2023-12-14

/blah/2023-12-14.html

: Ruminations

Published here under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-

NoDerivatives 4.0 International Public License.

Written over the last two weeks or so. Do not read this if you know me

personally and ideally do not read otherwise, either. Do not try to talk to me

about this. I'm not gonna kill myself. I just was ruminating about the idea.

-

I've been thinking

about killing myself;

the coward's way out,

sure, but a way out

nevertheless. I really

want to die. I want to

feel it. I'd like to

drown, to immolate,

to bleed out. I crave

the subtleties of the

experiences that I

cannot fathom. In

my dreams I do; I

am chopped with

axes,

-

slain with swords,

various means of blunt

force. I am both

executed and executioner,

I experience all

perspectives

simultaneously as it

is my subconscious

that renders my

potential fates, and

in the moment I

am cruel, and in the

moment I am kind,

and as the one

-

to die I feel relieved

to go, to be able to

let go of my stresses

and fears for my

longed-for certainty.

I'm tired of the

lucky escapes, the

dei ex machinae. I

feel like a character

of fiction, the pulp

protagonist that

always improbably

makes it out of the

bind. Like my fate

-

is already written,

predestined; sometimes

I can even see the

lines ahead, Kami

knows sections by

heart. I just got

on the bus I wasn't

sure I could afford

and it was free.

Maybe I'm an angel,

compulsively

accomplishing

selfless miracles.

If so, to be an

-

angel is to be in

Hell. Condemned to

goodness. I am so

fucking stressed

because it takes

more and more work

for everything to just

work out. This

morning I thought

I was gonna break

down, actually just

break down. But

that's not in the

pages.

-

I want to be

alive and without

anaesthetic for

my dissection. I

want to see the

scalpel approach

my flesh, feel it

carve me and see

my own pink-dyed

subcutaneous fat.

The crimson viscera.

I want to taste my

own blood as I

succumb to

-

mortality. Done by

[...] or [...] or both.

In my scripted

demise will I

know commfort, will

I have known

comfort? Or will I

faint into a trench

and have the cold

work its way in

from the extremeties.

This morning I cried,

now my sadness had

hardened to a rich,

-

coffee-smooth

bitterness, a numbness

too. I can't keep

friends because I

never interact first,

see myself a burden.

The fuel that weighs

down the ship. Spend

me until you have

nothing left, be free

of me among the

stars. I arrived at

work an hour and a

half early. It's

-

nothing, the time ticks

on regardless. I hate

Christmas music. I am

so alone. [mi] [olin] [ala] [e] [mi].

[mi] [ike] [tawa] [mi]. I wish to be

primitive, of the

forest, to be solitary.

I would be so lonely

without [...].

I don't talk to the

people close to me

and to others I say

less. I want to taste

my blood. I want to

-

burn myself. I want

to die. But I don't

want to do it. My

friends depend on

me. And I have things

to write. When I am

done I will take my

leave. I want the

suffering to be over. I

want Nirvana. Nirvana

isn't heaven, it's simply

the conclusion to a

finite cycle of rebirth.

The conclusion to one's

-

suffering.

I'd like to see

Chicago, California,

the Bodhi tree, the

sunrise from atop a

mountain, a molten

wall, the inside of a

flame, mucky clotted

blood. A chunk of

clot in a pool of

it.

-

It's not that I don't

know how to ask for

what I want but

that I know I only

get what is deserved,

not what is desired.

I am a parable;

beware of excess. It's

better that I don't

control my own fate

else I'd

meet it. I believe I

am have cancer because I

don't want to believe

-

I will live 60, 70

more years, because

the best of those I

knew did not. When

I hear the Underscores

song I think, know

it too; Everybody's

dead and it's all my

fault. I don't have

the means to be vegan

in a way that is

healthy but I can't

bring myself to eat

dead animal; I've

-

caused enough harm.

I feel too old and

too young. I don't

know how to afford

rent. Not here, not

anywhere. I'd like

to become a Buddhist

monk. Burger King

coffee is bad but not

terrible. [tomo] [pi] [soweli] [moli].

[mi] [olin] [e] [toki pona]. I am as much

an animal as a cow

and know beef as

fallen brethren.

-

I wish to harm and

not harm, to be

caged and free, to

be known and

Anonymous, to love

and to be forgotten.

Pass on my memories.

I am so tired all the

time. Fatigued, weary,

sleepy. I need to

figure out how to get

an apartment. I need

a new social security

-

card. I want to die

because this work is

so hard and will get

harder yet. I want

to have a small

apartment with one or

two close friends full

of pillows and blankets

with a warm picture

tube and modded

Gamecube. How do I

make friends? How do

I afford an apartment

?

-

I do everything

wrong. When I am

praised it is without

sincerity, when I am

held it is without

catharsis, when I am

loved it is without

reality. To fall asleep

I think about cuddling

my girlfriend. I miss

my stuffed shark but

a stuffed shark will

not fit in a backpack.

Nor will aspirations.

-

[mi] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [li] [ike] [lili]. [ni]

[li]

[ante] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [pini]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [wili] [e]

[lape].

