etchingstoalostgod

[etchingstoalostgod]

sorry for the lack of metaphors; too tired for that today.

my world spins a bit faster than my vinyls and i think that might be a bit of a problem. i want to find something to do when i can't sleep but too tired to do anything of value. i think fighting makes it worse but maybe i haven't tried hard enough. i want to read but i want to zone out even more. i think i'm going to write my novel only when i'm tired so i can blame the quality on the lack of my health.

do you think i can make it?

and not even in the artistic way, just the have a stable job kind of way or even the living to your fifties kind of way? because i really don’t know anymore. you think being thirty is ancient until you realise the difference between your seventies and nineties, is birth and university. perhaps seventies is the new twenties?

i think i want to live… well, only sometimes and i don’t know how to be okay with that because suicide was a plan and now i don't think i have another… well than be an oil painter, i guess? and i don’t think that really counts so what the fuck am i supposed to do. live with my parents forever? i feel like i need to apologise to them.

sorry about not texting in a while. i know you think i'm ignoring you but i truly just hate talking to humans sometimes and i just need a break from everything and i don’t know how to tell you that without making you feel bad. i want to have children but i don’t think i'm ever going to meet someone who i actually want to live with for the rest of my life. and not in the i don’t think anyone can love me kind of way. falling in love is the easy part. its them being okay with the fact i just want a life bestie and not a very romantic relationship is the hard part. i think i just attract the hopeless romantics.

i thought i'd be better by now. four surgeries and counting. and i can't tell if my problems are getting worse or changing into different ones and i'm not sure which is better.

the only person that worries more about my lack of employment more than me must be my parents. my dad even suggested i do that thing where you exploit gambling apps promos to making money, but little does he know, if i do that i think i'll just actually become an addict and the only think stopping me at the moment is unemployment and avoidance. you would never have guessed i was a bright and promising in my youth so much so that a member of parliament came to my publicly funded high school to give me a stem award that i never even knew i was nominated for. versus now, hardly being about to do trade school part time because it gives me too many migraines and never wanting to leave my bed because the world is just too much and i'm just too sensitive.

do you think fifteen year old would like who i have become?

i'm not sure i want to answer that.

written: 8/06/2025.

[etchingstoalostgod]

lost god journals #1: directions.

dear lost god,

i'm feeling lazy today. and the next day. and the one after that… the heat does that to you, you know. maybe i should read a comic. i haven't done that in a while. i wanted to write but i don’t know, you know? theres nothing i want to say—or really there's too much i want to say and no more energy to say it. i'm really not sure. part of me wants to create some tunes which i haven't done in quite a while. renaissance man and all that. pick a struggle? i think reading is a good option. all of elf quests won't read themselves. i need to find somewhere to read in this house, that’s not my bedroom which i still need to clean and clean good—and clean my study while i'm at it.

i have all these clothes that don’t fit me because of pcos and i don’t know what i should do with them. donate them or pray i'll be eighty kilograms again? i'm doing those savory breakfasts and all, it's just hard to exercise when you're born with a fucked up heart. i'm tyring, i really am. i think the reading is a good idea, to be honest. i want to not care about being fat and on some logical level i don’t, but being the chubby greek wog through all primary school and high school is just something i can't forget. if you know, you know. also being fat just makes my chest larger. its harder to bind—plus the open heart surgery scar isn't helping. i just want to fit into my greek-mother-bargained designer trench coat again.

i wish i was more alone. i need more boubis and me time—i think my cat would agree. should i stay with yiayia on sunday? probably. what am i even going to do? go out? to get more uncurable migraines? plus, boubis loves it there. so, yeah, i guess i should. i'll probs be tired from saturday and i need the greek lessons. i don’t know how hot it's going to be, thirty, thirty-five degrees?

i need to read more and i need a new belt—well not any new belt, a need another pappou belt. one fat greek to another. i think that’s what i need to do in my life, read a lot more. it’s not been a good reading year. too much youtube and not enough of anything else. i have the time. though to be fair, i've been so tired the last year and what do i even do?

