letters-into-the-void

[letters-into-the-void]

It seems like the older I get, the more irrationally angry casual censorship makes me. And it isn't just the "unalive" "grape" alleged filter-dodging vernacular, but the way normal words will be peppered with asterisks, or screenshots will have words like "gay" "hell" "fuck" etc either partially or entirely blurred. Who is this helping? What is the purpose of it, except to reinforce shame and elevate a flimsy perception of purity and safety, however those things manifest. It's so tiresome and I'm sick of it.

[letters-into-the-void]

[letters-into-the-void]

on survival

-// @aridante // @orivu // @buzzkillgirls // ? // ? // richard siken// @cemeterything // moomin, tove jansson// @disenchanted-killjoy // isn't that enough, shawn mendes// @ prettytheyswag on twitter// @ coletyumuch on twitter// ? // ? // bird by bird, anne lamott// undertale// @strawberrycircuits

[letters-into-the-void]

Overheard at the airport: an exasperated man to his son at TSA "there are plenty of reasons [your brother's bag] could have been flagged, none of which mean he did anything"

[letters-into-the-void]

June 27, 2025 1:19 a.m.

Why do I want to feel the pain?

Remembering the good things about you

It's the pain and the melancholy of two puzzle pieces that just almost fit together.

But the thing about that, those two pieces, is that they don't fit together, and the more you try to make them fit, the more you stress and strain the pieces, elastically deforming them until they break.

And I tried. I tried so hard, but upon reflection, the thing I was trying to do was to be the first to break, bending myself so you wouldn't have to until I finally broke.

And I'm sorry I broke and maybe there was a point in time where I (we (I)) could have fixed it, but there comes a time where it's so broken can it even be fixed?

And maybe it could have, maybe your puzzle piece could have fit, but maybe that's only because my piece was so bent out of shape that the only thing I felt like I could do was keep bending.

And it's not your fault, but maybe after however many times of saying "I can't say no to you" it isn't really mine.

And maybe I loved you, but definitely I feared you, letting you down, and despite what you told me I do not think that I could ever measure up to the version of me in your head.

The version of me that never forgets, or is party to all the things you won't tell me, either because you can't or won't or thought you did but didn't and who's gaslighting who?

The version of me who is happy to be patient, rather than defeated.

The version of me that isn't me and I'm sorry, because that guy sounds amazing, doesn't he?

But I'm just me, and that's fine, but me and you just doesn't work like it used to, because really how much did it ever work without us ignoring the obvious.

Obviously not enough.

November 12, 2024 3:53 a.m.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Why do I have to coax you like a feral cat?

Why does it never feel like my love is enough?

Until it does, and then it doesn't, but then it does.

Why do you drag me down and then forget about the well?

How do you forgive so easily?

Why do you forget my name but not my broken promises?

Why can't I forgive myself?

Why am I so scared?

Forever's not so long,

Not the way you put it.

Forever's not a time to me, but a promise,

And I try not to break my promises

By trying not to make my promises.

Because despite all the things I've never done despite planning to do otherwise,

Saying I'll do otherwise.

I keep my promises.

My verbal promises.

My letter-of-the-law-not-the-spirit-of-it promises.

My shitty promises.

Why do I continue to disappoint you?

Is it because I am disappointing, you as I disappoint myself,

Or is it because in trying to see the best in everyone you look past what is in me?

Why can't you enjoy things? Why must everything be racist or sexist or misogynist. Why can't it just be what it is? Why can't I enjoy my media the same as before?

Why must you cling to me every second we coexist?

I feel like all my time goes to you, and yet it's never enough or it's never right or we're always fighting.

Why is the only vestige of the strong, independent, woman I love, an inability to ask for help?

Because I love you, and I would run to you, to help you with anything,

But the plan always changes,

I'm always behind

And when I need you to make my day, is always the time when I'm failing to make yours.

The sky can never fall for me, just for you or maybe us.

And when it's worst for you, you always make it worse for me.

I don't know how to say all this.

I don't know if I want to say all this.

But if I have all this to say, how can I say forever?

Could you say forever?

I'm scared I'm just the first guy to be nice to you, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life putting your pieces back together.

I'm scared I'm missing out on the shit show that is dating in your twenties.

I'm scared that you don't have any friends, and the more time I spend with you, the less friends I have.

I'm scared I won't have a best man at the wedding you keep asking hypothetical questions about.

I'm scared of ruining a good thing.

What if all of this is wrong?

What if it does get better?

What if it's not that bad? Or I'm overreacting?

I'm sorry,

I love you.

[letters-into-the-void]

November 12, 2024 3:53 a.m.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Why do I have to coax you like a feral cat?

Why does it never feel like my love is enough?

Until it does, and then it doesn't, but then it does.