[mi] [jo] [e] [lape] [lili] [tan] [tenpo] [mun] [pini] [la] [mi] [lukin] [e]

[jan] [moli]. [mi] [moli] [ala] [taso] [mi] [wili] [lukin] [e] [jan]

[moli] [tan] [mi] [wile] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [ala] [moli]. [mi] [olin] [moli]

[ala].

[mi] [pakala]. [mi] [kama] [sona] [e] [toki pona]. [mi] [toki ike] [e] [toki

pona]. [o] [toki] [ala].

I got a new pen today. A

Uniball Signo 207 with

"archival quality ink", "used

by professionals". It - and

this is evident in the notebook

in which I write this but

probably won't be if I

ever type it up - writes

-

shittily. Perhaps this is

due to the paper or to the

thin air where I now find

myself. Now it's writing fine

so who knows. I took the

pen apart just now, idly,

didn't have a good grip on

the tip that holds the

spring in, and the tension

released and the tip flew

to the other seat in the

booth of this restaurant. I

hate working here.

-

Today I'm less stressed

because I don't have to

catch a bus to my second

shift. The thought of my

finances still gnaws at

me and the walls are closing

in. The way I'm going isn't

sustainable and one way

or another, by homelessness

or breakdown, I will crumble,

inevitably. I'm not sure what

to do. I'm thinking about

getting a fake identity

and moving to the Balkans

-

or perhaps Kazakhstan. My

current location and situation

is, however, the result of a

similarly spontaneous and

far move, and I'm still

not established here.

My skin is dry. I guess that

wouldn't matter if I

killed myself. Homeless people,

with or without their senses,

are treated like animals. If

you treat people like animals

they will become animals.

The shelter here looks like a cage.

-

Perhaps that's what housing is,

a kennel for a human. The

decorations and dressing make

us forget it. I'm scared of

the future because I don't

know if I will survive it and

I don't want to die. I have

always had a problem with

biting my nails. I have an

oral fixation. I chew half

a pack of gum a day when

I can afford it. Three packs

and two Uniball Signo 207

pens cost $10.46.

-

I worked an hour for them.

How many hours will I need

to work to afford rent? No

matter how many it never seems

to be enough. I'm scared all

the time since I started

feeling emotions again. I miss

being numb but I don't miss

being in the situations that

made me numb. Maybe I

just need to sleep. I can't

fall asleep without either weed

or watching people die on

my cell phone.

-

I saw someone decapitated

by the wheels of a train.

I wondered how bad it would

be to die that way. They looked

so happy on social media. I

try so hard to be kind to

everybody. It has been 2 days

since last I hugged anybody.

I feel so alone. I'm not,

but the being is different

from the feeling. I am sad.

My girlfriend won't text me

back. Its replies were sparse

when I was sleeping outside

-

because it was worried I

would die in the cold. The

people I love most in the

world don't believe I will

ever be successful. I think

I might. If I was

infinitely powerful I would

give the empty houses to those

that need them and an I.D.

to anyone that wanted one.

I would feed the hungry and

transport the travelers. I

would find somebody who

knows exactly how I now feel.

-

[tawa] [tenpo] [ante]

[ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja].

[ni] [li] [tenpo] [ike]. [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [ike] [mute]. [mi] [pali] [moki]

[e]

[soweli] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [e] [ni]: [soweli] [moli] [ala]

[taso] [jan ike] [moli] [e] [soweli] [suwi]. [mi] [pakala].

[tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [pali] [moku] [e] [soweli] [suwi] [moli]. [mi]

[pakala].

[mi] [ike] [seme] [jan ike]. [mi] [pilin ike] [mute]. [mi] [pilin pakala]. [mi]

[ike] [tawa] [mi].

[mi] [ike] [tawa] [soweli]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [ma] [ali]. [mi] [ike]. [mi]

[pakala].

[toki] [nimi Japanese] [la] [tu] [tu] [pi] [toki pona] [li] [moli]. [mi]

[pakala]:

[mi] [toki] [e] [ni]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [nanpa] [tu] [tu].

[ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [mun] [ike]. [mi] [pilin ike]

[mute].

[mi] [toki]. [mi] [pakala].

-

I've done abhorrent, horrible

things, and I don't know how

to make up for them. Killing

myself would be a start.

I wonder what it's like to

be dead. I wish there

wasn't rebirth.

-

i took the bus to work

i'm sorry

car just didn't start

the park

the gas tank full

the lighter

sorry

took the bus to work

i'm sorry

fifty year old man

i'm sorry

bandanna in a bottle

i drink til my tongue slips

i'm sorry

whatcha sorry for

i'm sorry

took the bus to work

and i think tonight i'm gonna let it hit me

he didn't see it coming

and his pace remained the same

eveloped in fire

did you feel anything?

i'm sorry for the slaughter

but god does my job pay

i bought myself a new car

but can't bear to fill the tank

-

[moli] [li] [pimeja] [e] [mi]

[pimeja] [soweli] [la]

[mi] [len] [e] [mi] [e] [ni]

[mi] [wile] [e] [lape]

[mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [lape]

[mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [ni]: [mi] [lape]

[mi] [wile] [e] [lape]

[mi] [wile] [e] [pali] [lape]

[mi] [lape] [ala]

[mi] [wile] [e] [lape]

[mi] [pakala]

