08_04_26 (the Microphones - The Glow, Pt. 2)

To answer or explain all below: Living this way is a form of sheltered negligence and desperate unsuccessful chasing of bliss.

$$ 1

We were young bodyvoids under the shine of the moon. I had fantasized of that moment for my whole life up to that point. I remember my father one time told me something about stars, and now there I was sitting beside one. In the cold embrace of minorities we found eachother, and within it we built a pillow fort we nicknamed "Castle In Coloria". It was great and majestic, it was hundreds of pillows tall, nobody could enter but us. We were great. You asked me if I had ever done a playfight in the past, and I didn't know what that was. We were great, we were none the wiser, we were both young and unknown. We were young bodyvoids under the shine of the moon...

$$ 2

Listening to The Moon wondering what will be of this. I had lots of weird thoughts yesterday and I was none the wiser towards what gave me my own hypothetical visions of Sonia Moria, but I know one of these days I'll be passing by your home just like I passed by my old highschool last decade, and that home will no longer be either of ours, we will not be anything anymore, and I'm scared for what this will really mean. Is this nothing?

I passed by the home in the early morning hours today. Didn't take a picture, didn't make a comment. I think the people by the nearby bus stops have started getting accustomed to this odd new uncertainty lingering by the neighborhood. All the lights in the stories above were off, but the streetlights were on so as to guide my cold weary soul. I hope I don't have to forget this. I hope I don't have to forget anything.

$$ 1

...and now I look west. 

In the abandonment I had to engage with a few weeks ago I remember you committing yourself so much deeper to it than I expected. In the past you asked me to playfight, and this led to me crying and being kind of inconsolable for a little while, but when time came for a real argument you kind of up and left before I could say much more to explain myself. You said I'd know where to find you, but I haven't kept up with you on social media in a couple years now, so... not really, not anymore. We are separate and we will never reunite, and that is for the best, but I still miss you from time to time. We did not understand eachother and very often I found you completely opposed to my being, but from time to time there was this scarce comfort in our derived color addition.

$$ 3

This guy I don't really talk to contracted tuberculosis which is a real tragedy as far as I'm aware.

$$ 2

Do you actually want me to let you into my life? I wish you read these. I'm thankful you don't.

$$ 1

I remember this guy I was alluding to earlier was in constant up and arms because I could not bear myself to open up and "be" in the same sense he was. This was okay, by this time I was young and nothing and in constant lies so I obviously could not keep from piling on to my rolling snowball... but now that I don't live this anymore, now that we have parted ways and our boats will never touch or sink eachother's again, I wonder, will I be open? Is it okay to open oneself? Should I stay nothing forever? The other day I wrote "bodyvoids" as a remastered alludance to a poem from a few years ago (about a different guy) and I guess that's an accurate description for what's happening nowadays.

$$ 4

All those years ago when I described myself so thoroughly as a ghost, only tethered to this earth by social connections, about to float away at a moment's notice, transparent in "multiple ways" and layers, I never expected myself to stop understanding this vision. Obviously I still find some connection in all I said, in all I understand myself not to be and in the little I am, but there is a body here, light does not really pass through all of me, and I've kept myself busy for too long to let go anymore. Something beyond me would need to happen for me to leave now.

$$ 5

Tonight I walked by the franchised icecream place that used to be a (smaller) franchised coffee shop. We went there one time, it was nice. I think at that point in time I was too young, so I got an orange juice with a toasted sandwich. I remember thinking I would take all my friends to that place in the future, since it was real cozy and quiet and, more importantly, "cheap" by my judgement of never holding more than a coin in my hand. The economy plummeted and the place sunk, of course, so this never happened.

