tasteforrot
Taste for Rot
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I'm only pontificating—I'm not a lagomorph. I only wear this headdress of long fabric bunny ears to prove that I am fuckable. What I am, though, is boyish for my age and a person who collects little people and animals. Also, a body without organs—as I am a schizophrenic. An unorganized body, an astral being. However, I'm a medicated one. Hence the inertia. I'm an over-medicated one because I'm also an opioid-lite addict.
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update on sam pink. reading his essay response to "fuccboi" an autofic book he says copied his style. in this essay he comes off particularly unpleasant. i think i have a love hate relationship with sam pink. the way he writes about women is questionable. my initial judgement of his talent retains but the feelings complicate. have you read fuccboi/would you ever? are you reading anything right now?
I have not read that essay, I will look it up. I would probably read Fuccboi, I'm not one to take sides in artist disputes like that. Though, if it is as much of a ripoff as he suggests, I wonder how genuine it reads.
I suspect like many talented artists, Sam Pink is probably not the most pleasant person to be around. It's unfortunate that it usually works out that way, but I suppose it is what it is. I have so little hope for anyone (male) of even moderate success to be a decent person that I really just don't even gets my hopes up lol.
It is also funny because some people have at times said they've gotten a Sam Pink vibe, for sure an inspiration, in my own writing. I don't really feel like it would go as far as Sam Pink is suggesting Fuccboi has gone, but it is fun to think about.
I'm reading like twenty different books and finishing none of them. You?
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I got into Sam pink bc my attention sparked at something you posted that led me to him… Read a bunch of his poems/short fiction but what really
Got me was this piece “blue Victoria.”
Oh, this is neat. Thanks for telling me that. Yeah, Sam Pink is an incredible writer. He's always doing something different, too. Like he just did a fairytale book recently.
Almost implausibly, he's just as talented a painter. Check out his Twitter for his latest works if you haven't.
https://twitter.com/sampinkisalive
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Wat isthis blog is it just a compilation of texts that resonated? i love it
Yeah, it used to be in order, but I deleted and rade it as a sideblog of my main account, so then I had to repost everything lpl.
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And as far as friends go, I mean I had some friends, and there was some friends that we known each other for years, and I wouldn't say our friendship was based on drugs, 'cause even if we didn't have any drugs we would still be friends, but I would say I liked you a lot more if you had drugs or if you had money to buy drugs.
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Part of the journey is realizing how far you were, at first.
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You Continue To List Each Thing I Do And One By One I Stop Doing Them
I will live in a cabin with you and you will live in a cabin with me. We will blend until we no longer know which of us is which. When I say a sentence you will have thought that sentence, and thought the next. We will go to the library and print out lists from the internet of supplies for the end of the world. From ready.gov: One gallon of water per person per day, for at least three days (we know it will be more than three days); at least a three-day supply of nonperishable food (ditto); hand-crank radio, flashlight, first-aid kit, whistle, map, dust mask, moist towelletes, garbage bags and twist-ties. From survivalx.com: snare wire, fishhooks, purification tablets, signaling mirror, non- lubricated condoms for carrying water, butterfly sutures, surgical blade. SurvivalX cautions us to “include a weapon only if the situation so dictates.” We add to the list axes, machetes, hunting knives, rifle. SurvivalX tells us as well that “imagination may be the largest part of your kit.” We will huddle together in our cabin late at night, imagining what will happen when the machine fails, we are convinced it will fail, nothing so big can keep increasing, it is not possible for something we made to keep making us so much smaller.
We will watch DVDs on our portable DVD player, movies about the end of the world or the end of some world: On the Beach, La jetée, Dr. Strangelove, Planet of the Apes, Grizzly Man. We will make lists of things we do each day, we will continue to make lists NOW because when the machine fails lists will no longer be possible, thinking maybe will no longer be possible or we’re not sure what it will be like.
We will try to find new things to do with our bodies at night and during the day. Ultimately we will give up, disgusted, and look for new ways to say how together we are.
I will pour whatever we have on hand into my coffee in the morning, whiskey, vodka, peppermint schnapps, and I will tell you the story for the fifteenth or sixteenth or seventieth time about how I used to go to school with a thermos full of coffee and alcohol on standardized testing days, it was a tradition, I would mix whatever alcohol I could find around my mother��s cabinets (which meant as often as not a thermos of half coffee half white zin), and this from middle school on till the start of college. You will make lists because you are better at list-making than I am, more dedicated, you will make lists of the things I put into my coffee and the things we have tried to do to each other’s bodies and the things we have called each other, or tried to, and I will say that all of this data could eventually be a person itself, could add up to one, if someone had the right machine to run it through. You will list that as a possibility, one among an infinite list of possibilities that you are working on, that will keep you going until the end.
When I think of the end of the world, I want to be with you. When I think that things might go on, the idea of them going on, and on, with you, is terrifying. When I think about the world going on the way it is I was wrong to ever say I love you.
I am working through these things the best I can.
Here is a scene of us, going through the woods, trying to remember which plants are which, you are better at this than me, you have a list, I say that in the future once the world is destroyed they will be able to reconstruct the entire world from your lists, neither of us knows who they are but we always assume, in the way we speak about it, that there is a they. This feels like a form of cheating. If it is the end of the world, the complete and utter end, there is no they. But it is hard to talk without adding a they somewhere.
I am beginning to understand how the act of listing can be an act of erasure.
We tell each other stories of things that haven’t yet happened in the hope that telling will crowd out the possibility of happening. I make little babies out of paper and cloth in the hope that you won’t get pregnant. I scan the floor for bits of your hair to attach to these babies, to make them more real (therefore less). I search through the garbage after you have cut your nails.
You continue to list each thing I do and one by one I stop doing them.
