they say if u make someone question their basis of being it can really damage a person whereas me and the freaks seek it. I also believe that you need to be harsh to show real kindness but I think u don’t have to go one hundred percent with it but ppl r ocd. u can’t have an overactive imagination and think ppl can change, my intuition challenged, getting older u have to subject urself to what u magnetically repell and agree that u were foolish to foreclose on ur identity so early.
Screen time up 18%, swipe right, already surrendered all efforts towards remaining offline, I mean, the only time i consider it now is when the notifications dry up. Of course, notifications are muted but the neural pathways that they once activated are still firing, every 8 seconds, or every time you're searching for the next word. It feels like any unifying online movement has dissipated, from 8 million filter bubbles to 8 billion individual threads, and no one knows what i really up to except ai, I mean, not even i do.
my temperament leaves me teetering on the edge. many edges actually
i should be in a place where thinking can happen. i have a lot of regret in me and i wish it could go away. it is hard to be where thine own sadness has become ancient. "This past, moreover, reaching all the way back into the origin, does not pull back but presses forward, and it is, contrary to what one would expect, the future which drives us back into the past."
dreamt last night that someone followed me then shortly afterwards sent me a message saying "i feel like you only sleep 6 hours a day"
its hard to do anything but energy can be stored in books
Thinking of how laughter rises out of nowhere, kind of violent, like such a direct automatic irrepressible seeming thing... but still totally dependent on a social situation. thinking to ppl getting ‘taken over by the spirit’ in church spirituals,, imagined as putting all the laughs in a room into one person.do you think your susceptibility toward laughter depends on where you’re sitting? imagined saying ‘this guy know what im talking about’, pointing at someone. neocities community.
unwise with the intractability of text, or unattentive to the positioning of the window, or aware but preferring to be late, to be on the other side, smash my head. I like the between state of the election results, really just the sense of not having a president.
You know what they say “contradiction is the lever of transecendance”
the only reasons for “this generations” rising mental illness levels are we were allowed to roam free on psych-online echo chamber imageboards without supervision (good thing) and the subsequent handling of the results being institutionalised infantilisation and performativity (bad thing). we’re not iller than our precursors – we have depression-by-proxy, the effects of which manifest as no less real than actual mental illness which successfully justifies older generations endeavour to “talk about mental illness”. at this point we’re desensitised to engaging in even slightly prolific discussion because we’re too busy battling the “demons” that have been forced upon us in a process designed to naturalise narcissism in favor of the platforms
how horrible it was of me to have believed my interests were my responsibilities, and that my responsibilities were things to never do
There’s two parts : the accumulation and the narrative (which the accumulation plays a role in)
Biolife
listened to enough music, I’m done
ill just show you take out someone else's diary look cautiously into the eyes im a very private person u see.
privacy though; secrecy
shame like a clot
I remember being 11.
I could describe remembering being 11 as a fetish
I could lean into it
I think its fine
some things are matters of will
for everything else there's intolerance
shadows: unusual in that they require
attentive nourishing to be destroyed a bubble metaphor
gotta get big to pop
the true plague of modernity is tolerance
the making tolerable
spiritual edema
"proud"
pride? I wouldn't put it that way
doesn't matter
new game: its called Why Not?
I want to be generous all stupidity is the same I remember and forget immediately for a brief time i remember trying to imagine other people as children real suggestion counter action for then more pronounced misanthropy but better. Why you wanna break glass so bad? hear myself saying through the phone I sound genuinely curious not teasing but its hard to tell everybody sounds underwater. lucky I have historical imagination. think of this often as a gift one the best: Historical Imagination means I can leave myself different from a new language which is inextricable from natal tongue past eye require only an open space the will to emptiness.
im naked ive been naked for days but this is new im very very nudeim not wearing a body I dont see it I dial myself its ringing don't want to talk too much but
dream abt a world that was bleak burned trees interspersed with lots of marimo filled ponds and the grass was in patches like scleranthus cushion like blobs the sky was like nuclear holocaust but now i cant even remember on what surface the sex was had and at one point i stopped and rested and there was a panther behind me but it was a baby one.
eventualmente adquirirei um habito cinético e poderei dispensar o pensamento consciente sobre a questão
music is too sad for me sometimes even happy music because it fills up the space and overlays a separate reality onto silence trapping you in time and the constraints of the song which always ends
there was a good moment with warm sunlight & birdsong where i felt like i was being treated so sweetly by the world just for existing
olfactory fatigue and Uncanny winter feeling, chill of the wind, bareness of trees, grotesquely bright for winter
leaving from work feels like being a new plush toy getting its tag cut off
everything i ever make is always described as 'delicate' as an immediate first response
in 2034 i'd like to see sweden out of eu, smoking ban lifted and anti tobacco packaging gone, movie theatres in vogue, porn movie theatres, street food vendors but like not global food, total destruction of the girl fag internet industrial complex that "reports" on the met gala, a fourth season of a lena dunham show on the horizon.