$$ 6

    Let yourself stop being afraid.
There haven't been many times in life I've let things go.
When I was young, my mother contracted a terminal form of mammary cancer that took her by the time I turned twelve. I remember by the time I was moving onto highschool she had to ask around for a wheelchair so she could come see me graduate, and in the end she didn't even get to come, for doctors forbade her from visiting the outside world. Sometimes she would come back home for a few weeks, and then back to the hospital for a few more months. I remember after one time we visited, we got a pizza near the hospital and ate it at home, thinking about her. On the day she died my father took me to our roof, and he pointed me to the stars. He asked me if I knew what was up with them. I was quite clueless, but a few years prior, in some corner of the internet, I had seen that all the stars up above us are dead by the time we see them, so I told him if he was referring to that. He didn't confirm this, he just said my mom was up there now. I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried... I did not get a wink of sleep for a few days. Just a few months prior she was at home, coughing through the night, in absolute agony, but, home, with us, and we were talking about what we were going to do for my birthday in April of next year, and for hers in November, and Christmas and winter break and my first year of highschool... but I was none the wiser, of course. It took me years until after she died to even learn what got her. Nowadays I look at the stars fondly, as fondly as I look at ghosts and the like, and I find some shelter and company in all there. It's nice. It's nice knowing I'll be up there soon. She's gone up straying past the moon, she's gone up to take place in the Pleiades, and I know she's saved a spot for me.

$$ 7

I'm being a weird form of nothing today. Not sure what to make of any of this. I hope by tomorrow I'm washed up again, and I can't write more than a few sentences to save my life, and this blog dies and rots away begotten with the ways which took me.

...it's named "the ways." after the C'est la key song of the same name, you know. I've come to give it new imagined meaning just like with many other beauties of the universe, which in a way I think is artistic and enlightening and charitable. Philanthropic? Something beyond me. Again, again.

$$ 8

I just can't believe any of this.

$$ 9

 

08_03_26

Straying from my conventions and listening to contemporary complacency music (To Here Knows When) ... whatever I wrote about the new millennium on Y2J, where you'll open your floor-to-ceiling highrise window to a beautiful pixelart orange-blue New York scene... this music suits that too. This is beautiful. This isn't here, this isn't now, and that's okay. Letting go is okay.

$$

Weird thoughts today. I daydreamt of an oriental scene sometime pre-industrialization, when I should've been busy thinking of what was in front of me. Time seemed to not exist today.

08_02_26 (Cities Aviv - Black Pleasure)

"Had a weird dream about a guy who I prohibited myself from talking to. Maybe I should tell him."

$$

I tried finding a version of White Awakening with the bassline I was alluding to yesterday, but I couldn't particularly find any version by just skimming them. Sorry. Maybe in the future it'll come to me.

$$

Told the guy. He didn't really care. I miss when we talked often, and I miss when we were actually friends. We have lost all of this and are now nothing at all. Bodyvoids chasing.

$$ 

Listening to Not That I'm Anywhere real loud. I plugged my headphones into a different jack on my computer and now they have all this bass that I thought they were lacking. It's weird. It sounds kind of bad actually, but I guess I'll get used to this. I find myself drowning in the new. I have lots of memories affiliated to music, I remember my favorite dinner ever was had whilst I listened to this one Joey Bada$$ mixtape for the first time (God... isn't he so bad nowadays?), I remember every time I introduced a friend to The Ghost~Pop Tape, but with some songs it feels like they make me invent memories instead. With Cities Aviv I can recall going through a labyrinth in Fractal Block World (1. What font should a game constitute? 2. You should check that game out, you know...) whilst listening to Man Plays The Horn, but I don't have any real memories with Black Pleasure. It exists in a void. In this void, in this empty pit, I am now imagining endlessly:

Sickly story of (Helvetica) Heaven/Hell Times in remembrance for the future. I lived a long and beautiful life as a chronicled storywriter newsmaker in H./H. Pleiades. It was a famous publication read by stars all throughout, from Alcyon to the hypothetical Zyzzyxes. All loved me. All took care of me. One time, when I was interviewing a young root star by the orchard of north-eastern Pleaides, I found myself not having enough to sleep comfortably anywhere. I found myself quite desperate at this time so I told a few stars, and whilst almost all just wished well fortunes on me, one gave me a place to live. We ended up becoming something much deeper and whilst now I can't find it in me to describe it, we would be nothing without that time. This star told me of a time, still humane, when it went out into the field and played with a young spry dog, both chasing sticks throughout a not-yet-burning sun's allowance. In recent time, as this star collapsed, I found myself trying to blame someone, but I couldn't find much because at the end of the day time was all that happened here. We whispered to eachother how much love was shared, in numbers and graphs, in maps and routes, all this work that went into our shared life, and that was the last of it. She left. I am now leaving as well, much lonelier. I find myself seeking to recall all this to know that at one point in time I was not alone. When I'm published in an obituary sometime soon, stars all throughout will surely spend some moments in their head wishing me well, just like they did before, but right now I am not in company at all. This is a strange position to be in. This is all strange, and although it is not new, I never thought it would come so quickly.