-

[tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante]

city square littered with corpses

vendors fallen at their stalls

bags spilled open, coins atwinkle

reflecting moonlight. earthly stars

if you cut one open the blood would be dark red

no oxygen in their system, hypoxia, death instant

civilians struck in a war of which they weren't aware

died for a growing number on a screen

children are among them, and in homes babies cribbed

a bus driver reading a dog eared copy of the tao te ching

four of a chosen family out of broken homes

taken from a cold street to new apartment, optimists

nobody mourns the losses. members of a town too small

in life they all were lovers. now inanimate

a flower sits in a cup, never to be watered again

in the face of inevitability, what has it all meant

city square declared a grave site

by nobody; nobody cares

a dog lays still on the cobblestone

its last experience fitful sleep, a nightmare

-

I'm tired.

-

i don't believe in a god

and haven't since i saw a dog

skinned alive

a mess of dripping, florid blood

and muscle and bone

and it let out what screams

can be screamed with what function

its analog to our vocal chords

had left

and kept screaming

shaking, it hanged suuspended by rope

from an oak tree, perhaps maple

the twine brown matching the sand

and dirt and green leaves

and not the unnatural red

of the shivering animal

unable to comprehend even its fate

let alone what brought its aggressors

to take a machete to the starving, matted

thing. how could a merciful, good creator

allow one of her children to experience

such a thing, and not die upon removal

of the face? who would want to survive such

a thing? and especially,

if not only a god is our creator but

the arbiter of our fates,

why did she let someone record it and put it

on liveleak? why did she let me watch it

when i was 14?

-

The mountain, eons old

and wise for what it

has weathered, knows not

to abuse its unimaginable

strength.

The hornet, with a life cycle of days, is given an

appropriately small amount

of venom for its size and

stings unprovoked.

Blame neither.

They reflect the

kindness of their worlds.

-

hope you're doing okay

i'm about to sleep, worked a lot today

will we talk tomorrow?

of course we will babe

that was last month

was I ghosted? I really can't say

I might be single but

I hold onto the hope that it'll message again

what did I say

what did I do

I thought we had something

was it as real to you

how did I push

my dearest dear away

would you tell me if it was over?

was I really so unsafe?

-

do you remember me

i thought what we had was a lot

i always think of you

am i just someone you forgot

we've been dating for a bit

but goddammit, i sort of loved you

when you curl up with [...],

my old plushie, do you think of what you lost

god, i miss you, and i'm so alone

when i sleep i look at my phone

and look at you, comfy, under the sheets.

i hope the blankets don't make you too hot

what did i do to justify a cold shoulder

what did i say to bring famine to my soul

will you return to explain your hiatus

or will you leave me to rot

whatever it was, i'm sorry

and i hope you get back someday

i keep thinking about the solace under the wheels of a train

do you think i'll feel any pain

-

i'm at the bus stop and freezing

do you get what i mean?

it's been a week since you called

am i still in your screen?

i think of you daily

or the bottomless pit

i wanna throw myself into

but that's just how i think

you got tired of me

as a loving girlfriend

faded novelty

and so much repetition

but i liked the routine

and you said it was your happy ending

after every chapter there's another

is a better life what i'll get

no longer so trusting a lover

my heart aches, i should have guarded it

-

It said it loved me but

it hasn't responded to my

text messages in two weeks.

I suppose it's busy but I

haven't even had a single-

word update. It feels like

I'm being avoided. It hurts.

I really did love it. It's hard

for me to love. If it called

and apologized and made it

up to me I don't think it

would fix things. I feel

disrespected as a partner.

-

We're poly and I know

and have known it is seeing

someone else, and am and

have always been fine with

it. Someone else more

important to it. I was

thankful, really, and still am

that it received more than

only I could provide, a 20

year old fast food worker.

I can't compare to its

college scholarships and

leadership roles. I never

wanted or needed to.

-

And I didn't ever call as

much as we planned and

I became more of a recluse

than the person it started

dating. But I've been to its

apartment. I took it on

dates, gave it its favorite

stuffed animal, formerly

mine. We don't have a

long history but we do have

a history. I don't even

know if we're broken up.

Tomorrow will be two weeks.

-

Nearly four months. I feel

doomed to never keep a

relationship longer than

four months.

I wish I had what it

takes to commit suicide.

-

[...] & [,,,]

-> [...] & [,,,] - 9.7km $D

gas price ($G) - $/gal

gas price $g/gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter

mileage ($M) -> mi / gal

mileage $m mi / gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter

$m mi / liter * 1.6 km / 1 mi -> km / liter

-

It messaged me back.

It too has been having

a rough go of things.

I'm in a downward

spiral. I hate this fucking

Christmas music. I use

gum to forget taste, gore

to desensitize sight, music

to ignore my ears,

cleaning work to burn my

nostrils, weed to feel

nothing and forget the

world of which I wish

I wasn't a part.

-

In fleeting moments of peace

I'm overcome by the beauty

of this simple place. Then

my head by the hair is

dragged back into the dark

mirror and I am once again

submerged in my own misery.

I want my face ripped off,

to drown in my own blood

as it's forced into my nose

by the tubes under my eyes,

to see in the mirror the

muscles that scarcely do

else but frown.