i want to read more art magazines like a lot more art magazines, you know. my library has them all on libby. that’s where the contemporary art world happens. i just want to be up to date and know more, you know. less art instagram which makes me so miserable. it's just so fleeting but no matter how many galleries close, it won't end your career. oil paintings are just better in person than on little black screens. i have been a lot better about this the last two years, since starting art school. it can just be hard with all this pain. so i think i need to read more art books. i really do need to go through my instagram follows and follow people i want to and not just because i liked a painting i saw for five seconds.

i want to go to canberra again. it’s a ghost town but it has massive galleries—for australian standards anyway—  that are also ghost towns. just how i like seeing art.

yours,

nektari

post script: 4/06/2025.

i think that i must write you letters more directly. only sometimes, though, don't worry, the ravings will come back soon. i don’t know it feels right to write this. i keep a journal that no one will ever read—well, actually maybe you can and all. i don’t know what (lost)god powers you have, if any but maybe it's just you and me and the post-deathies. but its not the same. i think i'm falling in love with the backspace key.

this is something new for both of us.

written: 6/02/2025.

edited: 4/06/2025.

[etchingstoalostgod]

daemoniacs searching for a discount.

there’s something about despair in the air or is it just the accidental butter under the avocado on avocado toast? i think it is happening right now. stamina bars that you can fill up with chocolate and tzatziki and not whatever the fuck quinoa is. and it is happening again. too many small little men on ipad screen for my own good, sometimes it’s a girl but i'm just afraid of who might be watching. it is happening all the time and i don’t even know. i think i need to see a therapist about it. the man in red is gone, but he always comes back when its four am and i start believing that actually maybe i can learn to sew a suit from the phantom of the opera, what the fuck is stopping m—well, it is stopping me and it is still happening again.

i don’t know if i'm going to die —well, i don’t think i'm going to die but i feel like this kind of pain is not what i would call being young and free.

written: 23/03/2025.

edited: 4/06/2025.

[etchingstoalostgod]

dogs will be dogs but cats will just meow at your for more.

16/11/24. edited 4/02/2025.

manners should dictate to say thank you and touch some bark however ive started to jab thin little needles into my tummy which upsets all the creatures that call it home. so im in no mood to converse with mother nature and in all mood to correct my friends on their incorrect compliments. me being someone's favourite author is like oscar wilde being your favourite philosopher, laughable at best, deranged at worst. apologies to the very few cyber friends who have relayed such information. suggesting that some required reading of virginia woolf or lorraine hansberry should be in order but i suspect all of my friends are too bias to have a correct opinion.

a small part of me wishes i was great, and even smaller part of me knows i am great. raging narcissists with too much people pleasing tendencies from some bullshit childhood trauma or whatever for anyone to even notice at first impression. my toxic trait is that i believe that god complexes are a blessing not a hindrance. of course im always right, im always right. you know it and i do too. why would i not be a god among mere men? i mean look at me. a unlucky genius with too few opportunities but never living up to his potential doesnt make any one think any more about him. i just need more time i say one more year to try and make it through.

its funny when you start writing random words on the internet you don't really expect much to come of it, at best here and there some nice comments from strangers and at worst people telling you to slit your wrist.

now for work, work and then some more work.

[etchingstoalostgod]

μήπως θα λέω κάτι διαφορετικό κάποια άλλη μέρα

15/11/24. edited 4/02/2025

write. write. write. and write some more. something like that. sketchbooks but for writers. a hand, a leaf, a still life or whatever the fuck a donna tart said. i suppose the quote is now lost to the ages. but i guess this is what this all is. i wished i actually liked the secret history. perhaps you shouldn’t write a gay man wedding a woman. i digress. confessions of hypothetical sins of a jealous orthodox boy who wishes he had confession in church. theres a reason why no one needed therapist back then. five year old girls refusing to sing old greek orthodox chants with the γιαγούλες because none of these sounds appear in the most holy of biblical texts greek beauty and the beast. memories the rhythm of the riddles, inspect the stained glass, stand and do the cross only when all the other παππούδες do. letters to my ancestors that hid jewish greeks in their basement from the nazi regime to help them escape because he was a doctor and they never check doctors houses. i don’t need advice, i cant change the past and my greek is mediocre at best but i think i need to tell him ποτέ θα ξεχάσουμε γιατί για πάντα θα ζήσεις.