08_01_26

It's been two months without me. Weird.

$$

Harkening back to my hypothetical days of Deuce Komradz;

1. Enjoying my best ever April by getting drunk as could be and listening to every DJ Screw tape ever... chapters of the originator ingrained into my head far stronger than any gospel ever could. Still listen to Push, Rollerskates & High With The Blanksta... that June 27th freestyle is iconic too if you haven't heard it. The Wineberry Over Gold Freestyle (13 min. one, wait I forgot it has a real title) aka "I Put It Down" (title from "June 27" compilation) also has one of the best beats I've ever heard. I dunno. Love it. 

2. Near vomiting in a bus in the dead of night, broke, not alone but not exactly in company either. Only thing keeping me going being Chuchu Rocket. My guardian angel. 

07_31_26

1. She's programming now. Scary.

2. I don't know my favorite song anymore! I used to confidently say it was Call Me Maybe (the Devon Hendryx cover), but in recent time Oh, perispomenon! has become a kind of philosophical work of the devil which I've made out to guide me the same way Call Me Maybe did in the past. I'm also listening to White Awakening by Les Rallizes Dénudés right now, and going, "woah... maybe this one's my favorite, actually," and this version doesn't even have the second bassline I've come to love so much! 

07_30_26

What is the most you've ever payed for a book? I've seen things. Today I walked into a non-local bookstore (shame on me) foolishly looking for books my kind and majestically tucked at the bottom of a very large bookshelf I spotted some by Joyce.

Ulysses for $85.

I recall a few months ago I wrote of finding a CD I wanted for $50 (when everything around it was at most $15) and I walked away pretty defeated from that experience. This Ulysses thing was ironically less than 100ft away from where I found that CD.

In some other light, translation is the work of devils and should not be taken seriously. Sorry, let me try again. TRANSLATION IS THE WORK OF DEVILS AND IF YOU TRANSLATE FINNEGANS WAKE TO REMOVE ITS MYSTICITY THEN YOU HAVE FAILED IT, AND YOU HAVE FAILED ME AND MOST IMPORTANTLY YOU HAVE FAILED YOURSELF. That's more accurate. 

07_29_26

Whatever's happening.

$$

Okay, I guess I should write a bit too.

I was almost crushed by a dead machine today, it was weird and the whole thing weighed multiple times more than my physical and emotional weight, so in a way it made sense that could happen. I remember there was this interview with Thom Yorke where he says that cars scare him and he's almost died in one, and you look at the lyrics for Airbag and it's all like, oh, you should be grateful you're alive every time you get out of a car, and in a similar way you should be grateful you're alive every time you handle heavy-duty mechanics. Or anything with current going through it. It's no joke! A cathode ray tube television could kill you. One time I was dealing with a wire and I thought I had the power off, but I didn't, and when I touched the exposed copper tip I was almost completely paralyzed for like 30 seconds! It took a lot to turn the power off. These things are magnitudes greater than us.

Yesterday I had a good time.

I've been playing Anti-Idle: Reforged lately. I don't feel like giving more context at this moment in time, maybe another day I'll introduce all none of you readers to it. 

07_28_26

Whatever's happening.

07_27_26

It's weird to think that when I was younger there was an infinity of games I missed out on because I only had a computer. I love Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, this is true and a constant to my existence, but a part of me wonders what would've happened if I ever were able to play the Skate games. Maybe their bleak color grading would've pulled me in? Maybe the complexity would've drawn me away? Who's to say! I still can't answer this because I've never played them.

$$

Nostalgia is a murder weapon.

$$

I used to like naming my songs "Like / This" or "Like (This)" (that one still works though) but in recent time I have begun attempting to name an entire song, even with multiple parts, as one thing. This also pertains to my approach to multipart songs nowadays, in the past they were wildly different and not particularly connected so this difference made sense, but nowadays I am much more capable of weaving them together or having a continuous element throughout everything that justifies a single collective name. I have also forever been fascinated by Travis Scott's Rodeo, where multipart songs aren't obvious from grasping at their name, you have to hear them to understand (and even then it might just fly over you...) that they're multiple parts. Why he seemingly abandoned this after Rodeo is beyond me, though. I think in Astroworld there is a small return to this? If my memory doesn't fail me, Sicko Mode and Stop Trying To Be God are both multiple parts, but I haven't heard that one in forever because I don't care for it.