Why do you drag me down and then forget about the well?

How do you forgive so easily?

Why do you forget my name but not my broken promises?

Why can't I forgive myself?

Why am I so scared?

Forever's not so long,

Not the way you put it.

Forever's not a time to me, but a promise,

And I try not to break my promises

By trying not to make my promises.

Because despite all the things I've never done despite planning to do otherwise,

Saying I'll do otherwise.

I keep my promises.

My verbal promises.

My letter-of-the-law-not-the-spirit-of-it promises.

My shitty promises.

Why do I continue to disappoint you?

Is it because I am disappointing, you as I disappoint myself,

Or is it because in trying to see the best in everyone you look past what is in me?

Why can't you enjoy things? Why must everything be racist or sexist or misogynist. Why can't it just be what it is? Why can't I enjoy my media the same as before?

Why must you cling to me every second we coexist?

I feel like all my time goes to you, and yet it's never enough or it's never right or we're always fighting.

Why is the only vestige of the strong, independent, woman I love, an inability to ask for help?

Because I love you, and I would run to you, to help you with anything,

But the plan always changes,

I'm always behind

And when I need you to make my day, is always the time when I'm failing to make yours.

The sky can never fall for me, just for you or maybe us.

And when it's worst for you, you always make it worse for me.

I don't know how to say all this.

I don't know if I want to say all this.

But if I have all this to say, how can I say forever?

Could you say forever?

I'm scared I'm just the first guy to be nice to you, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life putting your pieces back together.

I'm scared I'm missing out on the shit show that is dating in your twenties.

I'm scared that you don't have any friends, and the more time I spend with you, the less friends I have.

I'm scared I won't have a best man at the wedding you keep asking hypothetical questions about.

I'm scared of ruining a good thing.

What if all of this is wrong?

What if it does get better?

What if it's not that bad? Or I'm overreacting?

I'm sorry,

I love you.

[letters-into-the-void]

I like to spin a duck on an office chair in my head

the human mind is prone to catastrophizing when left unoccupied. And that’s why it’s important to always have a little Blorbo to rotate in your head. It acts as a protective charm of sorts to redirect your imagination away from harmful spirals

thoughts without Blorbo: oh my god I was so cringe in seventh grade why did I do that

thoughts with Blorbo: I haven’t considered the interactions with bleebus; I must rectify this immediately

[letters-into-the-void]

I find "you are a Planeswalker" silly and juvenile. Do people really take that seriously?

Yes.

As larger life advice, besmirching things because they don't personally appeal to you is a bit dismissive of other people and their interests. Instead of instantly rejecting things because they don't appeal to you immediately, perhaps take a moment to learn why people enjoy something you do not. It might lead to you learning something that might change how you think about things.

[letters-into-the-void]

[letters-into-the-void]

I'm pretty sure I had to wrestle a woman when I wrestled in middle school too, and while nothing like this happened, middle school me was definitely yelling at myself not to be weird (which is at least a little bit weird in and of itself if we're being honest, but the intent is there I suppose) the entire time.

I also did not wrestle the next year, but that was because I didn't feel like I fit in with the other wrestlers, and when I told the coach that, him replying by telling me that they could really "use my grade point average to bring up the team's average" somehow didn't convince me to come back.

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[letters-into-the-void]

craving that mineral with mama

[letters-into-the-void]

Turn up the bassoon I cant hear the bassoon

[letters-into-the-void]

Reminds me of that God awful secret lair with the alpha planes walkers where the entire text box just explains how planeswalkers works.

All these talks of retro frames. I want a Secret Lair of the jankety Alpha formatting.

[letters-into-the-void]

controversial take but math really isn’t that hard and i don’t understand why the criticism of anti-intellectualism stops at math. people will go on about poor media literacy and then be like oh but math is too hard, gays can’t do math, i’m just a girl and math is scary.

sorry but understanding fractions is just as important as recognizing literary themes. if you want to protect yourself from propaganda and misinformation you need to understand statistics and be comfortable thinking with numbers.

[letters-into-the-void]

2018 tumblr post:

1: why do they call it a boner when theres no bone in it

2: there used to be

3: why does this sound so ominous

2025 tumblr post:

1: forward my shambling soldiers and slay without thinking. let blood flow into every crevice of this rotten land

2: yes my lady

3: yes my lady

[letters-into-the-void]

forward my shambling soldiers and slay without thinking. let blood flow into every crevice of this rotten land

[letters-into-the-void]

we need to slow down a little I'm so serious. all these quick short videos on tiktok, ig reels, and youtube, artists releasing quick little songs for the trend, tv shows releasing episodes at once, people using chat gpt and google ai overview because they get answers quickly but no validation done for the source, we need to sloww downn i really do not think our brains should be running this fast