[etchingstoalostgod]

dough drunk dionysus dressed in drag

28/1/25 – 3/02/25

you are like the sweet drop of death on the morning after talking, or should i say monologuing, at strangers about the difference between shoegazing and dream pop until two am because they were too drunk to stop you and you were too manic to even try. i thought baking was for put together mothers who after she take off her pink face masks, cry herself to sleep, not because her husband is sleeping with her best friend but because her best friend will only sleep with her when shes a drag version of her husband. i thought your father got a settlement from an oil company but actually he received venture capital for trying to make copper mining web3, for him to just spent it all instead on private research firm funding how to turn water into wine.

we all want it. and she's got it. i know it's only from up above but she don’t got it any less. she thought it was overrated and i think shes kind of right but that’s only the sort of thing you say when there's enough to go round. and besides she never leaves her basement so what does she know about life.

to the hoodwinkers and trickers of the underground, its time for robin hoods to steal robin costumes and b/r/atmobiles and get to work. san francisco dykes with their buzz cuts and decaying leather jackets guillotining bruce wayne, not for being filthy rich but for having so much belief in the amercian justice system if you just caught the evil red head, the system would do the rest. with your fifteen artificial grape scented candles on your alter to διόνυσος because you just seem to keep on buying too many boys drinks, dream of owning a vineyard and all the leopard print you're been seeing lately at the club. you're not even greek but you're amercian and you're mother told you that we've got english, scottish and a bit of hungarian ancestry and that's close enough, right?.

[etchingstoalostgod]

tuesdays are never as rich as the next to follow

28/01/2025. edited 3/02/2025.

pilots going on their phones just before their planes crash into the pacific ocean just to keep up their snapchat streaks. i never thought weather would be the end of the world but here we are with the wrath of God coming upon us not because his mad but because the rich don’t care. time opens empty wounds just for them to be sown up by my fountain pen when i change the colour from black to lime green. i thought i used to love you. i think i used to love boys or did i just watch too many romcoms. trash bags full of books i read and loved but i found out the author responds to negative reviews so in solidarity i have too through them away too. mountains are like empty snowflakes in the wind of when γιαγιάδες tell you to eat all our food or you will never be strong.

[etchingstoalostgod]

sign posts and checkered flags: on new years resolutions

28/12/2024 - 11/01/2025 - 23/01/2025

i suppose this is time of the year where everyone writes their new year's resolutions that they never stick to or the time was a week or two ago (now more lol) when i started writing this post but alas my brother gave me his christmas flu as he couldn’t resist telling me about his new french perfume website that he had to buy from. he said hes sorry and bought me honey and lemon buttermethols which have such a weird syrup inside i don’t know how one could call it lemon nor honey. im sure he will forget like everyone else does that i do not have a good functioning immune system but at least its not covid just one of the other five virus going around the christmas time despite the fact it is summer so i guess the viruses have evolved to withstand the australian heat.

if you will allow me to be a bit self-indulgent as if this isnt my blog, i want to reflect on the year and do the whole setting resolutions thing but in my case smashing goals is quite a past time i have. i need to write more of them down as it might be a bit of life hack for getting me to actually do things.

on writing this post its spawn about ten other posts as apparently i love introspection and i'm having some time alone from the delete button because i'm just trying to figure things out. some of the posts have turn into to more life goals but i guess this is my blog and i can do whatever i please. i want to just get them out of the way but i just keep writing more and more so pray that i finish them by march.