Went into every museum gallery to replenish my stock of mental images.
lazy hopeless generation we shall disinherit the earth. it's 'medicinal' or whatever that word will come to mean when every phrase and every turn has lost any ghost of sense and we blissed out on indolence and everybody be like it's failurecore!
nurse at the hospital isnt sure about whats going on in my body but i know the pain in my heart is affecting my insides. when you snap and your heart pounds and your blood boils and you get sick. Heard the “death rattle” from a patient today and it freaked me out. , I like being medically pampered but the hospital is too much. They don't let me sleep because I have to me medicated every 6 hours. being around cats at uni and adjusting to their temperament and them adjusting to me and it’s almost like courting. repeating the rituals of offending and buying back love
there’s not even any origin logic to me gravitating toward aloof ppl i just get a thrill from the openness of someone hating me and then I get to be real,, I’m magnetic. you say no and i love that...it's funny. . I will never block you <3
adulthood feels like a solar panel, or a deciduous tree, so cyclical, everything takes on a guise of interpretation, control structures, forcing, fake simplicity, savoury food, journal, neurotoxic, inflammatory, cohesion slave,
When we were young, we used to get so close to it, and you were scared and you were beautiful, i wanna peer over the edge and see in death, if we are always the same. Grimes wrote this not me.
Can an event even be experienced as traumatic if it isn't already customary to experience it as so?
Feeling so sensitive it's weird how being out at night feels psychedelic even when you don't drink. Everything around me emotionally charged, every moment with every person you know feeling hyper aware of every feeling, expression, leaning in, looking into eyes, faces, touch.
The pull of the grass field on misbehaving youth
do not let your mercy cloud your might and vice versa
so would you say you have a lack or an excess of lucidity
sinus infection dreams of crashing cars (plural) and kissing passionately guy from high school who fried his brain w shrooms. feeling like katrina with no fema
a lot of people who are into alternative healing and herbalism and stuff over-medicalize and over-medicate sooo hard and it annoys me...its a modern medicine mindset. always treating the symptoms as soon as theyre experienced, never stopping to feel the discomfort.... people think that vitamin supplements are the result of people manually picking the vitamins out of food and then making them into pills
impatience = restlessness = conflict = fight = disease
i agree with nietzsche when he says coffee spreads darkness and tea is wholesome in the morning but only if it is strong enough bc if even too weak by one measure will “sicklie one over the whole day”.
dream of the sea coated in boats packed bow to stern being struck with staccato lightnings and a cloud of white birds all escaping towards me furiously. and then a dream within that dream in which i was on a lone boat watching showers of meteors fall into the waters ahead before opening up into a great whirlpool that sucked me up and the marked feeling of such exceptional awe being entirely flavourless in exceeding my capacities .
beau travail claire denis listed as lgbt genre on google solely due to heavy handed homoerotic underpinnings and a limp wristed dance sequence to rhythm of the night. but there is dancehall scenes with the languid ladies swaying to martiniquaise music so transcendently beautiful
smitten by the noble schizoid with a pitbull using his misanthropic fervor to keep the other rubbies who terrorize public transit in check.
so hot and heavy last night. extended half sleep state where the precise form of my body on top of the covers held intimate and prophetic meaning. and then finally culminating in terrible dream of vacation in a hotel complex with no windows and all i wanted was to go have a long and languid lunch but everyone had excuses for me
I'm so ragged that the only way to describe the way my body feels is to get a wet towel and hit violently it against a concrete garden floor on a hot january morning for about 30 seconds
I miss u I say for the first time about things I thought I’d never say them to cause what that affirmation was saved for made me stifled and congested for contained periods of life that are like seasons with different writers. Ask with innocence to yourself: why did you betray me?