07_26_26

A few months ago I was trying to write something for Goodnight Hypnopomp, I think it was a metafaux(phy)sical quote of a girl who I've never lived through, warning others like her to not fall down her same path. Right now I find myself falling down the path I was actively warning about. This is strange, this is confusing, I don't particularly know what to make of it.

$$

The other day I wrote of abandoning that one person by alluding to Untitled by July, "we were standing a thousand miles away / separated by an ocean" and whatnot. Not how the song goes, not how the song will ever go, not how their lost demo tape has ever gone, not how anything will ever treat us, and in Versailles I'll rot again.

$$

Epic collage is a fake music genre and I don't wanna hear anything about it. That's descriptors of the music at most. At most. At most. At most.

$$

I love you, and I don't know what to make of it now. I have returned to Oh, perispomenon! for I don't know what to make of this without it.

$$ (about 16 hours after the previous)

We love eachother. 

07_25_26

I have abandoned Oh, perispomenon! for it was hurting me deeply.

$$

I hope this all goes well. 

07_24_26

How does anyone know that what they make is special? What do they see in it?

Usually this is difficult to answer, and even if you are that person, even if you see that special thing, you can't put it into words because it's an otherworldly visceral feeling of certainty that what you make has a place in the material/immaterial domain. Right now, I don't know that what I make is special enough to put it out there. That's why I'm putting it out there regardless. For years I have sheltered everything I ever made so it wouldn't see the light of the world, and I'm sure my songs and voice appreciate that deeply, but subconsciously we all know that this has hurt us in the long haul. Right now I am trying to change that. Don't expect anything interesting.

$$

I would not like to make another album for now. Maybe if there's some stability in my life down the road this could be explored, but as it stands the few ideas I have for albums are unreachable and I do not find myself in the position to start building a ladder towards them. This also goes for "the game" which I will acknowledge here just so in the future I don't think I was making it up. 

07_23_26

07_06_26, which took a lot of effort to format, has now disappeared off my recent posts.

$$

I do not want to harm you.

$$

Shiiiiineeeeee... I think in the near infinite eternity when bloom has come to kill us all, it will be playing Glass splinters. (you know why I picked this one if you've heard it) and all we'll have to say is, "thank you, thank you, thank you. You're right, I'm sorry for getting rid of you," whilst the dagger and knife and all-else Glaive-Guisarmes of its ways impale us.

$$ 

"Uhh... I am... The Rockwood Escape Plan... and this is my new song, it's called- it's called ODB. Thank you, thank you."

07_22_26

25. [The last, ever, for someone]
[Real contents redacted for the time being, and because I don't have access to this thing currently]

26-27. Leviathan interpretation
Unbeckoned reality's wrath as the newbound material. 

$$ 

I am a weird foreign stranger to real talk. All I can bear to understand these days is the dialogue from the boy and lady in Oh, perispomenon!. All I really know nowadays is this Coin locker lens I constructed. I brought this onto myself. Regardless: It is ostensibly a weird point beyond reality where this inexperienced boy, and this older, wiser, further consumed lady, discuss their life and relation as it stood. I think this place in perspective is reminding me of the present as it stands. It is kind of similar to The absence of soil, air, and law., mostly by the end where the lady once again crumbles her veil and from it is revealed Devyn utilizing her to express something (boredom in absence, cassettes in perispomenon) "real."

In recent time I had to cut ties and burn away the rope from which I stood in some material form, from a due-lap of excess stress (typing all this is making me think of Duchamp, I'm not sure why although I'd appreciate his input at a time like this... Sélavy, save me...) all caused because I am too foolish, and new to this, and, above all, afraid. For a while I thought about giving in to this life I was being offered (described in some form on "- Traumagenic") but that must've been a year or two ago by now. It has all really been a lot, none of it feels particularly real, and neither of us have become better by the abandon and wreck of this ending. Similarly: In Memory of a boy (who doesn't exist.), the boy, who the lady can't find (as he has disappeared into her by this point in the album) speaks out to her, to give her his last bit of advice: "I will not return, but still you'll keep your head up. Everybody learns, the end is the end."