2024 was… well… a year… i guess? it's complicated to say the least. part of me feels like i should have loved it completing my first year of art school and part of me feels like i should hate it as it was filled with sickness, tiredness, migraines and all the other ways my body tries to attack me. it hardly felt like a year and in other ways felt like three. if there's some silver lining i did get quite a lot better at art, who knew that going to art school would do that. which maybe didn’t help with my tiredness but it's not as if you can complete art school four times.

im glad my parents convinced me to go despite watching endless amercians on the internet hating their art schools. whenever i would post about thinking about going to art school, many people even those who i barely knew told me it wasn’t worth it. i feel so bad for these people who seemingly felt like they wasted all this time just to go into debt for life. i was convinced art school would suck the life out of drawing and i'd drop out after the first year but how wrong that all is. it's really the place i need to be.

before art school all the art advice i ever got was from popular artists on the internet and the thing is that is there very good at making popular art on the internet and that’s just their thing. the advice is find your niche and stick to it and don’t really stray away from it. but who really even makes art like that? i want to learn how to create anything i want from life and imagination and i don’t want to fill limited by my skills but empowered by them. learning is just a very slow process. being an artist to me is less about the money out of it but more dedicating your life to be the eternal student. all my teachers just say experiment, experiment, experiment. and i think their right. if i never would have gone to art school, i would have just painted little portrait paintings in my room all day and maybe a few landscapes but i don’t know if i would have some much else to show. now ive done clay sculpture, digital photography, charcoal drawing, gouache painting, mix media, digital animation, collage, life drawing, still life drawing, a bit of everything. and im a better artist for it.

theres nothing like the environment of art school. i wish it could last forever, and that real life was just like that. my teachers talk a lot about needing to find community as an artist and their right. after i graduate which i'm quite a ways off, finding community as an artist is one of the most important things i have to do.

i'm sort of already finding it through my life drawing university club. it's mainly animation students and only a few fine arts students but i quite like being the quirky painter while everyone else draws into their sketchbook. if there's truly one way to easily improve as a visual artist, it's going to life drawing and especially if you hate drawing the figure. i feel so fortune to have the ability to turn up and i almost wish i turned up earlier, perhaps i would already be rembrandt by now but the past is the past, is it not. the life drawing club put my artwork for the cover of their end of year gallery show which was quite exciting. though i couldn’t attend because of my health or lack thereof, in fact i stopped attending life drawing all together towards the end of the year, all the more reason to go next year (which is now this year as i'm writing but you know when school starts again).

i suppose i should talk about friendship because it's quite a great strain in my life. i made no new friends this year. i'm not great at keeping conversations, reading social cues or even if the other person simply liked having a talking with me. i don’t really get it. however, if i'm able to make friends anywhere it will be art school or life drawing club. people actually talk to me in class, which is a start, well when they are not walking away from me which for some reason happens quite often (i am actually sorry i just really love talking about painting). i'm not sure if friends are optional but at the moment i don’t have much of an option. though i'll tell you what, making a new a1 paintings every time the models changes pose even from the first four 30 second poses right until the last 20-minute pose is a real conversation starter.

although on friendship, i feel i must mention my house cat. i never realise how much joy and love a cat would give me but he really has. we got him in the middle of 2023 and it’s the best decision my family has ever made in my life. i love that he loves me unconditionally despite the fact that he only meows and i just hug him to death. theres no conversations to fail or social cues to miss read. this kind of love just makes sense. i used to have a cat when i was very little but he was always outside, and his claws freaked me out so we were never the best of friends. my current cat is so dumb and sweet and sleeps against my legs every night. and when he sees a fly, he runs after it until the fly gives up or my mum kills it and gives it to him, for him to then try to eat and spit it out for the next hout as he only eats what the vet describes as mcdonalds of cat food.

during late autumn to early winter, i stayed with my yiayia(grandma) this year and re learnt a lot of greek that i had purposely lost as child when i found out exactly what it meant to be a greek in australia (perhaps more on that another day). it's lovely being able to speak with my yiayia again, more than saying γεια σου, τι κάνεις; (hello how are you). her english is always better than i give her credit for but not enough to never speak greek again. she told me i'm the only one who ever loves her anymore which seems to be the fate of a lot of grandparents but doesn’t make me what to cry any less. everything used to be so lost in translation and now things are slightly more found in the greek, or more greeklish i try to speak. my greek british cousins who are just as greek as me but wouldn’t even describe themselves as such, are in aw of my greek ability but live translating a greek dinsey film isnt the same as having political conversations with my yiayia.