-

When people knock on the

bathroom door I get nervous

and leave and they always

look mad at me. Why?

I was doing what they wish

to do. Why not be sympathetic

to what we have in common

-- a urinary tract, a digestive

system. I never take

very long.

I agreed to start coming

into work earlier. It felt

like signing my death

certificate. I'm so tired.

-

This job doesn't pay

enough. I work 50 hour

weeks to be able to

afford basic necessities,

many of which I still forgo.

I charge a battery pack at

work to avoid using electricity

in the apartment. I take

one short shower a week to

avoid water usage and

electricity for the water

heater. I use my phone

flashlight (charged at work

too) to avoid the overhead

lamps.

-

I spend a lot of time at

work. 6 days a week, 8-10

hour days, some 6s around

so I don't get too much

overtime. I show up an

hour early. I spend about

half an hour on the bus, before

that half an hour at the

stop. Then another half

hour at the stop after work.

That's two and a half

hours I spend either at

work or commuting, plus

the usual 8. 2.6 * 6 = 13hrs + 50hrs working

= 63 hrs out of the apartment

-

Then I sleep 8hrs a night,

or at least set aside that

time for it. 56hrs a week.

I have 49hrs a week past

labor, transit, and sleep.

It's time but I wish I had

more. I and my loved ones

are aging. I wanna spend

the prime decades of my life

playing, creating, socializing.

All I do is labor, if not done

by me then someone else. And

I'm exhausted.

-

What makes matters worse

is that I have some innate,

compulsive need to labor if

on the clock as I am paid

to do. This while those around

me use their cell phones to

watch video and otherwise

idle. I work and they do

not and while I slowly

clean the workplace I

wonder, perhaps realize - though

I had already realized, so

moreso I just turn the

thought around in my head

-

like a dead pig's sausage

rotating on a warmer at a

gas station - why this

place is so dirty.

I want to go somewhere

clean, or to nowhere at all.

I want to love in a shallow

pool of water, in Lao-Tzu's

moon. I want to cease

living. I want to die. I

want to be killed. I want

to kill myself. Because then,

at least, the work will

be over.

-

The voices will quiet. I will

calm and my heart will be

still. I will be not too hot,

not too cold, without aching

muscles or aging joints. I

want this finity not as a

termination of my residence

per se but as a respite from

the Hell for which I

constantly volunteer. Many

lean on me; I lean on

nothing. Many know me.

I know nothing. I love many.

And in my heart know I am alone.

-

I watch a lot of

beheadings and it's

kind of a bummer

that they all focus on

the head and not the

body. The blood pouring

out of the neck as if

champagne

uncorked seriously

arouses me. I unironically

want to behead someone

and fuck their windpipe.

I want to be covered

in blood, someone else's

or my own.

-

I don't know what to

do with this notebook.

Who would want to read

this? What kind of

person would identify

with me?

I took my clothes off

and got in the shower

naked. I feel defenseless

when showering, especially

without a knife beside

me. I shampood my

scalp and conditioned

my hair

-

and I took the

washcloth and scrubbed

at my face but my

face was stuck too well

to my skull to be so

easily removed. I scrubbed

down my chest and arms

and legs and neck and

felt where I'd like someone

to saw at me, disconnect

my head from my heart.

I was thirsty but it

felt weird to drink the

shower water.

-

I'm scared of using soap

because it costs so much.

Scared of shampoo and

conditioner because they

cost so much. The

bathroom light and fan.

The water. I scrubbed

at my feet and the bottoms

were gray, the soles

padded with dead skin

because I spend all

my time walking. I scrubbed

at them but not too

much because I'll take any

padding I can get.

-

I finished and dried

myself with a towel and

got out of the shower

and felt lightheaded and

I don't know why. And

I put on clothes and came

out to the living room.

This is the last page of

the notebook and my

hair smells like lavendar

and my arms like

eucalyptus. And I'm sorry

for being here. At least

I'm finally clean.

-

The notebook on which this was written will be incinerated and I will move on

from thinking about any of this.

