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got welcomed as a researcher at a school so i can ask strange questions and listen to what goes unsaid. lost a bit of my sight for three months and stumbled onto other forms of thinking while i couldn't read. i do know what i want to say now but i need a new language for it. cherished old things vanished into a deep relief. 2023~2024 was this, maybe. the rest i've already forgotten

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i do miss it here a lot

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i was so foolish. the lighthouse crawls within

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very much wine drunk on a sunday night thinkin about all the stuff i gotta make it right. hold on (just a bit)

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nikes frank ocean is unbelievable. we will see the future first

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i think the last months i’ve both withdrew from and invested myself into things bc they were too intense and meaningful and not how i want it to be and so there are people i don’t go a day not thinking about but if i have to answer the two questions i’ve been getting (why have you vanished? will you still be here?) then i don’t know. i don’t know bc even if i’d love to what i want and what i must not always align and even if i entertain the possibilities i am a chance ruiner and disappearance junkie and i don’t really know how to say i love being around you but i need to be as far away as possible when i mean both things very much. but i’m not complaining. i may dislike it but i don’t resent it. i fuck up my life as a second nature but this is true this feels pure. u know?

life is insane

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life is insane

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I was, you will understand, entering the kingdom of death, though why this landscape was so conventional I could not say. Here, too, the days were very long while the years were very short. The sun sank over the far mountain.  The stars shone, the moon waxed and waned. Soon faces from the past appeared to me: my mother and father, my infant sister; they had not, it seemed,  finished what they had to say, though now I could hear them because my heart was still.

- Louise Glück, An Adventure

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Ocean Vuong, from “Not Even”, Time Is a Mother

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my mother tells me she talks with my dead grandfather ("from before depression contaminated his thought process"), asks me and you?, i say yeah with my brother all the time, she says of course, you two were always together, we chop other things into the soup

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Osip Mandelstam, from Voronezh Notebooks; “Rome”

Text ID: Today—angels. Tomorrow—maggots.

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Angel Making Music, after Matthias Grünewald, 2014

Ink and acrylics on paper, 21.3 x 20.5 cm

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