A found poem

People make their characters beautiful because they are afraid that if they’re not beautiful they won’t experience romance. As if ugly people don’t live romantic lives. That’s tragic. To fear losing all the romance in your life because it is tied to a beauty that waxes and wanes.

There is no life that lacks romance. Any moment you can open yourself to it, even in the ugliest moment.

My dad brought me a bag of old toys.

They smelled funny.

I washed them and this one’s face exploded.

I put his nose back on

so now he has a Neptune beard.

I’m in a WhatsApp group full of middle class friends of friends as we organise a ski trip of all things which personally I don’t even believe really exist and I just can’t stop making jokes, what must these almost-strangers think of me…

It feels like there are extra fingers at the ends of my fingers.

MAC 1. oddly melancholic

We’re chilling on a sunny afternoon, our various friends meandering throughout the city as music rings out and new-made men and women and nbs parade in joy and we all smoke cannabis and drink coffee and communicate our thoughts and feelings remotely thanks to technology, which also guides us from place to place… tell me this isn’t at least a few steps towards a beautiful future ❤️

There is no madness, there is just making people feel uncomfortable.

Could this happiness I’m feeling be adulthood? Could adulthood actually be a state that exists, and not just the elongated death throes of childhood and adolescent rage…

I just had a totally novel asthetic experience eating a mouthful of mozzarella together with a sprinkling of raw garden peas.

Real love is a blessing on both parties.

What if the act of thinking were akin to ecstasy? What if you could orgasm from an idea, a connection of logic, the solving of a mundane problem?

Of course a piece of media can send you insane. A story asks you to assume the mental state of the main character. We must be able to see from their viewpoint for the story to be told. Sitting in that place, a well told story will then convince us that the actions that character is taking are consistent with that state of mind and you, assuming the place of the mind in that state, would take those actions and would moreover feel glad in doing so, since they are consistent with your assumed position. And that story can be told from any viewpoint, including those that are deeply abnormal, surreal or bizarre and usually hard to reach without the assistance of the story. Ergo you feel the reality of that viewpoint ergo you combine with that reality making it so. You are now the character. You are insane.

What if the real meaning of existence was for the benefit, creation and evolution of emotions? What if each different emotion were like a species in the grander ecosystem trying to reproduce through whatever means? What if we were the soil and trees and food for them? And nothing matters except that the resources (us) keep producing more and more emotions - no matter what kind?

I wonder if parasocial relationships and the discourse around them has instilled any fears about treating actual friends as friends? Or cast doubt on whether you can actually judge where the line between real and para is…? Something that you would have felt so certain of before.