 @ -525,6 +525,882 @@ pre { /* DRY who? */
 }
 /blah/2023-12-14.html
 : Ruminations
 Published here under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-
 NoDerivatives 4.0 International Public License.
 Written over the last two weeks or so. Do not read this if you know me
 personally and ideally do not read otherwise, either. Do not try to talk to me
 about this. I'm not gonna kill myself. I just was ruminating about the idea.
 -
 I've been thinking
 about killing myself;
 the coward's way out,
 sure, but a way out
 nevertheless. I really
 want to die. I want to
 feel it. I'd like to
 drown, to immolate,
 to bleed out. I crave
 the subtleties of the
 experiences that I
 cannot fathom. In
 my dreams I do; I
 am chopped with
 axes,
 -
 slain with swords,
 various means of blunt
 force. I am both
 executed and executioner,
 I experience all
 perspectives
 simultaneously as it
 is my subconscious
 that renders my
 potential fates, and
 in the moment I
 am cruel, and in the
 moment I am kind,
 and as the one
 -
 to die I feel relieved
 to go, to be able to
 let go of my stresses
 and fears for my
 longed-for certainty.
 I'm tired of the
 lucky escapes, the
 dei ex machinae. I
 feel like a character
 of fiction, the pulp
 protagonist that
 always improbably
 makes it out of the
 bind. Like my fate
 -
 is already written,
 predestined; sometimes
 I can even see the
 lines ahead, Kami
 knows sections by
 heart. I just got
 on the bus I wasn't
 sure I could afford
 and it was free.
 Maybe I'm an angel,
 compulsively
 accomplishing
 selfless miracles.
 If so, to be an
 -
 angel is to be in
 Hell. Condemned to
 goodness. I am so
 fucking stressed
 because it takes
 more and more work
 for everything to just
 work out. This
 morning I thought
 I was gonna break
 down, actually just
 break down. But
 that's not in the
 pages.
 -
 I want to be
 alive and without
 anaesthetic for
 my dissection. I
 want to see the
 scalpel approach
 my flesh, feel it
 carve me and see
 my own pink-dyed
 subcutaneous fat.
 The crimson viscera.
 I want to taste my
 own blood as I
 succumb to
 -
 mortality. Done by
 [...] or [...] or both.
 In my scripted
 demise will I
 know commfort, will
 I have known
 comfort? Or will I
 faint into a trench
 and have the cold
 work its way in
 from the extremeties.
 This morning I cried,
 now my sadness had
 hardened to a rich,
 -
 coffee-smooth
 bitterness, a numbness
 too. I can't keep
 friends because I
 never interact first,
 see myself a burden.
 The fuel that weighs
 down the ship. Spend
 me until you have
 nothing left, be free
 of me among the
 stars. I arrived at
 work an hour and a
 half early. It's
 -
 nothing, the time ticks
 on regardless. I hate
 Christmas music. I am
 so alone. [mi] [olin] [ala] [e] [mi].
 [mi] [ike] [tawa] [mi]. I wish to be
 primitive, of the
 forest, to be solitary.
 I would be so lonely
 without [...].
 I don't talk to the
 people close to me
 and to others I say
 less. I want to taste
 my blood. I want to
 -
 burn myself. I want
 to die. But I don't
 want to do it. My
 friends depend on
 me. And I have things
 to write. When I am
 done I will take my
 leave. I want the
 suffering to be over. I
 want Nirvana. Nirvana
 isn't heaven, it's simply
 the conclusion to a
 finite cycle of rebirth.
 The conclusion to one's
 -
 suffering.
 I'd like to see
 Chicago, California,
 the Bodhi tree, the
 sunrise from atop a
 mountain, a molten
 wall, the inside of a
 flame, mucky clotted
 blood. A chunk of
 clot in a pool of
 it.
 -
 It's not that I don't
 know how to ask for
 what I want but
 that I know I only
 get what is deserved,
 not what is desired.
 I am a parable;
 beware of excess. It's
 better that I don't
 control my own fate
 else I'd
 meet it. I believe I
 am have cancer because I
 don't want to believe
 -
 I will live 60, 70
 more years, because
 the best of those I
 knew did not. When
 I hear the Underscores
 song I think, know
 it too; Everybody's
 dead and it's all my
 fault. I don't have
 the means to be vegan
 in a way that is
 healthy but I can't
 bring myself to eat
 dead animal; I've
 -
 caused enough harm.
 I feel too old and
 too young. I don't
 know how to afford
 rent. Not here, not
 anywhere. I'd like
 to become a Buddhist
 monk. Burger King
 coffee is bad but not
 terrible. [tomo] [pi] [soweli] [moli].
 [mi] [olin] [e] [toki pona]. I am as much
 an animal as a cow
 and know beef as
 fallen brethren.
 -
 I wish to harm and
 not harm, to be
 caged and free, to
 be known and
 Anonymous, to love
 and to be forgotten.
 Pass on my memories.
 I am so tired all the
 time. Fatigued, weary,
 sleepy. I need to
 figure out how to get
 an apartment. I need
 a new social security
 -
 card. I want to die
 because this work is
 so hard and will get
 harder yet. I want
 to have a small
 apartment with one or
 two close friends full
 of pillows and blankets
 with a warm picture
 tube and modded
 Gamecube. How do I
 make friends? How do
 I afford an apartment
 ?
 -
 I do everything
 wrong. When I am
 praised it is without
 sincerity, when I am
 held it is without
 catharsis, when I am
 loved it is without
 reality. To fall asleep
 I think about cuddling
 my girlfriend. I miss
 my stuffed shark but
 a stuffed shark will
 not fit in a backpack.
 Nor will aspirations.
 -
 [mi] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [li] [ike] [lili]. [ni]
 	[li]