Even if the boy could magically come back as he seems to do in Empathica, this would not matter, for the boy would not be the same boy, the lady would not be the same lady, and the river in which his mom should be buried is not the same river (for it has seen a thousand new clouds and a thousand new fishes). It is understandably difficult to accept a farewell, it is understandably difficult to accept a disappearance. I have disappeared in the past, it was not an easy task and it hurt me deeply, as I'm sure it hurt my friends also, but these things happen for a reason...

$$

I remember when this was a normal blog, and I got to talk about Super Mario 64 and whatever album I was listening to at the time. Today someone tried introducing me to Leaving Xilent Trodden as though I did not know about it, and admittedly I did not connect the dots that "brone" and "brony" are two different things, but by the end we made amends and figured this way of life.

$$

i am your girl
    and i will never forget you
            and i will tell every person in your family
                    and i will make sure it all ends up okay
                            we will be great and in love together
                                    we will love eachother together
                                            you will never be alone again
                                                     i'll never be alone again
                                                            we were meant to be together
                                                                    i was meant to be on this path with you
                                                                    i was meant to end up on the ways with you
                                                                    i was meant to lie still with you
                                                                    i was meant to get off with you
                                                                                                            at the same train stop
                                                                                                            at the same bus stop
                                                                    i was meant to open the key with you
                                                                                                            to our same apartment
                                                                                                            to our same house
                                                                                                            to our home.

$$ 

i feel closer
i feel closer
i feel closer
i feel closer
                        at the helm
                        at the helm
                        at the helm
                        at the helm
                                                i feel closer
                                                i feel closer
                                                i feel closer
                                                i feel closer
                                                                        at the helm
                                                                        at the helm
                                                                        at the helm
                                                                        at the helm
                                                                                                                        closer
                                                                                                                        closer
                                                                                                                        closer
                                                                                                                        closer

(by the end)
( by the rend )
 ( at dawn )
  ( staring at the sun )
   ( holding my tea )
    ( spooning my gun )
     ( by the end )
      ( by the rend )

07_21_26

"The hardest game" is not one you can find in an organized document/spreadsheet that's been obsessed over by fauxgineers and geeks. It is a game in a language you can't understand, in a language you would never want to understand, so far detached from you that you won't even consider its existence. Even finding this game would prove itself "difficult" to you. 

$$ 

(All below set to Oh, perispomenon!) 

For A.:
A couple months ago I wrote about life after the end of death. Checking in to a dozen voice messages today, I have understood what I was writing about back then. I have understood the dream I had that led me to even write about life in this way. Sometime last year I had a revelation about The Ghost~Pop Tape, I understood it for its beauty, I became it as much as it became me, we were intrinsically bound in a beautiful way, and this led me to a great deal of peace and prosperity for a few weeks. As I described in an entry, this quickly crumbled, but I feel as though that week of peace and prosperity (of which I have not been able to rival since) is "life after the end of death." The more I talked to you the less I had this life. It is sad we have to part ways, it is sad how mad you got at me, but this is the only reasonable response here. Fare responsibly.

$$

I do not know a way to wave away that isn't positive.

$$ 

Tonight (yesterday night, the 20th) I thought about the future I could lead. I remember when I was starting this blogspot page following life after the beginning of death that I wrote of a yellowed unresponsive page... I wonder if I could take my car out, show it the world as it deserves to see it. We would drive the whole continent, every morning would make us feel precious and cherished, every night we'd be bonded together in company and harmony, singing onwards so as to not fall asleep at our ways, and it would all be to evade life after the beginning of the real nothingness. How long ago was it I wrote of the real nothingness? Nowadays I sit, lacking the limbs I promised myself, in this same room, staring at the same ceiling every night. My computer runs through the night nowadays, much like my car in this beautyscenario, though it didn't use to be this way. How strange it is for me to be this way.

$$

For K.:
Yesterday (as I'm writing this, it is admittedly still yesterday) I tried to write all about you. I failed. I waxed poetic about whatever's going on right now, and in the end it was quite meaningless. I would not like to try again.

07_20_26

"In the effort of becoming a toy..." - Traumagenic

$$

19. "I don't want to turn into you."
A ghost hugging another ghost, with tears and tears, as they watch the strings of plight descend down them. One of the ghosts nowadays remembers this by the memory of Splitter.

