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too preoccupied to write; too drained; not a block, an absence of attentiveness; distracted

tour's over, go home

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lewd

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06102025 12:20am in sleeper van otw to hotel between antwerp and paris

i experience plenty of trials and tribulations on the road. but there are many aspects of tour that i thoroughly enjoy--

there are minimal distractions and lots of downtime. i can't make plans with people, no one can ask me to anything (for the most part), there is no home to maintain, no long solo commutes across los angeles and back, no errands, and though i am constantly surrounded by people, we all learn to find solitude and peace intrinsically. as humans you must, even when you physically can't. you become very accustomed to being silent around others, even people you met just 5 days ago. they are already family, they already know i am a human who bleeds sleeps bathes eats. i find myself sitting with ideas thoughts words sounds imagery, which i don't do often at home, where i am constantly juggling countless things at once.

i am lying in the dark in my bunk in said van, lulled by the bumps and sensations of the road, shuffling every song i have liked on spotify in my usb-c wired apple earbuds. it is one of the only spaces i find myself in which i am actually listening to music. that might sound odd coming from a musician. usually i consume music passively, wait for it to grasp my attention and take me out of the primary focus of the moment-- driving, editing, writing, cooking, cleaning, whatever. or am i dancing and singing along in some sort of social setting with friends. i simply cannot find pauses in normal life. to sit and listen and pay attention feels like a task, like something i must set aside time for, so naturally i don't. instead it plays and i wait for it to strangle and slam me into itself, or else it is useless, not good, white noise, and it might as well be silent in the room, because i'm not fucking listening. a multitude of characteristics can successfully take hold of me viscerally, but not often. when it does happen, i deem said song good. because it caught my attention. that must mean i like it and that it is interesting. this explains my obsession with hooks and aggression and no time wasted in music.

i have nothing i can do in this van. my efficiency seeking mind turns off, and i become attentive and attuned to the details. i can listen to intricacies and feel immersed in my cot, sensory deprived, consumed and washed over. i can look out the window while being driven, i don't have to stop go stop go i am taken care of and can look and see and choose whatever i want to hear and hours pass and no one bothers me. the destination is always venue or somewhere mundane, like a shitty hotel where i go to bed. it is so sweet and i feel like i am a human who is in between.

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when regranted access to our sphere, my words transfigure from philosophical conjectures and disaffected documentation to poetic ardor...

a newfound awareness:

i guess that is what one calls a muse

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SYNTHESIS OF VIOLENCE AND HARMONY; RAVAGING SUBLIMITY

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@madonnapopstar12

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you're so fucking hot

i can't help but notice the gap between a thousand days and 3 years and a month

nothing is coming out

i didn't think we were going to do that

scattered and incoherent

well. maybe that's the point.

only if it is pertainingtome

plastic bag and a botswana agate, filtering, reflection, is that your new move?

tell me if you want to go home

i don't worry about that sort of thing with YOU

i guess i should work on my demeanor.

go through an entire box of matches in one sitting, go through an entire loaf of brioche in one sitting, slice the strawberries up as fine as you can, with one continuous motion, as slow as possible, and taste the outcome, salt the outcome

i can feel it and it's heavy and i wonder if it was 4 people who saw it or just myself, i wonder if you can turn it on and off, i think i know what you are talking about, it's like finally realizing the answer to a really hard wordle. if i keep feeding into this feeling i am going to get in trouble, and i hate being in trouble. it feels surreal in here, bizarre, alternate, does it sound like my voice? are you sure? what hasn't happened? if it hasn't happened how can it happen again?

what happens if you keep creating without ever consuming?

i don't have much of a filter in here, in some ways i do.

once time passes you can tell if you really wanted it or not.

really? this song kinda sucks.

i wear it on me like its a souvenir.

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DREAM FROM LAST NIGHT

we have to hurry up because jess texted us that she wanted to get to the campsite early so she could "do a gummy and pass out," which is bizarre, considering she is straight edge.

i am with frazer, keyan, and one other unidentifiable person. we are trying to escape the rain, so we step into my dads old garage, stuck halfway open. we all have to squeeze because it is filled with objects you would typically find in a dad's garage--tool boxes and work benches lining all the walls, a car, bicycles, old lockers for storage...

i am barefoot. my feet are extremely cold.

frazer kicks two specks of wet sand onto my shirt in the process. i am slightly disheveled by this and pick them off while stepping in, but don't mention anything.

i look at a bunch of our abandoned shoes from childhood on a rack for a while, hunched over uncomfortably since there is no room for me to move anywhere else.... the boys notice all of the shoes from behind my crouched body, and laugh light-heartedly about them.

different sizes of crocs, worn old school vans, sizes that once fit me

THE OLDER THEY ARE, THE YOUNGER YOU WERE

i try to squeeze on an old pair of vans on my bare feet in desperation. i don't succeed. the boys chatter on. 

someone from behind me pulls out a canister, and offers everyone whippits.

i am finally able to stand up and turn around-- they are all in a circle passing it around, i am saying nothing.

keyan is particularly excited about his first experience doing them,

"WHIPPITS ARE AWESOME"

i stoically ask to do a whole one.

"of course"

i am handed the can and charge it with the candor and ease only someone who was a barista for several years would have done.

they all look at me while i inhale in silence.

end

i am awoken by maria, jason's mom, hitting my dangling feet while opening the door to her daughters room, as i lie on the children's cot she set up for me to sleep on last night

"sorry im just grabbing underwear for the girls. do you wanna go sleep in my room now? its really dark in there..."

i make a weird noise, a "just awoken" noise, and slightly sit up while she fetches the underwear. 

"...or you can stay in here if you want"

i must've said i'll do that. 

i get up a few moments later, fold all the blankets, replace the plethora of stuffed animals and destroyed baby dolls to their spots on the bed, and plug their night light back into the outlet.