Looking for kindred spirits.
- Robert H. Schuller.
Still fighting numbness.
I never want to sleep, but I also never want to be awake. I don’t feel very anchored or connected or real lately, which is terrifying for a lot of reasons. I can feel the pull of nothingness, like a fucking black hole ready to swallow me whole. And I can almost taste the sweetness of surrendering on my tongue. The warmth of feeling completely annihilated. The comfort of the bottom. The familiarity of pain.
But I fight still. I get my little robot limbs in motion and power through. I don’t know how. I’m superbly functional, and nobody suspects a damn thing. I think there’s something vacant in my eyes, but it’s college. Everyone’s tired for a reason or another. I’m a robot amongst cyborgs. I still perform at high level, and I get praised for things I’m surprised ever got done. I don’t feel human. I can only drag myself out of bed through divine intervention. Still making A’s though. Ain’t that something. But it means nothing.
And I’m not even sure fighting is a choice. I always tell people I pick my battles, without ever telling them most of my battles pick me. Bodies struggle against death always. My mind struggles against decay. I fight without thinking. I probably fight in my sleep. I can’t think of other explanations to restless nights and rest-deprived mornings. And so there’s hope — perhaps it’s the hope that drives me insane.
I can never really surrender. I can never fully fall.
I hover just a few inches above the abyss on Tuesday mornings.
Just me and my robot limbs.
How cold the room suddenly gets; you haven’t noticed the drop in temperature, the slow decline of the sun in the sky, the thick darkness that has taken over the room, the minutes, hours, days that really just passed you by when you weren’t looking – you haven’t looked in what feels…
When it comes to celebrating the female form, photographer Can Dagarslani’s work is pretty special. Dealing mainly with femininity, which is refreshingly artful and not sexualised like many other people’s works, his pictures are sensitive portraits of women in seemingly private moments of self-indulgence.
I am understood.
I was supposed to go running with a friend today, but it fell through, so I’m just dancing naked to Pharrell instead. A perfect late afternoon.
my snake tattoo.
Duchess of the Dumb Faces.