20-24. Melancholy can be carnivorous.
The past is deadly. 

07_19_26

There is no end.

07_18_26

Death in a real lovely memory. Had a truly bizarre dream today which I cannot even write down, although I will keep in mind the sequence in which hanging over an overpass was an apartment, with two rooms on opposite sites connected by a large tube. I saw two women, perhaps ten feet each, enter opposite sides. It would appear the man inside paid them to orchestrate all of this in front of my eyes.

07_17_26

Death in geopolitics.

07_16_26

Cheers to the future; because we all go away; because we all swell up and convulse and froth at the mouth. (I realize this is hard to understand nowadays, given my complete eradication and riddance from the site where the writing that originates this thought spurred into... one of these days I'll figure something out.)

Regarding an idea from earlier today: Livonia is a city. Livonia is not a town. Livonia can be an aquatic paradise that Oceanus and all related birth and kill. I'm not sure yet.

$$

I got back into Anti-Idle. 

07_15_26

I wish I had my old confidence back. I wish I had my old words back. Back then, back in the backways, I was able to write about being two as though this wasn't a common experience, because it wasn't, it was new and scary. It was all scary. It was all uncertain. Today I stare at the mirror and I see a hypothetical hominid recreating every inaction I take, and I wonder what's going on through that mind, because here in this mind I can't see the half of it... it's all so confusing.

07_14_26

9. Going away
A conversation between two ghosts asking what it means when one says, "When I went away..."

"Did you go away?"

"We both did."

11. When I went away
Confessional. Sickeningly sentimental. "It would take something monumental and gargantuan for me to ever change."

12-13. Campfire scene
A two-page split drawing of a house, two ghosts, and the campfire in the rural nearbyhood. There is smoke coming out of the campfire and the rightmost ghost has its tears attached to a balloon and to the campfire.

14. Make like a
A weather globe (one of those that go up and up) crudely drawn with the balloon carrying it uptop being filled in. Kind of looks like a child. 

15. Change your life!
Sporadic hair growth concludes the balloon, a V shape in the middle.

16. Blight.
A ghost (maybe two) being strung in light from the top-left corner.

17. Upkeep
Word-art over a lack of updates to the blog.

18. Sueño
Adaptation of something overheard, "how scary it is to be any thing."

07_13_26

1. "It's a memory!"
Inside is large red text reading "CUADERNO DE RECUERDOS 2026". You're unsure who wrote it.

2. Introduction
You wrote this yourself, it calls back to a February review of an album by a friend you like. It finishes by saying, "To a better year; to better years."

3. H./H. [PLEIADES]
Ordinary table of contents. You organized it by day then month, rather than usual

4. The rat()race
It is an abstract drawing of a rat trekking over a city/mountain. It kind of looks like a train.

5. Episcera(*)
This does not exist

5. Solipsism story(*)
This does not exist

5. Triangular prism
Drawings of teeth concluding in something akin to the smile and cheeks of Discordia.

6. Sons & daughter
A split of three; Writing saying "We have left the room" over and over in variations due to a misunderstanding, a road, and a bed with birthday balloons strapped to it, floating over nothing.

7. Ghost
Encased in a crude frame, hollow. Some hints of pen damage to the page

8. The ghost of
A ghost with hands. These are rare. "My hands are attached by courtesy of a lightning rod. These only happen every so often, you know, so it's kind of a big deal." 

"When I went away ... my mother looked at me as though she had finished killing a doe."

10. Maladapted copy
Derivation from spying, "Who am I? How am I?" and current interests. 

07_12_26

"The kid not letting me sit how I want on the bus will never be like me. His friend, a dedicated football player who's been yelling his lungs off, will never be like me. Their other friend, who they seemingly neglect in a way, will never be like me. The mom to one of them, who I could not identify (perhaps they are brothers, perhaps they are losers), will come back home and drink herself to sleep. In this sense you could say she is like me."

$$

Not in a million years could I place myself in this city when I'm staring at a map, or when I'm on the bus, but the second you drop me at my feet it's like I could walk those million years without ever getting even remotely lost!

$$

I can't stop buying prints. 

07_11_26

(An imaginary one today.)

