ive been ascetic and chaste and these are my alms: to be clothed, safe, warm, but my descriptors are equivocations which splinter under none and are left to rot on the isle of convulsions.
pierces to the hot, unstable core by sidelong glances from the wild beasts. their teeth bared, not to kill, but to unmake. every glance is a claw but, all the same, we unravel and fray closer to our erasure.
what fractured that bond, the thread once clung?
12/18/24 - sonata. allegro?
i now understand the form of these years.
my symphonic poem opened with its unison fanfares. the regal introduction proclaimed a seemingly equally noble exposition, but the character and theme quickly clashed with its misleading opening.
joy and acceptance characterized the development and variation of my theme. during its course, my own motifs: altered, sequenced, modulated, created belonging and excitement!
reflection on the dozenth year begets this realization: sonata form! i am in the midst of a recapitulation and my true fate reveals itself: deep, dark, death-like solitude.
a gross of critics, though an audience of none, consolation can be found where?
2/9/25 - her image in dozing
my return to the institute was unpleasant. the whispers and accusations, defiling primal traitors, absolute social ruin.
why waste your venom on me? my rage builds with the tremors of inordinate anger: your actions imply i represent filth, disorder, and pagan thought, so i writhe in pain while you stand and laugh at my contortions. ultimately you succeed, not out of hatred, but indifference.
i too am indifferent, even elated: if all my misfortunes lead to her, i relish my downfall. every inflection of her voice and gesture obeys me like a violin under the hand of a virtuoso; Maestro’s performance is for an audience of none, except us, slowly picking at and kissing the piece in unison.
my eyes are anchored in hers; i often lie awake imagining her waist in the bend of my arm. soft, warm, reassuring. even once these thoughts leave, allowing rest its way, they persist.
even in my sleep, i cannot altogether escape from her image.
3/7/25 - ode to the primordial murmur
i firmly believe in the magnitude importance of folklore record and rumor.
we never needed equations, theories, or institutions, what the world needs is a resurgence of mystical tales, anecdotal information, and aural secrets. only when these stable foundations are laid, can we safely construct a flourishing society.
Seneca maintains that showing by example is better than to teach by precept and i attempt to hold myself to such a standard. i live based off pure instinct and rely on my dreams and cryptic messages to guide me.
the only “science” we need is cryptozoology. by using this True science, can our species confront real issues: can some communicate with plants? how do we suppress animal-led crime syndicates? is Big Foot an interdimensional creature?
3/31/25 - Mr. Olympia
i am savagely passionate about ranked gooning.
those late hours melting into early mornings spent honing my craft, marveling with sunken eyes at the art of this recreation.
like any competitive sport, there are bound to be injuries: it was a combative match and my opponent’s goon fuel was too potent and proved dominant, so naturally i was injured. the referee ended it and the match became a forfeit win for my opponent in the bracket.
sometimes, i reflect after Clairty hits, or rather, Clarity reflects because He, is not me. He is an unmingled, wretched version of me, improving and pursuing goals. because i know, to carry these unrestrained, sexual desires is to live as the healthiest version of myself.
since my injury, im shooting reds and it might need to be sutured this time, but i will triumph and improve my stamina and technique. i stand upon my expertise, clutching my royal scepter, that fiery torch of flesh. my opponents will cower and grovel at my feet and every time i climax, they will imagine the ejaculate as sacred blood of the Gods seeping into the soil.
my gaze is fixed: Olympiad Gooner!
4/24/25 - sanctioned delirium
i dont have 100 pennines or four quarters, but i did have one very crisp one dollar bill and some imaginary change.
i say “imaginary” as if any of this money is real, but its redundant, a sanctioned fiction, relying on our shared belief. it’s only after fiscal catastrophes and absolute financial ruin does one realize the invevitable fall of black shadows between a spender and his money.
of my current money, all that grips me is a premature sense of loss. the day will arrive when either by natural process or expeditation by my own hand, my favorite bills and coins will turn into strangers and merely the ruins of exalted beauty will remain.
personally, this reality provokes deep gashes, fresh forever, but it also often stirs laughter of disbelief. disbelief in this fiction we believe but more broadly, of the emptiness of existence, because one day, emotional collapse begins and the “why” arises in a world which refuses to mean anything.
how beautiful: to be wound up and primed to search for something that doesn’t exist and to suffer in distressing nudity, overwhelmed by the lack of meaning and indifference.
the world offers no resolution and nothing but tension :)
7/2/25
im happy for about five seconds when i wake up, shoot my eyes across the room, and hold my gaze until i remember where i am and what life i live.
assailed by the agony of ill-humor, i wish to exhibit a rare moment of agency in an otherwise life of acceptance since, quite often, i feel like a dead man animated by nothing more than sheer force of will.
after my rendezvous with reality, i lie on the bed and look out the single window until dawn comes. no shadows upon the lands which stretch gray, barren, and infinite before me.
to be cured is my frenzied desire.
7/28/25 - I care
I am a gracious man… a benevolent and attractive man (and one of a modest ego as well). spreading My benevolence is important to me; painting an image of My character will help all who should adopt My mannerisms (everyone).
on the subject of replacing people, realize it is an absolute necessity. so I do so in a gentle and kind way: I offer them reassurance that perhaps in the future they will find someone as noble and pleasant as myself. sometimes I feel pity since theyre ripped from my robes of niceties, so it is just as important to remind them to find joy in My happiness because it is natural and just. I’m positive this satisfies them and allows a seamless transition for Myself.
I’m what many, if not all, would call conventionally attractive. I never take pride in anything, but in this, I allow myself. its well deserved and naturally it only should follow that this aspect mirrors My excellent character. would the Gods wrongly honor a man with physical beauty who possesses weak virtue?
I’m a good person! do you believe that bad people selflessly volunteer their time? of course not! people dont volunteer because they dont care about the opinions of others, but I do. put simply, to volunteer is to provide yourself with an antidote, absolving yourself of any past wrongdoing, which I care for. I care.
I care…
i dont have 100 pennines or four quarters, but i did have one very crisp one dollar bill and some imaginary change.
i say “imaginary” as if any of this money is real, but its redundant, a sanctioned fiction, relying on our shared belief. it’s only after fiscal catastrophes and absolute financial ruin does one realize the invevitable fall of black shadows between a spender and his money.
of my current money, all that grips me is a premature sense of loss. the day will arrive when either by natural process or expeditation by my own hand, my favorite bills and coins will turn into strangers and merely the ruins of exalted beauty will remain.
personally, this reality provokes deep gashes, fresh forever, but it also often stirs laughter of disbelief. disbelief in this fiction we believe but more broadly, of the emptiness of existence, because one day, emotional collapse begins and the “why” arises in a world which refuses to mean anything.
how beautiful: to be wound up and primed to search for something that doesn’t exist and to suffer in distressing nudity, overwhelmed by the lack of meaning and indifference.
the world offers no resolution and nothing but tension :)
im happy for about five seconds when i wake up, shoot my eyes across the room, and hold my gaze until i remember where i am and what life i live.
assailed by the agony of ill-humor, i wish to exhibit a rare moment of agency in an otherwise life of acceptance since, quite often, i feel like a dead man animated by nothing more than sheer force of will.
after my rendezvous with reality, i lie on the bed and look out the single window until dawn comes. no shadows upon the lands which stretch gray, barren, and infinite before me.
to be cured is my frenzied desire.