i have at time written about new year's resolutions as one does on the internet, in my diary, scrap piece of paper or whatever and then proceed to never even look at them again. in time, i've found a love for goal setting as it has its place in my life. i know that challenges aren't for everyone but im secretly in love when little numbers going up. why write 4287 words when you can write 5000 words? much more beautiful. it's how i made myself do painting again.

the problem is with new year's resolutions is that i think goals should be forever changing depending on the circumstance. by that definition i will fail a lot of the goals i ever set. one day i would like to read all of shakespeare's plays but will i do that in 2025? probably not but perhaps june i will be the months where i binge them all. when the mood strikes, it stirkes and when will it strike again? so there's a lack of urgency in many of the goals i have and perhaps they are more of life goals than just this yearly goals. however, i must admit there is something so thrilling about setting new year's resolutions. the time of rebrith, the time of new mes.

goals are trash for me if they are not trackable or measurable. "do more exercise" makes no sense if i can't track to see what i am even aiming for, does only a step more count?

i heard people call this task inertia or context switching but i find it quite difficult to change my current tasks. getting out of bed every morning is literally a struggle not in a hyperbolic way but because i need to change my task from lying down to getting ready for the day and it always takes the longest amount of time possible. i work best if there is as little task switching as possible, of course that’s impossible, but i try. when it's been pretty bad, i used to just do everything from bed though i don't think that’s particularly healthy for the soul. it's why setting daily/weekly/monthly goals for me are useless. they will all fail. if i am in a painting mood, i only can paint and i have no motivation to do anything else despite needing to do other work and all i do is procrastinate everything by painting. on the flip side, it means when i start a task i find it very hard to stop. i need to lean in and hack my brain. all goals can be completed at any time and are not frequency bases like draw every week.

i don’t like having one number for a goal. if i have a goal to read 100 books and i only read 90 does that mean i failed?  my goals need more sliding scales so ive come up with a system of having bronze, silver and gold (maybe platinum) versions of my goals. in my mind when i make a goal i usually do make a minimum that i'm okay with, a realistic number and a dream number. why not write it down. i feel this is a more realistic way of setting goals for me. i don’t like the black and white of pass and fail, i need more of a margin of error. this might be giving grade vibes but i'm only marking for showing up and doing the work and that’s half the battle when your making art.

i've written quite a few more posts in depth about my goals they were initially going to be one big post but oh boy i never shut up and i thought it would be more manageable if i post multiple. at the moment i think they might be visual art, books, internet, writing, and idk misc? there are some goals i don’t need to talk about a lot. i'm not sure how much i'll even post but it's in one of my writing goals to post a lot more here.

[etchingstoalostgod]

for the mothers who need to go to therapy

22/01/2025

time is like a dark wound in my mother's chest that can never quite seem to be diagnosed by doctors because she refuses to see anyone who isnt greek. theres something soft in the water and when i try to touch it is gone like a cotton ghost custom in a party shop. i wish there was a flare too sickness that was refreshing, nothing to do in too little time, but feeling possessed by a screaming cricket reminds me too much of kafka for my liking. you don’t work enough when the toaster always seems to burn your pop tarts you stole from the store even though you have too much money to know what to do with because the rich never pay. painters who walk away from me because they're too scared to hear the truth that using acrylic paint won't make you caravaggio. for fish who pretend to lose their memory every few seconds to trick researchers that they need to be loved again. real tail therapy with your company’s money because it feels good when you forgetting adding seven to cart doesn’t mean seven rolls of electrical tape but seven entire boxes.

