can i muster up more than a poem

remember when they were kind? i do, too.

i called, talked, was transferred, talked more, figured it out. i figured it out. does it matter? does it matter how? no.

i am trying to not write a poem; to write a blog entry. it is difficult. this is rare. my brain is rarely not coordinated well for writing. i am likely to find my footing as i write this, if i make it long enough. anyways, hence the title.

i am the smudged eyeliner below the gap below my eyes, from pat mcgrath mascara being applied liberally then slept in. i am the tight knot in my own stomach! i forgot my own zoom small claims court meeting time and date. when i called to check, it had been 3 hours before! i am sort of numb, like when bonnie mckee sings in sleepwalker that her card was declined and she felt nothing.

i am filming myself, on my canon 80d, with a tabletop tripod and a pancake lens, because i do not know what i am doing. i would like to find out later. i am not here.

i want to watch that joker film, because i haven’t, and because it will make me like the joker, a character i dislike, and a dangerous thought, since i act so harley quinn. there is not a better word for it that i can think of right now. simply “act”.

i have published videos. here is a link to my youtube if you’d like to watch them all there for some reason.

i might put them in here, later, if i can. if i make no sense i apologize. if you know what i mean because i have been there too, then i am sorry but thank you and you know what i mean.

nobody with an army playing stupid games will win anything good. i am not anything good. some of them already won me, but now i am free.

i sip on lukewarm coffee, trying to make sense of life. for about two years now, it only gets more confusing. is this because i can no longer mask the potential adhd and autism that i probably have for a myriad of reasons???

i need to get that psych eval, but this also depends on my mother, which is not a good thing for anything to depend on. hating on a lack of access impacting me until it doesn’t does no good, especially when that hate is directed at me instead of those denying access to care. self-diagnoses are a thing to be careful with, but they are sometimes appropriate – when getting diagnosed would be dangerous or cause loss, for instance. thinking otherwise is a joke and that is well known within disability and mental health communities online.

what is it about me that causes others to spew ableist rhetoric at me? is it because i don’t fight back; i simply block

so let me try to do the youtube catch-up thing now. let me try!

the above one is bad on purpose!
then i had a few more bad ones in a row because of assorted things impacting my throat and stress levels.
i made more videos than i thought or remembered! the memory of a sieve; that’s me.

and, well, that’s plenty of content. what if i have more to say? what if?

it’s fine, i can keep writing, but at this point you’re tired, and so am i.

still i keep writing.

if i read more, perhaps, my grasp on english grammar would be tighter and better. i started picking up the books i’ve spent years buying. i read one, a poetry book to start, everything at once by audrey emmett whose instagram resonates with me, especially in regards to casey. especially the past.

now i’m reading columbine by dave cullen, a survivor of the actual shooting. it’s heavy, but well-written so far.

writing brings me sanity. the more inane and potentially frustrating to others my words are, the better. it’s like singing. a release. a mental one though, not a physical one.

i have, obviously, taken at least a few photographs too, and here is the appropriate place to share them… i probably put most of the good shit on my main instagram, anyways. go follow me, or look, or something, or don’t. i don’t particularly care right now!

i got a brand deal. that’s all i’m saying on that for now.

like taylor swift sang in wonderland from 1989, “it was never worse/but never better

i suppose we’ve come full circle. back to being at school, except probably not, the ghost of former friends haunting me and stalking me. hopefully no more harassing me. i’d hate to call out their instigator publicly – truly, i have no wish to, but it is a last resort.

i am okay. not that anyone cares, apparently, according to aforementioned instigator’s instigatees.

however, yes, i am alright. i am struggling, bearing more weight not than ever before but certainly a new sharp kind i do not like that stings my eyes with fumes as i carry it, until i can get rid of it. the stressors, i suppose.

music helps, except when it doesn’t. i avoid that music now. it sounds like jealousy.

i fucked a boy with face tattoos. does it matter? yes. does it matter if i marry him? i don’t know. i’m depressed. too depressed to fight back, even if it were sensible, to stand up to my harassers and scream the evidence that they’re wrong about literally everything, if they were worth my time and energy. they take up space in my head – without paying!

the 80d is still filming, or “rolling”, as they sometimes say. i am still typing 200mph on my mechanical keyboard, and yes, i do know that there is an actual measurement for someone’s typing speed. listening to my click clack click is a special thing. i type fast. VERY fast. then there is the fact that i type so fast, and with so little training, that i make typos, that i go backspace and fix. truly nobody taught me how to type – i make single capital letters, You Know, Like This, with caps lock, and it is far quicker for me to do it this way after years of doing so.

predictable cancer sun, moving sideways like a crab. we both get to the destination in the end, you and i.

there’s not a lot left to do, now that i’ve arrived.

at the same time, there’s everything, and it all must be done with tender kindness.


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