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the world is over

i forgot my headphones at home. i was about to either 1) pump black country new road 2) watch brooklyn 99. i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts. i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next it’s been people it’s been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, i’m not a girl of her commitments- i get bored. and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and there’s been plenty) i don’t know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but i’m not super used to being bad at things. i’ve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when you’ve put in the work to be good at it. if it wasn’t me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.

@22

Feb 18, 2025

6

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talking to the void (new name) 4

Nothing really happened today. Im still thinking about just about everything I've done in the last while. I miss the life I used to have but hate the person I used to be. Unfortunately, I haven't changed much. One step at a time.

@thatiidiot

Jan 8, 2025

🍂

getting comfy w indetermination

working from what may seem like very surface level cliches but stay w me here ((tldr: why not just believe that its all working out for the better, even if thats not what you planned? also, empathy and objectivity are a solid duo that id like to see in combination more frequently.)) putting this at the top because this is a dissertation, at best; psychosis, at the other end of the pendulum. sooooooo the fact that u have no control over life liek At All. has been a consistently terrifying concept for FOREVER as a shorty who is Clinically a control freak, but realizing that the unpredictable essence that makes all of this shit unnerving is the very thing that can take the weight of life off of your shoulders has been pretty revolutionary. im still digesting/integrating it one bite at a time, for sure, so call me a hypocrite ESPECIALLY if you know me personally. when in clarity, though, its been so pleasant to realize that since Nothing truly matters that much since nothing is set in stone anyway- w regard to action, approach, fulfilling temporary expectations of yourself, whether or not you reach short term goals, etc.- living life completely and utterly for yourself and whatever that means to you at any given moment will likely ultimately be the plan that brings you most fulfillment, when all is said and done. whether that means taking the risk and changing your major, taking that freaky elective bc it sounds cool, moving in w some randos in a townhouse, quitting your job and starting something new- maybe it winds up being an epic fail, who knows? as long as youre setting goals that align with an ultimate sense of who you are and what youre looking to get out of life, which i presume can be solidified further by pursuing said experiences just for the sake of it? right? helps u figure out what u actually want? and as long as you keep bareback essential priorities straight (financial and emotional stability come to mind), then theres no reason for impermanence to work against you. this also counts for people, as well. i feel like we hold others to critical standards, as we should, but contemporarily tend to neglect the fact that people DO change. morals/how you view the world are impacted by experience, and we are all fruits of very very different trees. completely dependent on circumstance, of course, empathy/understanding/consequential second chances are side-swept under the premise of respect/accountability. accountability is CRUCIAL, but i feel like so many of us (myself included) take that to heart and forget that figuring out how someone got to some place is a key aspect of understanding whether or not their position was truly from a place of lack of respect? if that makes any sense?? i also have been thinking about this a lot: my best friend throughout middle school and i fell out the summer before sophomore year over…nothing? idk, 3 years of seeing each other every single day (neighbors) to no contact until senior of high school- still weren’t talking regularly or anything though. 2 years ago, she turned 20. i posted an old photo of us because, despite everything, 20’s a big one. this year, we’ve spent late nights on facetime, drove to watch the sunrise after hours of catching up on god knows what on the hill where we would listen to music while her mom cooked dinner, and she’s been my go to for any necessary bitching/ranting during whats been the worst year my mental health has ever seen?? time is your friend, if you let it be. connections arent a race in any dynamic, and it’s never over if it’s truly meant to happen. let life change. i think.

@slut

Dec 5, 2024

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BLOOD ORANGE

everyone needs dev hynes in their life

@ad

Sep 14, 2024

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date idea

The sharp scent of rain tumbles clumsily in as you tease window-hinges wider with the pads of your fingers. A siren trails close behind, uninvited, sears your eardrums, dies off down the block. Your neighbors are arguing again. Laundry, loans, lack of commitment… like yesterday, like the day before. You think it would be suffocating to wrap yourself up in someone else’s sheets.  It’s five o’clock. Leaning against the sill and flicking the radio dial with one recently manicured nail, you tune into the local news. Roaring wall of static, then calm conversation between two anchors bubbling up through an old set of Panasonic loudspeakers. You are feeling incomplete today, like yesterday, like the day before. Rigatoni boils in the kitchen. You check the leftmost cabinet and find strawberry jam, unopened. You check the cupboard and look over a tub of tahini, a collection of canned soup, and a stack of pie tins. You check the counter, behind the cutlery. Finally, you check the fridge, ducking down to see only your own brown-eyed reflection in one last — now empty — jar of Prego. Your shoulders dip. You slip on white sneakers, not-so-white-as-they-once-were. Why did you try to paint the front door? It is peeling now, ugly like a fledgling losing young feathers. Flecks of buttery yellow dapple paisley carpeting. The great outdoors wait for you at the bottom of a cramped stairwell with twin light fixtures, both broken. A sky like an old sweater is draped above Brooklyn, ready to wring itself out again at any moment. Once around the block, rubber soles brushing damp cement, you walk briskly. At first you fling yourself against the humidity, then become self-conscious and adopt a slower pace as you near the corner store. Two dollars, sixty cents. Like last week, like the week before.  You and I, we are looking down at our phones and stumble into each other, halfway home. It is no one’s fault. You recognize me from somewhere, you say, and feel like a bad person for lying. You have never seen me before in your life. I ask for your number. That night you eat too quickly, knowing you’ll wish you’d saved some leftovers. I come over once, then again. We go out for dinner at tacky restaurants, where art deco posters from the nineteen-thirties have pinned themselves up in scattered flocks across worn-out drywall and the menu is printed with strange font on laminated placemats. The appetizer sample photos are unnerving; the bruschetta cowers like a scared animal awash in excessive camera flash. I make a joke about it, and you laugh. We order dishes to share. The food is always better than I expected, but not quite as good as you wanted it to be. You don’t mind. We talk for hours. We agree, ballpoint pens are better. I hold you, and the ten p.m. bus pulls you out of my arms and through the dusky streets, past crowds and utility poles. I hold you, and we rhyme our steps. Burgundy is around us in the leaves and in the dirt. You wear a coat I gave you. I hold you, and we swat flies out on your porch. The days are getting shorter. I hold you, and we watch blu-ray CDs you found on sale. Soft light from the flatscreen plays across your face as you fall asleep. I keep the movie on a little longer. I hold you. In December, we bring a blanket to Long Island and listen to the sound of snow falling on the dunes. You call in sick for work too often. I hold you, and you know my callouses well. We share the same sheets; we are wrapped up in each other. I hold you, and kiss your hair. You smell like candied oranges. The afternoons eat away at one another. Dishes pile like uneven layer-cakes in your kitchen sink, crested with suds. You say you feel uninspired. Now we argue about laundry, and the sounds of your unhappy apartment are heard through half-open windows.  You shout, eyebrows furrowed like the pages of a book. A white plate soars from the grip of a trembling hand, misses an upturned chin, and interrupts us with its shattering. This time, it’s different. Sleep escapes us ‘til the sun is already planted on the easternmost rooftop. I hurt you the way I learned to, and stay awhile, but don’t know why I stay. We sink into sweet, heavy things: the saxophone in “Charcoal Baby”, shared creamsicles on hot Saturday evenings. I see you less and less, and remember less and less of you. Will I see you next week? Yes, if you text me. You forget, just like we’d both hoped.

@ad

Sep 17, 2024

💿

REWATCHING DAFT PUNK 2007

trust

@ad

Sep 22, 2024