metaphors that don’t make sense just to keep the future academics debating where madness starts, and genius ends to even up realising that language is just as incomplete as mathematics.  i want more people to find God, not because i care much about belief but because i want to hear the greek gossip of the town not just from eighty year old women. sea rocks are the last thing you see after jumping over the do not enter sign to put vaperwave filter over the sunrise only to find cape barren geese are swarming towards so you so pretend to sleep but on second thought that might have just been the filter.

ordering your gravestone with a filtered picture of you that was meant to make you look older but instead makes you look like the grinch. you're not quite sure why you're green. but you give yourself green carnations anyway because self (grinch?) love, because of oscar wilde, because it goes with your green theme now. you say you little grinch? greek? bleak? pray about how you were always loved in life and even in death you stole christmas. only for someone claiming to be greek and your mum and your ride home that you always looked so similar to your great greek pappou (grandad). wait is some strange alternative beginning to dykettes?

fair floss always seems like a good deal because who doesn’t love big pink fluffy love on a stick but im really just throwing a tantrum in the middle of luna park to force my mum to buy me pink air while i cry before going on the ferris wheel because you see the seat swing and you think you're going to die. i tell myself i want to get better and i want to be okay but i'm too busy thinking about my dune fanficiton to actually do anything about it. stream of consciousness for writers who want to be virgina woolf so bad that they spend their days in bed from chronic illness, endless journaling because you think you're doing it for the craft and trying to get hot aristocrats to swoon over because you love the attention and lesbian sex then to just tell them off with their heads. or at least that’s what i got from her letters.

tackling a man at a supermarket over the last cookies and cream ice cream so you can pretend to cry about your ex that you were over months before she broke up with you while watching a three hour video essay about how winne the pooh is actually post structural critique of capitalism so just so you can pretend to feel human.

housewives who do too much and need better boundaries because they are not personal servants to every person in their lives but everyone else is either a man or sick and she has too many issues to ever see needing to help everyone as a problem not a strength. and when i try to tell her she doesnt listen, she never listens like i never listen so i know where i get it from but i want her to be happy and okay and know that she is loved and that things can just be inconvenient at time and let the men learn to live with not have enough protein bars in the fridge. he has a car. why am i the only one who wants to celebrate your birthday with cars anytime you say they are busy but we both know they can make the time they arent the ones working themselves to death. and there's no metaphors in this. just truth. and the type of vulnerability that i can only write on blogs to no one and the occasional stranger. and im scared she will even up in hospital again and she is doing too much for no real good reason other than its all she ever known.

[etchingstoalostgod]

sometimes its better to shut the fuck up and throw your phone at your neighbours window at least you'll get a fucking conversation out of that.

Alt title: sometimes it's better to throw your phone at your neighbours window just to start a fucking conversation.

4/12/2024

beds are only as fun as the time you spent playing super mario 64 in them. you thought it was good finical decision to buy the expansion pack version of nintendo online subscription with all the riveting wealth communication you have with other fellow switchers rather than spending every wonder trade getting a website nicknamed articuno, level hundred, with two illegal moves and like your even going to use it but you feel you can't trade a legendary pokemon that you cant even catch in this game. you keep wonder trading praying that one day you'll complete your pokedex because not even with the devils money am i ever going to buy violet. though you did spend forty hours playing a twenty year old tactical jrpg game which you could have emulated for free but now you can play it while lying on your bed. so maybe everything was all worth it.

when its pitch black and the knives are dancing in my little head, i really wish the switch would have a darker setting or maybe i should just shut the fuck up and live with the monsters under my bed and not try fighting them off with silly little magical animals.

expect for the hours i do spent with the monsters, and the witches, and the blades and the ghosts on hold with electrical company because we need to explain how we definitely paid all our bills so why the fuck are they cutting our electricity. waiting just to find out that customer service keeps failing to spell our name no matter how many times we scream it into the pay phone. we spent all our battery watching youtube videos of people picking locks that we might need to put around the knives so maybe they might hurt a bit less. and its not as if we're going to ask the neighbours for help.