 [ante] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [pini]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [wili] [e]
 	[lape].
 [mi] [jo] [e] [lape] [lili] [tan] [tenpo] [mun] [pini] [la] [mi] [lukin] [e]
 [jan] [moli]. [mi] [moli] [ala] [taso] [mi] [wili] [lukin] [e] [jan]
 [moli] [tan] [mi] [wile] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [ala] [moli]. [mi] [olin] [moli]
 	[ala].
 [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [kama] [sona] [e] [toki pona]. [mi] [toki ike] [e] [toki
 	pona]. [o] [toki] [ala].
 I got a new pen today. A
 Uniball Signo 207 with
 "archival quality ink", "used
 by professionals". It - and
 this is evident in the notebook
 in which I write this but
 probably won't be if I
 ever type it up - writes
 -
 shittily. Perhaps this is
 due to the paper or to the
 thin air where I now find
 myself. Now it's writing fine
 so who knows. I took the
 pen apart just now, idly,
 didn't have a good grip on
 the tip that holds the
 spring in, and the tension
 released and the tip flew
 to the other seat in the
 booth of this restaurant. I
 hate working here.
 -
 Today I'm less stressed
 because I don't have to
 catch a bus to my second
 shift. The thought of my
 finances still gnaws at
 me and the walls are closing
 in. The way I'm going isn't
 sustainable and one way
 or another, by homelessness
 or breakdown, I will crumble,
 inevitably. I'm not sure what
 to do. I'm thinking about
 getting a fake identity
 and moving to the Balkans
 -
 or perhaps Kazakhstan. My
 current location and situation
 is, however, the result of a
 similarly spontaneous and
 far move, and I'm still
 not established here.
 My skin is dry. I guess that
 wouldn't matter if I
 killed myself. Homeless people,
 with or without their senses,
 are treated like animals. If
 you treat people like animals
 they will become animals.
 The shelter here looks like a cage.
 -
 Perhaps that's what housing is,
 a kennel for a human. The
 decorations and dressing make
 us forget it. I'm scared of
 the future because I don't
 know if I will survive it and
 I don't want to die. I have
 always had a problem with
 biting my nails. I have an
 oral fixation. I chew half
 a pack of gum a day when
 I can afford it. Three packs
 and two Uniball Signo 207
 pens cost $10.46.
 -
 I worked an hour for them.
 How many hours will I need
 to work to afford rent? No
 matter how many it never seems
 to be enough. I'm scared all
 the time since I started
 feeling emotions again. I miss
 being numb but I don't miss
 being in the situations that
 made me numb. Maybe I
 just need to sleep. I can't
 fall asleep without either weed
 or watching people die on
 my cell phone.
 -
 I saw someone decapitated
 by the wheels of a train.
 I wondered how bad it would
 be to die that way. They looked
 so happy on social media. I
 try so hard to be kind to
 everybody. It has been 2 days
 since last I hugged anybody.
 I feel so alone. I'm not,
 but the being is different
 from the feeling. I am sad.
 My girlfriend won't text me
 back. Its replies were sparse
 when I was sleeping outside
 -
 because it was worried I
 would die in the cold. The
 people I love most in the
 world don't believe I will
 ever be successful. I think
 I might. If I was
 infinitely powerful I would
 give the empty houses to those
 that need them and an I.D.
 to anyone that wanted one.
 I would feed the hungry and
 transport the travelers. I
 would find somebody who
 knows exactly how I now feel.
 -
 [tawa] [tenpo] [ante]
 [ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja].
 [ni] [li] [tenpo] [ike]. [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [ike] [mute]. [mi] [pali] [moki]
 	[e]
 [soweli] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [e] [ni]: [soweli] [moli] [ala]
 [taso] [jan ike] [moli] [e] [soweli] [suwi]. [mi] [pakala].
 [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [pali] [moku] [e] [soweli] [suwi] [moli]. [mi]
 	[pakala].
 [mi] [ike] [seme] [jan ike]. [mi] [pilin ike] [mute]. [mi] [pilin pakala]. [mi]
 	[ike] [tawa] [mi].
 [mi] [ike] [tawa] [soweli]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [ma] [ali]. [mi] [ike]. [mi]
 	[pakala].
 [toki] [nimi Japanese] [la] [tu] [tu] [pi] [toki pona] [li] [moli]. [mi]
 	[pakala]:
 [mi] [toki] [e] [ni]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [nanpa] [tu] [tu].
 [ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [mun] [ike]. [mi] [pilin ike]
 	[mute].
 [mi] [toki]. [mi] [pakala].
 -
 I've done abhorrent, horrible
 things, and I don't know how
 to make up for them. Killing
 myself would be a start.
 I wonder what it's like to
 be dead. I wish there
 wasn't rebirth.
 -
 i took the bus to work
 i'm sorry
 car just didn't start
 the park
 the gas tank full
 the lighter
 sorry
 took the bus to work
 i'm sorry
 fifty year old man
 i'm sorry
 bandanna in a bottle
 bandanna in a bottle
 i drink til my tongue slips
 i'm sorry
 whatcha sorry for
 i'm sorry
 took the bus to work
 and i think tonight i'm gonna let it hit me
 he didn't see it coming
 and his pace remained the same
 eveloped in fire
 did you feel anything?
 i'm sorry for the slaughter
 but god does my job pay
 i bought myself a new car
 but can't bear to fill the tank
 -
 [moli] [li] [pimeja] [e] [mi]
 [pimeja] [soweli] [la]
 [mi] [len] [e] [mi] [e] [ni]
 [mi] [wile] [e] [lape]
 [mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [lape]