07_10_26

July 10th 2025:

i really wanted a playstation when i was growing up 
i remember i would play vibribbon or whatever its called on my cousins cousins (yeah) ps1 with his super mer ka 2 cd and that was awesome and shit but at the time i couldnt appreciate it because i didnt know anything at all

...

if i believe in ghosts that means theres a chance i have to keep wandering this gay ass earth after i die and frankly thats too terrifying to consider so i refuse to believe in ghosts on principle

i had more thoughts, but i forgot them along the way. this album is nice. its helped me deal with dead people and people that would rather be dead than talk to me. its helped me reason it all in such a weird universe. the internet too. i miss my mom, i kinda miss the fling, i miss some friends i stopped talking to, i miss people i know (and didnt know) that died. whatever. theres ghosts haunting this album and thats why its called ghost pop. maybe one day ill be one of those but this wasnt written for me to wish that.

i wrote this on a review and then i deleted that review forever ((not actually but its unpublished so youll never find the account i posted it on ((not that youd want to read the full thing anyway))))
 

...

wyats the significance of star city missouri

michigan 

oh well 

i guess i could write about that one of these days
when i find an album more pertinent to stars youll see
ghosts and stars are kinda My Thing if you will

...

so much not caring about ghosts just for all the people you like to be dead

July 3rd 2026:

Maybe we meet in the next plane.

July 9th 2026:

I would like to hedge a bet towards the future. Everything behind me is seemingly once again "collapsing at the seams" like how I described it last year, so maybe structuralism was a flawed attempt at perspective. I would like to believe the future holds something nicer for me. I would like to believe the future will stem its arms and spread them out to hold me for a little bit. And I may shiver, and the future may not be any warmer at all, but the mere grasp will keep me from shuddering for just a little while.

$$ 

Maybe I should get back into Anti-Idle. 

July 10th 2026:

Crying whilst listening to 20,000 Deaths for Eidelyn Gonzalez & Jamie Peterson. Where have we gone? Where will we go? It's time to pray and pray. Another sickly sentimental story tonight: A young boy was held up in strings by the children's hospital, and his caregiver was loft and unoccupied with her duties. She told the boy to find some courage in his self and pick up the glass that was by the end of his table, and so he tried, and so he failed. The glass splintered off into a million cords and chords, and tomorrow the boy will be mercy-killed by the caregiver, as the strings holding him by are growing too large and dissonant. They each emit some frequency and it's all starting to escape the human range of hearing. Tonight the boy will cry, he does not have a favorite song because he never got to hear one. He does not have a favorite toy because he did not get to play with one. He does not have any hobbies, he does not have a favorite meal, he has never seen the color purple. Tomorrow the sky will fade into maroon obscurity as he is brought onwards. Tomorrow night the rain will be purple.

07_09_26

"When I went away I thought about disassociative elements. And what leads to depersonalize, at least inasmuch as your hypothetical hominid is concerned. You feel confused? Pick up a glass of water and feel like you're interacting with a prop on an empty soundstage? Does a wet glass surface feel like skin to you?"

Exactly 51 weeks and 6 days ago I wrote a profoundly long half-published diary entry detailing every part of my structure that was collapsing at its seams. I wrote of relations that were coming to an end and I wrote of every person I had stopped talking to. I wrote about how afraid of the future I was.

51 weeks and 6 days later I find myself still afraid, still trying to recuperate from the hole I dug and crippled myself into falling into, and I chose to do this with the knowledge that maybe things would get better as a result. For some time I had a fake album on a label I do not own with an equally lengthy and confessional length to its nature detailing my life story because I never thought I'd keep going long enough to make it materialize otherwise.

Right now I wonder what the best course is.

Today and many months ago I wrote of a fake story in which Stars of the Lid play a cathedral show and rise hundreds of feet in the air; In its original publication I did not give it a traditional ending, today I did not give it neither a start nor an end. All I wrote was that McBride, just as the audience, looked onward in a hush. Silence! Doubt! Fear.

"It is fear that drives us, it is fear that keeps us humane." It is fear that I have tried to find myself in to little avail. It is fear that makes me stare at the moon, it is fear that makes me stare at red traffic lights and stop like a car, it is fear that makes my eyesight all watery and blurry like a bad camera. I find a lot of reality in this idea of fear. It has kept me going. 