there is a shift away from analog technologies because people prefer their consequences more insidious and diffuse rather than having to simply partake in a baseline of immediate attention
5am and now i can’t remember what i was dreaming because i was woken up by the loudest sky splitting thunder ive ever heard genuinely thought there was a major explosion outside my window and now it is so still there is not even rain or wind or any human activity at all and i can hear the vastness of empty space and the sky keeps lighting up with distant lightning that makes no sound i had to confirm i wasnt deafened and still feeling so terrified like i havent been since i was a child i have this horrific feeling some profound evil was just born somehow
Men who I feel grossed out by should check their weather report/farmers almanac and Trojan horse when tragedy strikes me.The prudes will say: that’s disgustingly manipulative/opportunist and that’s why I hate men. Is it manipulative or is it strategy of fate?
under what circumstances is it ok to euthanize a baby, kid, or adult? 🎤
self care is born of a vanity and in post buttressed by holistic results
so squarely on the spectrum today i can't go out.
I realised I never needed to confess, or to speak literally.
saint onuphrius is the ideal man
I can't believe people still talk about being depressed online. obnoxious.'i feel worthless today when will the pain end'. imagine being so shallow that's the only self analysis you can provide eugh I'm just over it it's time to lock em up. drain the swamp.
I realised I’m not manic and not talkative. sometimes wordless.
I locked in so hard, can’t speak and love fantasy don’t stir me like dopamines kiss wilted as sleeping beauty and I’ve gone metallic donning a chest plate, and the void spreading like motion graphics history channel of war path manifested into my other room in my apartment, dark and black mold and the bugs having a Kiki like random bugs I’ve never seen before it’s show guest of the week. cutie going to war and no battle cry cause mitus touch to the vocal chords, saliva swallow like perspiration drip against golden age art nouveau rail, cleaning psychosis clutter and then Monday the opening of saving private ryan but u got the eyes which is apparently how u practice third eye. Storm the beach with retard eyes and somehow u made it.
when u suffer nature gives u an option while something is taken away from you, now u have the agency to recontexrualize. While I wait with glistening bait like a tiara atop my head, bridal and holy hospital. And my love of people as my chess set, my soldier and protector and on my right my happiness and tools for mastery. To destroy and drain the creative voice with one wish, the revenge as success to restore the wound and the industrial fishing complex waiting for its next unaware victim, to spin them into social suicide or systemic death if they try to vouch for their humanity. And i crode, the scary visions come back and my first nightmare once again symbolizing I returned to creative throne that only I recognize but the price of insanity, and seeing evil but not being afraid redux.
Passion is the hunger games. And I eat bread when it’s the only option (ate toasts this weekend: nuance). The ancients def talked about this.
I am crying due to the spectre of evil that blankets the earth and poisons our minds with visions of little goblins with faces that stretch by tortuous instruments like a hallucination from a person trapped in a basement with unspeakable acts performed on them and only through dreams can their spirit release as their waking mind remains feeble as newborn calf is compelled to stand for the first time. I'm joking. The joke is always the melodrama
I see the potency in the messaging of reality like standing in the shallows with the rapids downstream and visible in composition.
4:30 am wake up like boogey man feverish feeling. My innocence hurts me and it makes me cry. ignored messages and imagination getting carried away. It irks my soul to no avail when future sucks
There’s something secretly endearing knowing that those who despise something congregate with others so as to hate in communion, juggling their perceptions of something as objective fact, engaging in lower caste communions, a proof that hate is the best soil for execrating fellowships. It's amusing when you realize someone is not the leader of the group but the eunuch. I dont know anything about male friendship dynamics but I know needing to invoke blood/tribal superiority to justify the emptiness of your own condition. It's perverse, cowardice. Nulliness.
the person who was getting close to my yolk and stabbed so bad. I keep blabbing but the vision that he was an opp. unless I’m very sensitive as a means of cockiness but these guys hatred and envy felt like JFK assassination, they wouldn’t fully commit to an entire operation but some did construct social suicide which is hilarious to think about the feminine submissive sneaky nature what switches that on in the male brain. Oh, it's fear. they were threatened, everyone wants to think that. But I think with their heightened sense of my own justice and pointed sword of word, gentleness to offensive protection, gifted with a type of channeling... they said snuff this bitch out in a very light way but if they knew anything about who or what I was they’d know I don’t even have the time to commit to outwardly punishing someone. And god can lay upon me all the consequences designed by the self righteous bottom dwellers cause if you are indeed so low all u can do is hate and not comprehend my tongue it’s an inexplicable fact of nature and not in the sense of hierarchy but in the sense of priorities. Punish me endlessly for complying to ur face but the way I won’t accept it internally is ur punishment that fuels resentment. U only have the right to invade that space if ur thinking about the betterment of both of us which is what my stance will always be. I realised I didn’t want to prosecute any argument, even for fun. It's sad. Repetition compulsion (to master it? to become better at it? to repair it? to reinforce self-beliefs that are self-negating?) & unresolved dynamics of loss in his past. one thing and not the other...ruins it...also perfects it...by incarnation...mystery removed...however...tiresome.