they said they might accept a letter. a letter written by all five of us at once? i think we would have more luck trying to figure out how to mooch of the neighbours electricity, at least we can see their wires. we thought about a computer in public libraries but when we tried to get our license after all of us sitting in the car, the driving instructor wasn't really found of the idea of to sit on the monsters lap. his loss. we cant call our mum because why the fuck would we memories her phone number when we have a little green button that does it all for us. how many more days can i spend with at darkness council meetings before i just take the knives in my head and stab them through the witches heart. she's the only one who has one.

im always seeing those men in white jackets though they really dress however they want these days and they say they don’t know about many way to get rid of the monsters and knives, well sometimes they can help a bit with the knives but they always come back. though it's not always knives, sometimes daggers or razor blades or some of those crazy looking ones with little blades point out of the big blade or whatever the fuck it is. and they keep thinking the monsters might be those crazy deep ocean fish like anglerfish or whatever, but they've only ever seen the fish in a textbook before and how would any fish live in my room? 

so here i am in the dark, surrounded by the monsters, ghosts, witches and blades who couldn’t even understand the idea of internet addiction even if they tried. it's like when you're bored and you feel compelled by god to pick up a black little box that blasts little vertical videos of someones doing a simple dance in a hotel room. the people who you assume are friends but the longer you watch maybe they just paid their way to be there because how the fuck else do you convince someone to spend hours getting ready in hair and makeup after their ten hour shift. call an uber in la traffic. you're rich tonight. turn up at some internet girl's hotel room. spend the next hour re-performing the simplest dance in the world because internet girl keeps bumping into you. maybe you spent yesterday night memorising the wrong moves. you finish the dance. leave or be subtextually kicked out. but she offers to wait with you while you're uber comes. can you really afford this? fake it til you make it babygirl. cry yourself to sleep the next day. only go three thousand new followers from the dance. but it got three million views. someone commented about you're pretty little face. and you did work so hard on those eyebrows. maybe it's all worth the paid exposure after all. 

if this is on your fyp then your bestie is pregnant. a man who is barely dance to well… to something. i don’t know. why the fuck would i remember the song, probably tolerable enough to keep me watching but not enough of banger to actually close the app and listen to the song. perhaps it was silence? do you think the tiktok dancers dance to song and then mute their audio or just dance in silence and match it to the song in post? i guess it doesn’t fucking matter. he was more swaying, than real dancing, in the kind of way so you don’t mistake it for a fucking picture. watch until the end because i thought the plot would thicken but no alas a kind man wanted to inform me that one of the blades in my house is pregnant and for that i should thank him. thank you, kind man. i guess i now need to start pawning my band tshirts or something to find the thousands to actually pay for the besties medical bills to come. god that’s the kind of fun i'm looking for.

cats. cats. catttssssss. brown little cat clawing on the stairs. making biscuits. but he keeps getting his little claws stuck in the carpet :( oh no :( poor little boy. so cute. day saved. watch my deaf cat realise that ive come home. and so now i have to watch. whatever could this cat do! run around in a circle? fall off the stairs? attack her with love scratches? what if the cat cry? oh my god can cats even cry. oh no she just walks up to the cat and the cat just walks towards her. like a normal cat. day still saved.

do you even enjoy it?

what a fucking stupid question.

then why do you do it?

because god tells me to and who am i to defy god!?

is this god in the room with us right now?

this is why the fuck the fucking ghosts don’t get it.

you know i can hear you…

yeah, i know and every thought i have and well, at least you got a whole lot of fucking and crazy polariods out of your vices.

i don’t know think that’s completely how any of that works.

you know the type of polariods that your little grandghosties find behind the wedding pictures and are like oh is that your mommy?

who does that even happen to?

and now, you know, you're quite lucky if you get a dissociative disorder out of it.

i think you should see a therapist.

at least i can make quite a few tiktoks out of it.

[etchingstoalostgod]

some good old fashion writing for writers that never write.