✴

✴ I have been employing this design for the past few years to convey all stars, sometimes to convey angels, sometimes to convey robots. It is an eight-pointed star which I tend to draw with the diagonal lines caved-in to differentiate it from an asterisk. I first saw this star when I was inputting various star emoticons for a project, I clicked on this one by accident (which was incorrectly represented as an emoji in my picker) and became mesmerized by its look. Since this point, no other star has compared. No other star has been one I care for. ✴

Liyala

If it's temporary: I hope you're better when you're back.

If it's forever:

I didn't know you. I was a passing light in your life because you found yourself entranced by my writing. For a long time I found myself heavily at odds with you because of this, and some part of me is currently wrestling if writing this right now is even appropriate because of it. You were a self-described-to-me intricate person with more layers underneath the surface, layers which you never got to show me. You were very curious, as a person and as an object of interest. You were in a subset of internet user I mocked, I never allowed myself to believe you really cared about what I was writing, but in your last few days you came to me and asked how I first learnt I was transgender. I struggled to give you an answer, for in all my time being this way, I never found the comfort in a complete belief that you must have been looking for, and I did not want to give you the same answer I had for myself, "I don't fully know it yet."

I don't fully know if you're gone yet, writing this is preliminary and based on our collective fear over you waving goodbye. You were always gloomy in my time but I know a thousand sad people so I did not take it to mean anything this far. I must admit in my past I've known other suicidal people (that acted in different ways), and I still know one person who disappeared for a few months, but what he did in those months is a mystery he chose not to share with any of us. Currently I sit wondering if you're doing the same or not.

You liked my writing. I appreciate that a lot. You even liked my writing on my first account, which you didn't know was mine. I told you about my album first and you never got to hear it, I apologize. I can't find it, nor can I find it in me, to do anything about now.

Knowing this little about you is complicated now. Wherever you are I hope you're better now. Our last conversation was me trying to explain to you what some terminology meant. 

Fly away in whatever wings you wanted most, dear. Rest in peace.

I think you learnt about this song because it was on a review of mine. If that was the case, then that pain I was describing still hurts, and maybe even more now, in a new way, in a new world.

07_08_26

"Eden's soiled with fascists"

Hope you're better wherever you are. Rest in peace.

07_07_26 (Maria Elena Walsh - Canciones para mí)

(A short one today) 

Interpretacion de "Cancion de bañar la luna" aludiendo a los jardines en escalera, y una escena tal cual
como la magia de la deriva, soplando y volando entre los ultimos sesenta años.

 

Ya la luna baja en camisón                                             (En el piso, un reflejo lilac del árbol de jazmines
A bañarse en un charquito con jabón                   casi tal cual como un girasol, te encontrabas asombrada
          Ya la luna baja en tobogán                                                por un sentido de balance restaurado)
                Revoleando su sombrilla de azafrán

                                         *                  Quien la pesque con una cañita de bambú
(Imparable la tortuga               *                                                 Se la lleva a Siu Kiu
            tal cual como el joven conejo          *  
                         siempre viviendo                              *                                 Ya la luna viene en palanquín
     en imaginaria competencia)                                                          A robar un crisantemo del jardín
                                                           *                                            Ya la luna viene por allí
                             *                                                              Su kimono dice no, no y ella sí
                                                                                                                                                        ♥
         *              Quien la pesque con una cañita de bambú
                           Se la lleva a Siu Kiu
                                                                                    (En esta edad, solo vos recordás la cara que
   Ya la luna baja muy feliz                                    tenias la primera vez que pudiste entender el otoño.
A empolvarse con azúcar la nariz          ♥                                            No es tan maravilloso? Se 
      Ya la luna en puntas de pie                            caen    y     caen    y    caen    las hojas, pero después,
            En una tacita china toma té                                                        con toda la fuerza del mundo,
                                                                                                                    hacen como si renacieran.)
      Quien la pesque con una cañita de bambú                             \ 
                                                       Se la lleva a Siu Kiu              \ 
_        _                    _        _            _            _     __
 ~  $    ~       ~     $    ~   ~       ~     ~   $        ~       $                                      Ya la luna vino y le dio tos 
 /             .                .                 .                       .    /                          Por comer con dos palitos el arroz
/        .                                .                   .              /              Ya la luna baja desde allá                     ♥
                  .                                    .                 /        Y por el charquito-quito nadará      ♥

Quien la pesque con una cañita de bambú
Se la lleva a Siu Kiu.