stop outing how much it sucks in ur brain like u beg and go against the grain for nothing to make sense to u. well post modern post industrial blah blah global climate war destruction hot exploitation,, are u an alien (not the good kind) or are u a human. Keep these nasty 0 likes and serve this fuckass ombré
gosto de sonhar acordada e ser incapaz de rastrear o padrão de meus pensamentos. hoje pensei em amigos escalando pacientemente os degraus de uma escada feita de imagens. lembro-me disso quando sinto a necessidade de pesquisar no google a idade de um diretor quando ele fez seu primeiro longa. na maioria das vezes, isso me dá motivos para relaxar, embora eu nunca tenha desejado fazer um filme, até o momento. provavelmente, me tranquiliza que, se eu mexesse nas costuras de seus filmes, uma longa guirlanda de pinturas apareceria. uma pilha tombada que parecia infrutífera agora vai num sentido linear. gosto dessa escada de imagens porque ninguém está tentando usá-la como escada. não tem fim, e seu mérito está em quantas vezes se dobra e muda de formas.
negative 2000 aura is talking about ur exes sucking ass even if ur right unless its funny and if ur a smart person: aligning urself with the hypersensitive “duolingo but for anxiety” population
I’ve been neurotic about the biome and I understand it now as a work of art.
I think my bus driver is coked out he needs to be on a cartoon he looks like an old star and 5’4 and loud. he said: there’s women sickness and men sickness and some women are so twisted in the mind they’re ready for all that birthing pain
to be a designer/art director at Pixar u need to be microdosing constantly. Weed I think is for anyone who does manual labor. remember that post about how weed is the little bird inside of u and the snake. where is it
I’ll curl up into an iridescent pearl
I can pick up on all other subtexts but I’m just gonna entertain for a second I’m delusional about someone’s subconscious tending to grudge/envy weighted scale . there’s a difference for when ur absent cause that’s preferred tbh bitch I gave u my entire life force but double down that just cause it’s not real and it evades u I don’t give anything that’s dumb that’s military shit fuckos who are Thomas the train looking headass need a trolley problem
Also my fav thing of 2014 feminism was those posters around campuses that said. and old men, don’t u DARE tell me to smile.
Trains tracks near a nature reserve on the outside of a city with a moat of lily pads and train tracks, better parasite movie with the flood metaphor down to their home at the bottom of the hill, they train dogs to deliver for Amazon, and cats deliver glass raw milk don’t fuck with the supply, Astro boy and speed racer live in this town; working the film projector at the back of a movie, animated cell sheets if Ai Made the sheets so they kept moving like a constantly generated image like fetus 3d, 90s boy band music video sterile clean white apparatus space but Madison beer sci fi hospital music vid, better ghibli, cottage core landlords, fishing town: muscles and oysters and pearls, zone of interest island on ignare Bergman island
my feelings pull me in a thousand ways. And my tears are like Rollie pollies they’re huge and roll off so fast
remember that post about how weed is the little bird inside of u and the snake. where is it
Some lady from Paris helped him light his cigarette cause he was retarded with the wind and then she lit hers fast I shoulda laughed more at what she said on some eager tip but I was like wow a Parisian is in here
Languish in the water signs season like Fire and Water cave wanting to become a phallice I’m da baby in the golden casket burried in the earths core like when Mr beast got burried alive and had a mental breakdown and had no pants on in the livestream. Cancer season like suicide bomber like kamikaze like Boston marathon bomber and the light flickering phenomena in my apartment like solar flair like alien abduction as Morse code like late June July is give up everything and omfg annoying walk home yesterday like violent winds, I got a trick or treat safety placemat from a dollar store and a mini green trash bin finna blow my ass away with the wind tunnels with the tings as my parachute cue fucking Debussy I got pelted with like dried dog shit and remnants of glass in my face and eyes like I was at the fuckinf Jersey shore at least 20 times like mad max
Final transformation: no ones gonna see me cry ever again
The drum beats. Where there was always suicide. Now Greek arrives, the voice of the army “she wants to live” the mother touches the child finally they both turn, the scorned mother queen of darkness who sacrificed her life the corpse queen for revenge, the divine child who scatters into stars and evades their burial and gives birth to itself.
