst many, whom were never allowed narrative. i have to chill, it doesn't have to be that deep, i'm staring intently at booktok romance here. but it's true. everything is that deep to me. 02.09.24 blood runs thicker than water- is that really true? presuming so, then my blood is over-diluted ribena and my water is a viscus cornstarch slurry. the kind you use in compote, which in itself resembles a sickening, clotting blood. it is a blood of my own making, which does not leak from pierced flesh. an elixir brewed through the whims of my decision. a life materialised by my own volition. not some generational heirloom, the fallacy that i inherited which is commonly known as family. apparently that quote has biblical origins. explains why it's false. 30.08.24 aquariums are neat :] 26.08.24 san fran has been nice. i cried on the golden gate bridge, but my drying tears cooled me down as i kept cycling. it might have even enhanced the experience. i forgot that my shut-in skin cannot handle any UV, and now i look like a dish at the nearby crab restaurant. i'm trying to handle myself but my grip is shaky on the bars. i'm trying to keep a lid on things but the pot's boiling over. soon everyone will be coughing out steam, or shooting it out their noses like dragons. my body in respiration, like air in circulation. to even look outside, it robs me of my composure. 14.08.24 i love buying gifts for people ♡ it makes me happiest when i pick out a bespoke, niche gift for someone and they realise that i actually listen to them and value their words. i love making things for people and the look of shock and bewilderment as they receive it. just something to linger over :) 12.08.24 i need you so much closer. to stroke your cheek, i can only imagine how that feels. 11.08.24 to die in a world indebted to me is to die happily, but to act in constant repentance is not living. you don't earn the right to exist, it is given to you. existence and guilt in their almighty covenant, branded within us like a hot iron's scald. continue in spite of this. a life paying off a fictional debt is nothing but a punishment. 09.08.24 i feel like i need to be thrown into an ice bath and attend a catholic confessional. i feel like i just need my hair stroked and to reconnect with the beauty of small victories. life is beautiful :D (when you let yourself live it) why does pretty cvnt keep getting removed from spotify? how the fuck do you make breakcore. 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