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Everything Is Dumb Now
everything seems dumb now
or the problems before tuesday
or my problems before tuesday
or the problems i focused on before tuesday
idk if theyre really dumb
but probably
does he like me will it work
venus in pisces taurus sun with a cancer ascendent
moon in leo
idk why liking someone is so terrifying to me
my shrink asked me why having basic needs met seems so impossible
or.
idk
the moon was in aquarius on tuesday i think
or i remember reading “let us hope this is a good omen”
(probably chani nicholas)
for two months i refreshed nine horoscope sites daily asking the internet
what would happen
i saw something this week
about the election coverage was too… like
focusing more on what will happen in november
not what was happening at the time
what will happen vs what is happening
what do we know
idk
this past month i began calling more feelings “pain”
laying in bed thinking “i’m in so much pain lol”
um
have you ever read the attachment theory wikipedia?
i’m sure there are better sources but the wikipedia is really convenient
there are four styles.
and this one style, “disorganized” is like
something like:
the way you’re greeted when you enter a room
and the way you’re treated
was never constant so u never like,
never know when the other shoe will drop
who will abandon when
or u’ll wild out bc like, idk.
the others are what they sound like
secure attachment style is what it sounds like
ppl with disorganized attachment ruin things, sabotage things
bc what’s the point if it’s already. idk
wednesday morning
when i told my therapist i watched someone die, she said
“oh, fuck talking about the election”
but like nah
we talked about the election
and the two guys i saw wearing those red hats
the first time ive seen them irl
first thing in the morning
on my walk up tenth avenue
i almost threw up
and threw myself on them but didnt
but i did also tell her i didn’t feel anything watching him die,
or i didn’t know what i felt or if i was feeling.
i watched him become president from my bed
scared of feeling anything except the most reality as possible
a few hours before,
i watched him make a noise and then he stopped breathing
and then a nurse hit his chest and said, “he’s just sleeping”
(he wasn’t)
she said he had a pulse, he’s fine
(he wasn’t)
it took the supervisor twenty-five minutes to show up
hospice care in a nursing home isn’t a hospital
the way she said it’s about making him comfortable
the way:
there are things that are supposed to happen
people asked if i was ok
my boss hugged me
idk if it was the death or the election
or what i’ve been saying online that has ppl msging me lately
telling me they hope im ok soon
waking up is harder now
it never really was before
i learned to like mornings in college
they felt more hopeful
opportunity, routine, etc
my shrink also told me to read online
specifically disorganized attachment
but that for some reason
and who knows
it’s not all I have. that i can do and do make secure bonds
there’s some secure attachment
something like hope?
idk
she said: attachments just are
you can’t force them
an attachment is
when i told my shrink about his last breath she said something like:
isn’t that all we have, a breath
and then we take another
and keep going
that’s the only difference
other times i’ve watched people die
(and never the act)
there was the clear moment between when they were gone
(when they started taking pain meds)
not their body but themselves
“the priority is comfort”
i only realized today that i don’t know whether or not he was in pain
just that when i got to his room, alone
i’ve never seen anyone like that
i thought he was going to die right then
with me alone
so i grabbed his hand, which was blue
and trying to take off his oxygen mask
i’ve been hearing the term “oxygen mask” a lot more
put on your oxygen mask before you help others
everyone says get out of ur internet bubble
lol
i mean, i agree
i guess
but i live alone
work online
my family is three white men
(it used to be more)
who asked me why i didn’t tell them about my sexual assaults sooner
(i had)
but i guess they forgot
or it doesnt matter? idk
i dont want to have to see them today
or tomorrow
but their dad only dies once
only died once
idk
before tuesday i’d get drunk
get stoned
wake up
apologize
idk
ever since tuesday the idea of feeling anything the most amount of
pain feels wrong
not pain for pain’s sake
but anesthetizing any of the reality
of what is and is about to happen
idk
isn’t there something about how pain is a great motivator
or isnt there that susan sontag thing about not believing someone else is in
pain?
is that the thing
or how people with that disease that makes them not feel pain are fucked
i can’t believe the pain i cause by trying to avoid pain
(myself + others)
getting out of bed isn’t a problem
or wasn’t before tuesday
(now it is)
i’m right by a window and it’s cold
and i just remember it’s real
and i’m where i was where i watched him become president
but
i like routine and waking up and drinking coffee
more so i feel it around 3pm or 5pm or 8pm or 11pm
what’s the fucking point
i don’t feel that way anymore
my anxiety’s been down since all my worst fears came true
i’m not as worried for now as i am a year from now
a year and three months
momentum, etc
it’s been clearer who’s trying to lessen suffering and who’s trying to clear
their name
i’ve been trying to take up less space
or occupy space in a different way
or, idk.
it’s easier to tell ppl i love them
u dont need a reason anymore
or maybe the reason is just more obvious
it’s too much noise n it’s not enough
im getting msgs from ppl telling me to stockpile birth control
but my body rejects most types of birth control
and i haven’t found one that works yet
so like
idk
hasnt loving and fucking always been terrifying
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Something Tells Me I'm Going to Die in an Alley
When your hand is a field it will make many things.
When your hand is a field it will be covered in dirt.
When you stand face to face with the things you’ve made but do not like, it will define you in some way.
And when your hand is a field your tongue is a cloud.
When there’s nothing left to say I will go to sleep and you will never hear from me again.
The moment I have gained some importance in your life I will be gone—that’s natural.
Yesterday I saw a squirrel run out into the street and a car ran it over.
The squirrel kind of tried to run away but just fell down.
Then the squirrel twitched once, like it was doing a sit-up.
Then it was still.
I’m glad I saw that because otherwise I would’ve had nothing to think about while I was sitting on the train this morning waiting to twitch once, then be still.
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