 [mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [ni]: [mi] [lape]
 [mi] [wile] [e] [lape]
 [mi] [wile] [e] [pali] [lape]
 [mi] [lape] [ala]
 [mi] [wile] [e] [lape]
 [mi] [pakala]
 [mi] [pakala]
 [mi] [pakala]
 [mi] [pakala]
 -
 [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante]
 city square littered with corpses
 vendors fallen at their stalls
 bags spilled open, coins atwinkle
 reflecting moonlight. earthly stars
 if you cut one open the blood would be dark red
 no oxygen in their system, hypoxia, death instant
 civilians struck in a war of which they weren't aware
 died for a growing number on a screen
 children are among them, and in homes babies cribbed
 a bus driver reading a dog eared copy of the tao te ching
 four of a chosen family out of broken homes
 taken from a cold street to new apartment, optimists
 nobody mourns the losses. members of a town too small
 in life they all were lovers. now inanimate
 a flower sits in a cup, never to be watered again
 in the face of inevitability, what has it all meant
 city square declared a grave site
 by nobody; nobody cares
 a dog lays still on the cobblestone
 its last experience fitful sleep, a nightmare
 -
 I'm tired.
 -
 -
 i don't believe in a god
 and haven't since i saw a dog
 skinned alive
 a mess of dripping, florid blood
 and muscle and bone
 and it let out what screams
 can be screamed with what function
 its analog to our vocal chords
 had left
 and kept screaming
 shaking, it hanged suuspended by rope
 from an oak tree, perhaps maple
 the twine brown matching the sand
 and dirt and green leaves
 and not the unnatural red
 of the shivering animal
 unable to comprehend even its fate
 let alone what brought its aggressors
 to take a machete to the starving, matted
 thing. how could a merciful, good creator
 allow one of her children to experience
 such a thing, and not die upon removal
 of the face? who would want to survive such
 a thing? and especially,
 if not only a god is our creator but
 the arbiter of our fates,
 why did she let someone record it and put it
 on liveleak? why did she let me watch it
 when i was 14?
 -
 The mountain, eons old
 and wise for what it
 has weathered, knows not
 to abuse its unimaginable
 strength.
 The hornet, with a life cycle of days, is given an
 appropriately small amount
 of venom for its size and
 stings unprovoked.
 Blame neither.
 They reflect the
 kindness of their worlds.
 -
 hope you're doing okay
 i'm about to sleep, worked a lot today
 will we talk tomorrow?
 of course we will babe
 that was last month
 was I ghosted? I really can't say
 I might be single but
 I hold onto the hope that it'll message again
 what did I say
 what did I do
 I thought we had something
 was it as real to you
 how did I push
 my dearest dear away
 would you tell me if it was over?
 was I really so unsafe?
 -
 do you remember me
 i thought what we had was a lot
 i always think of you
 am i just someone you forgot
 we've been dating for a bit
 but goddammit, i sort of loved you
 when you curl up with [...],
 my old plushie, do you think of what you lost
 god, i miss you, and i'm so alone
 when i sleep i look at my phone
 and look at you, comfy, under the sheets.
 i hope the blankets don't make you too hot
 what did i do to justify a cold shoulder
 what did i say to bring famine to my soul
 will you return to explain your hiatus
 or will you leave me to rot
 whatever it was, i'm sorry
 and i hope you get back someday
 i keep thinking about the solace under the wheels of a train
 do you think i'll feel any pain
 -
 i'm at the bus stop and freezing
 do you get what i mean?
 it's been a week since you called
 am i still in your screen?
 i think of you daily
 or the bottomless pit
 i wanna throw myself into
 but that's just how i think
 you got tired of me
 as a loving girlfriend
 faded novelty
 and so much repetition
 but i liked the routine
 and you said it was your happy ending
 after every chapter there's another
 is a better life what i'll get
 no longer so trusting a lover
 my heart aches, i should have guarded it
 -
 It said it loved me but
 it hasn't responded to my
 text messages in two weeks.
 I suppose it's busy but I
 haven't even had a single-
 word update. It feels like
 I'm being avoided. It hurts.
 I really did love it. It's hard
 for me to love. If it called
 and apologized and made it
 up to me I don't think it
 would fix things. I feel
 disrespected as a partner.
 -
 We're poly and I know
 and have known it is seeing
 someone else, and am and
 have always been fine with
 it. Someone else more
 important to it. I was
 thankful, really, and still am
 that it received more than
 only I could provide, a 20
 year old fast food worker.
 I can't compare to its
 college scholarships and
 leadership roles. I never
 wanted or needed to.
 -
 And I didn't ever call as
 much as we planned and
 I became more of a recluse
 than the person it started
 dating. But I've been to its
 apartment. I took it on
 dates, gave it its favorite
 stuffed animal, formerly
 mine. We don't have a
 long history but we do have
 a history. I don't even
 know if we're broken up.
 Tomorrow will be two weeks.
 -
 Nearly four months. I feel
 doomed to never keep a
 relationship longer than
 four months.
 I wish I had what it
 takes to commit suicide.
 -
 [...] & [,,,]
 -> [...] & [,,,] - 9.7km $D
 gas price ($G) - $/gal
 gas price $g/gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter
