5/15/24
As many loose ends as there are that seem to be karmically tying themselves, the ends that cannot be tied reside in the unfixable, psychic wounds of the flesh. I don’t see it to be a matter of time, nor do i feel i am inherently lacking an ability to heal myself, it is a wound that festers through the continuation of unconscious cycles. I’ve been listening to the cure, seventeen seconds, the album that allegedly inspired steve albini’s atomizer. It reminds me of my father, I lost his house key at that sex party in New York doing a bump of ketamine im sure I did not need. I’ve lost, lately, its as if the dark side of my pre-adolescence is being trivialized through the forced examination of objects I use as means of external definition.
I’ve been working on humanizing, giving things names, something I have avoided since childhood. I still will not use stickers, the permanence seems antithetical to my understanding of what it is to go through the world as a human. Unlearning the binary of solipsism seems as though it may benefit me. I fear an anticipated reality confirmation as a result of believing others. The mirror is as open as my camera acts when it is low on batteries, the easiest conclusion I have come to is that I am genetically predisposed to believing in Jungian archetypes.
It does not seem to matter if I can trade a gallon of milk for a wedding dress I plan to cover in milk, it does not seem to matter that my second form of a mother calls me at 2:22 in the morning as I am speaking about her. I feel as though I am pulling a phantom string, the only one who did not make it through the eye of the needle, just like how anchovy bones resemble cat hair in the back of your throat.