what is going on...
back to life! watched a few movies this weekend and i feel so fuckin bored with the type of stuff people have to say in letterboxd reviews, comments sections, etc. no nuance! people ought to shut up a little– myself included!
got more posters from my advisor. shit never stops! didn't get paid... i only have $3 rn man! kind of a pathetic day. went climbing and it felt alright, but I felt antsy. glad that class starts tomorrow
finally (more or less) finished putting posters up around town for my advisor, left the house for the first time at like 8:30PM. went home and burnt the seasoning off my cast iron trying to multi task
tried to describe just a bit of how music theory works to a friend today, like what a key is
but i didn't know where to start and was thinking about all the things i wished i had learned earlier, cluttered up in my explanation
and maybe went into some reverie thinking about modes in the middle of all that... that's not helpful for a beginner, or anyone
im not so sure that everyone is chasing after the "ceaselessly fleeing" thing– always improvising and trying to find that object
is it played out to search for your voice? is this what doing that feels like?
experiencing mostly psychosomatic pain
what the hell is wrong w me
i dont know if my orchid is dying or if it is entering into a rest period
maybe im going into a rest too
daniel paul schreber, memoirs of my nervous illness
félix guattari, anti-oedipus papers
i just watched
language is stretched so taut over the abyss, chasm of abjection
how it is both the tightrope and the acrobat
the membrane piercing its self, its own boundary
so how is it fragile, always breaking down, but never permanently
"Is it the quiet shore of contemplation that I set aside for myself, as I lay bare, under the cunning, orderly surface of civilizations, the nurturing horror that htey attend to pushing aside by purifying, systematizing, and thinking; the horror that they seize on in order to build themselves up and function? I rather conceive it as a work of disappointment, of frustration, and hollowing– probably the only counterweight to abjection."