eu outra vida, fui um rei relutante de algum país pequeno e sombrio, onde as vidas sombrias levadas por meu povo eram o inverso direto do esplendor desfrutado por aqueles no meu palácio... eu não tinha interesses adequados a alguém de minha estatura: caça, apostas, esgrima e mulheres eram todos tarefas fastidiosas para mim...cumprir os deveres de meu escritório era uma tortura! ao invés disso, eu era arrebatado dia e noite por minha obsessão por arranjos florais. quando eu estava para mim no silêncio iluminado pela lâmpada de meu escritório, o êxtase mal me deixava são enquanto eu tomava peônia, íris, cravo e os levava para meus lábios e boca impacientes de um vaso...meus conselheiros sabiam de minha obsessão, e me advertiam contra pela ameaça de rumores que descrevessem um rei amante de flores...felizmente, para mim, fui recebido com um ultimato que me deixaria estar com meu amor em tempo integral...nem minha rainha nem minha amante foram ambos de minha escolha. fui casado com a primeira por motivos políticos e a segunda fora indicada pela corte para o cargo de maîtresse-en-titre porque não havia encontrado nenhuma nobre atraente. as duas belas mulheres não se incomodadavam com meu total desinteresse por elas, pois haviam encontrado amantes uma na outra. era uma situação em que todas as partes estavam satisfeitas. me mantive fora de seus caminhos, eu com minhas flores e as senhoras lentamente assumindo minhas funções, assinando contratos e leis com meu selo e me dizendo exatamente que ordens dar durante a guerra e dificuldades econômicas. no entanto, governar em segredo parecia não ser suficiente para elas. uma noite, delirando enquanto eu desvendava um pacote com uma flor rara do oeste, as senhoras invadiram minha oficina, espalhando gerânio e magnólia. elas me agarraram pelo colarinho e ordenaram que eu ouvisse suas exigências. eu sabia que elas eram mais fortes do que eu e podiam facilmente me superar em uma luta de espadas, então eu rapidamente as obedeci. foi-me apresentada uma escolha: morrer pelo veneno delas em meu estudo entre minhas queridas flores, meu corpo manco segurando uma erva-moura para que parecesse que tivesse morrido por minhas próprias mãos, ou fingir a morte e me mudar secretamente para um castelo remoto, onde eu deveria receber uma mesada e ser deixado sozinho para meus hobbies pelo resto de meus dias. não foi uma decisão difícil. antes que eu soubesse, meu país tinha duas rainhas poderosas e amadas, e eu estava contente em meu casarão isolado que parecia quase com as colinas para a flora que cobria todas as paredes. quando finalmente morri, não havia ninguém para me enterrar, ninguém para chorar. ainda assim, eu estava muito contente: havia inúmeras flores em meu túmulo...
uma fantasia insoníaca: desenhar e dirigir um pequeno restaurante-bar, imaginar cada canto de cada sala, pequenos detalhes nas paredes, na cozinha e nos banheiros, imaginar tocar as mesas, limpar as enormes janelas, fazer uma lista de músicas para o dia, conversar com o resto dos trabalhadores, compartilhar pão e sopa, explorar novas frutas para a torta sazonal, sentar sozinha em uma das mesas depois da hora de pico e apenas escrever algo em um pedaço de papel, fechar depois que todos vão para casa e abrir logo pela manhã.
a suposta eficácia do “agora estou vendo um analista em vez de fazer terapia/tcc” ou “agora consulto um naturopata em vez de um médico”, me parece, ter a ver com ter mais uma coisa a fazer em sua semana ou quinzena e também ficar nauseantemente consciente de que falar sobre sua vida e experiências passadas relacionadas à tristeza ou infelicidade do presente rapidamente se torna tão chato e evidente que você pode então começar a reclamar de um profissional de saúde e contar alguma história para fazer parecer que minar os anais de sua vida não é apenas se masturbar verbalmente. enfim.