 mileage ($M) -> mi / gal
 mileage $m mi / gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter
 $m mi / liter * 1.6 km / 1 mi -> km / liter
 -
 -
 -
 -
 It messaged me back.
 It too has been having
 a rough go of things.
 I'm in a downward
 spiral. I hate this fucking
 Christmas music. I use
 gum to forget taste, gore
 to desensitize sight, music
 to ignore my ears,
 cleaning work to burn my
 nostrils, weed to feel
 nothing and forget the
 world of which I wish
 I wasn't a part.
 -
 In fleeting moments of peace
 I'm overcome by the beauty
 of this simple place. Then
 my head by the hair is
 dragged back into the dark
 mirror and I am once again
 submerged in my own misery.
 I want my face ripped off,
 to drown in my own blood
 as it's forced into my nose
 by the tubes under my eyes,
 to see in the mirror the
 muscles that scarcely do
 else but frown.
 -
 When people knock on the
 bathroom door I get nervous
 and leave and they always
 look mad at me. Why?
 I was doing what they wish
 to do. Why not be sympathetic
 to what we have in common
 -- a urinary tract, a digestive
 system. I never take
 very long.
 I agreed to start coming
 into work earlier. It felt
 like signing my death
 certificate. I'm so tired.
 -
 This job doesn't pay
 enough. I work 50 hour
 weeks to be able to
 afford basic necessities,
 many of which I still forgo.
 I charge a battery pack at
 work to avoid using electricity
 in the apartment. I take
 one short shower a week to
 avoid water usage and
 electricity for the water
 heater. I use my phone
 flashlight (charged at work
 too) to avoid the overhead
 lamps.
 -
 I spend a lot of time at
 work. 6 days a week, 8-10
 hour days, some 6s around
 so I don't get too much
 overtime. I show up an
 hour early. I spend about
 half an hour on the bus, before
 that half an hour at the
 stop. Then another half
 hour at the stop after work.
 That's two and a half
 hours I spend either at
 work or commuting, plus
 the usual 8. 2.6 * 6 = 13hrs + 50hrs working
 = 63 hrs out of the apartment
 -
 Then I sleep 8hrs a night,
 or at least set aside that
 time for it. 56hrs a week.
 I have 49hrs a week past
 labor, transit, and sleep.
 It's time but I wish I had
 more. I and my loved ones
 are aging. I wanna spend
 the prime decades of my life
 playing, creating, socializing.
 All I do is labor, if not done
 by me then someone else. And
 I'm exhausted.
 -
 What makes matters worse
 is that I have some innate,
 compulsive need to labor if
 on the clock as I am paid
 to do. This while those around
 me use their cell phones to
 watch video and otherwise
 idle. I work and they do
 not and while I slowly
 clean the workplace I
 wonder, perhaps realize - though
 I had already realized, so
 moreso I just turn the
 thought around in my head
 -
 like a dead pig's sausage
 rotating on a warmer at a
 gas station - why this
 place is so dirty.
 I want to go somewhere
 clean, or to nowhere at all.
 I want to love in a shallow
 pool of water, in Lao-Tzu's
 moon. I want to cease
 living. I want to die. I
 want to be killed. I want
 to kill myself. Because then,
 at least, the work will
 be over.
 -
 The voices will quiet. I will
 calm and my heart will be
 still. I will be not too hot,
 not too cold, without aching
 muscles or aging joints. I
 want this finity not as a
 termination of my residence
 per se but as a respite from
 the Hell for which I
 constantly volunteer. Many
 lean on me; I lean on
 nothing. Many know me.
 I know nothing. I love many.
 And in my heart know I am alone.
 -
 I watch a lot of
 beheadings and it's
 kind of a bummer
 that they all focus on
 the head and not the
 body. The blood pouring
 out of the neck as if
 champagne
 uncorked seriously
 arouses me. I unironically
 want to behead someone
 and fuck their windpipe.
 I want to be covered
 in blood, someone else's
 or my own.
 -
 I don't know what to
 do with this notebook.
 Who would want to read
 this? What kind of
 person would identify
 with me?
 I took my clothes off
 and got in the shower
 naked. I feel defenseless
 when showering, especially
 without a knife beside
 me. I shampood my
 scalp and conditioned
 my hair
 -
 and I took the
 washcloth and scrubbed
 at my face but my
 face was stuck too well
 to my skull to be so
 easily removed. I scrubbed
 down my chest and arms
 and legs and neck and
 felt where I'd like someone
 to saw at me, disconnect
 my head from my heart.
 I was thirsty but it
 felt weird to drink the
 shower water.
 -
 I'm scared of using soap
 because it costs so much.
 Scared of shampoo and
 conditioner because they
 cost so much. The
 bathroom light and fan.
 The water. I scrubbed
 at my feet and the bottoms
 were gray, the soles
 padded with dead skin
 because I spend all
 my time walking. I scrubbed
 at them but not too
 much because I'll take any
 padding I can get.
 -
 I finished and dried
 myself with a towel and
 got out of the shower
 and felt lightheaded and
 I don't know why. And
 I put on clothes and came
 out to the living room.
 This is the last page of
 the notebook and my
 hair smells like lavendar
 and my arms like
 eucalyptus. And I'm sorry
 for being here. At least
 I'm finally clean.
 -
 The notebook on which this was written will be incinerated and I will move on
 from thinking about any of this.
 /blah/2023-12-12.html
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