16/11/24

lost entries live in the depth of download trenches in undiscovered parts of the deep blue arrow sea, or perhaps rotted on magnetic tape in defunct university storage server. so i guess i need a remote submarine or a half life crowbar? or is this just more reason to bash plastic and channel the divine to rewrite the ramblings of a wannabe madman whose words really aren't that mad, just uninspired.

starting journals for maladaptive daydreamers with no friends to start noise rock bands with so you pretend this is part of the craft and not a cry for help you will never actually put in the energy to get.

maybe having illusions of grandeur isn't the only way to create something so ambitiously crazy yet still oh so very fucking real enough for people to only give a slight fuck and then scroll pass it to a video of a cat licking another cat with fifteen and half million views.

the streets are where its at but only so many boots can come in contact with concrete until the little frayed wires in my heart start buzzing and all you get is a few dead leaves, free dog-licked water and a serve vitamin deficient for effort.

passing perceptive checks on the fourth floor of glass towers to reveal hidden rooms full of ideas and creatures that require only five eighths of attention. so i read the words from words from my yiayias little church book. pacts with angels and demons made during education that hooked you up with a side entrance key to an abandon warehouse with preloaded reverbs. poetry as performance art to add to the ephemeral magic on your resume. but tinkbell chose another girl and for unrelated reasons her parents own sports drink brand.

oh to be on those white walls.

a blog penned by a failing lyricist who call themselves a post-post-post modern poet because they are just too scared to train their voice. i need to be more articulate and grand but maybe i should start with learning the different between an adjective and an adverb. 

even when god tells you to memorize every single line to hannah montana episodes, it doesn’t mean your insanity will be written into history books as genius.

[etchingstoalostgod]

a deal with devils tongues

19/06/2024

third time’s the charm? you know it's all well and good when you achieve it but it's just like air in the wind when you don't. i need practice. i need lots of practice. in a lot of things. but the science of writing isn't something that my brain seems to have a predisposition to. i wish it did. there’s something about how one can make words flow… i can't just keep falling in love for short bursts just to find the words to write. mid you ive did contemplate it. i need to write. smash some keyboards, give a little prayer to the faeries and see what's cooking in the cauldron.

[etchingstoalostgod]

an ode to darters who never throw darts

20/06/2024

you know the thing about hitting a bull's eye

is that you need to literally throw a dart.

it’s all fun and dandy when you’re dancing at the dart club

but when you pick up the thesaurus

to throw, catapult, yeet

the dart, missile, quarrel,

at the board, panel, lath

it never hits.

a vampire bite of darts misses the jugular

but doesn’t stop the sixteen and four from slithering down the cork

—cock.

‘maybe twenty is all you need. it’s better than nothing.’

you say to quell the bestial rage from your prostate to epididymis to your dick.

testosterone will be testosterone

yet why won't this needle write

[etchingstoalostgod]

ping pong, electric fences, and the world catching on fire.

i need to keep moving, keep this up. i don’t think i can. theres something about pen to paper, or in this case buttons to transistors that make the talking to myself thing a lot less talking to myself but echoes through a casem chaysm cazem whatever the fuck the word is i had to google its chasm. well that that. it's all elections in databases rotting up the world. so im back or i want to be back. in many ways i had no where to go back too can you even come back to a blog that no one even knew you posted on. new years resolutions forty eight days early. i want the glue to stick to the prussian blue walls but the catch is that i made the glue by watching youtube tutorials posted a decade ago. oh well we will see how the cookies crumble

[etchingstoalostgod]

the big bang and things like that

first times for anything are kinda the worst you know. diving into the abyss and all that, but i need some consistency so i guess im here yelling about my problems to void. it’s kinda fun in some ways not having to worry about some yelling back. thats always a scary part. sometimes i feel i need to talk and not have someone try to care just need to speak about the little voices in my head and all the things they like to say. keeping this up will be the hardest part but if there is one thing i love its little numbers going up so i hope the little numbers going up will make things easier. or my dreams of ever becoming like grant morrsion and oscar wilde will fail miserably and who is there to blame but myself? so lets pray that i keep shouting at voids

[etchingstoalostgod]

welcome to the void where nothing happens and all my thoughts end up in the dark space between my bed and wall and I never have long enough arms to reach for them again. oh well…