é realmente decepcionante que todos os nascidos após os anos 2000 praticamente não tenham experiência da internet ser outra coisa senão mídia tradicional, ainda que um pouco mais dopaminérgica. quase foi tão mais do que isso. eu costumava sentir um pouco de pressa na internet, porque havia tanto para ver e tantos cantos da web que podiam ser explorados, como se eu pudesse ir a qualquer lugar imaginável se seguisse o caminho certo. “internet explorer”. a internet parecia uma vez ser tão inconquistável e gigantesca, com uma força própria, e depois reduzida a pouco mais do que dez redes sociais, dentro do mega corpo de mídia em níveis controláveis.
os circuitos de pensamento são emaranhados na mecânica que executa todas as minhas funções sociais. parece que eu não tenho ideia de quem me conheceu, falou comigo - nenhuma memória, ou melhor, compreensão de quem eu fui. eu poderia ter sido estranha, confiante, apática, sedutora, sorridente… eu olho em todos os lugares quando falo com alguém, falo sobre qualquer coisa, e no final não tenho ideia do que fui ou do que foi dito.
a única razão pela qual a política de identidade tem poder e integridade é porque se alinha perfeitamente com a comodificação do algoritmo. existe puramente em relação às coisas vendidas e compradas. de certa forma, essa é sua única característica redentora porque estamos num ponto em que o único espaço mágico, místico, criativo e imaginativo é o capitalismo. porque lá podemos fazer o larping. mas, por princípio, a política de identidade é anti-larp. trata-se de identificar o consumidor de todas as maneiras possíveis, criando um eu estagnado fixo que é constante, previsível e alimentado por sua própria história.
deitada na minha cama à tarde no dia 17 de março. visões vívidas e hipnagógicas. uma série caleidoscópica de céus em mudança, todas essas cores brilhantes sangrando febrilmente umas nas outras. nuvens durante o dia e pores-do-sol e horizonte noturno sombrio. trejeitos de árvores nuas e nuvens tortuosas, estradas sinuosas de terra e cascalho banhadas pelas cores deste tipo de céu que você não verá acordada. às vezes, vislumbro-as em oração antes de dormir, mas apenas por alguns segundos.
a "solidariedade global" não indica realmente o apoio global de certas políticas, mas uma manifestação de fetiches americanos entre jovens de áreas urbanas. americanos negros ditam a cultura popular e a juventude européia (branca e negra), ao se "distanciar" do americanismo, apenas reforça ainda mais o ideal americano. quando o anti autoritarismo é parte integrante da cultura, ele virá à tona também na simulação. não sei como dizer de outra forma, mas demonstrações fora-dos-eua consolidam a identidade americana como superior, aspiracional.
a envolvência pessoal na ideia de que é possível relacionar-se com qualquer um no mundo, seja para ajudar qualquer pessoa de qualquer lugar, ou de que aqueles que nascem, crescem e morrem sob diferentes climas e fusos horários estão vivendo como seres sociológicos iguais em uma rede global abrangente. o impulso de conquista que se manifesta ao sentar-se em frente ao feed americano-global, que projeta uma concepção singular do que significa viver, como que numa psicose ayahuasciana coletiva que reivindica propriedade sobre o maior número possível de histórias que coexistem com os milhares de mundos particulares os quais equivalem ao quadro maior da vida humana. presumindo-se tudo, menos o alheamento ao mundo e seus aspectos (não apenas humanos) – o que isso realmente faz, senão criar posicões onde sua ideia de capacidade própria para enfrentá-lo agirá como um símbolo, e nenhum trabalho realmente abrangente precisará ser feito?
um sonho de janeiro: que eu possa fazer algo impulsivo agora mesmo; inclinado para fora de jogo e pendurado. arremesado à sombra e amarrado, mas cheio da sensação amarela de estar no limiar de cada desenlace que você já teve. sou estimulante. existe um trevo de nunca folhas no prado em que imagino agora mesmo te levar. e tirar isto de um outro sonho onde uma limusine estaciona; e uma limusine preta é sempre um mau sinal e uma janela é abaixada e alguém é assassinado – mas era um filme sendo feito no prado. coral e brilho úmido, banalizado antes de ser conhecido; é um momento brutal. abortado e exagerado. acho que eles só precisam de um momento normal nessas situações. acho que vou voltar para a cidade, e nessa altura já estou sentada no ônibus autisticamente, cientificamente e violentamente, mas amigavelmente dócil. estou sentada, às vezes pendendo, às vezes em condições adequadas, às vezes em moinhos de vento e colinas na distância de cercados inundados do lado de fora. imagino que estou andando de bicicleta pela orla, eu e minha bunda estamos no assento e parece ser tão bonito heheheh. “eu não sabia que era neurotóxico?”. deveria ter insistindo ainda mais nessa atrofia. altas freqüências de autismo envolvidas na busca do status de mártir hoje em dia, e você tem que fazer direito.