11/5/25 - Saccharine

I'll tell you what toppled the facade.

I lost my most cherished possessions.

I lost my baseball jacket and my Palestine necklace.

I was sitting down at work thinking, "I think I will be taking my own life sometime this week." 

I hope this feeling can pass. I hope I won't want to do it by tommorow.

Those little items, they aren't what started it. That was just the right little thing to break the seal for me, I guess.

Yesterday I let one of the boys get $40 on Cashapp from me as a gift. He keeps saying he'll pay me back, but I don't care. I don't care. Jamal is a knucklehead, he can use that on fanduel like I know he wanted to. Straight dudes are funny when you treat them like lab mice. When I gave him that money, that's how I knew it was getting worse. I'm always generous, but I've been reckless with my hand lately. I don't value myself anymore. Anyone can get what they want.

I don't believe a person with a mind like this has any business pining after others. And it's the kind of depression where I won't spend any time talking down on myself, waxing on and on about how much I don't measure up, how I don't love myself, whatever whatever. That's so trite, it's meaningless. It's pointless.

I'll know when it's the right day. I'll be as free as a bird. I'll finally be who I should have been. And then I can die.

I dunno why I ever thought I would stand a chance. I don't know where that confidence ever came from. Maybe I was right to think I could, but that feels like another me.

Other people shouldn't be bothered with such consistent ruminations of failure and shame. My friends... I've let them down. I've let them down so many times. I wish I could make them proud. I keep letting you guys down, I'm sorry. I'm trying to figure out how to be somebody worth knowing. Somebody that can be loved. I'm not sure I'm close to figuring that out.

I don't know how to do it.

My last few blog posts have been so bitter and confused, so mean spirited and ugly in their feelings. I'm so sorry, guys. I should never let myself indulge in such confused and manipulative behavior ever again. I make up names for the people in my mind out of "respect," but it's not respectful. It's cowardly, craven. It's not like me. And yet, I guess it is, y'know?

I can't apologize anymore. I don't believe I've earned the forgiveness of anyone. And apologizing doesn't absolve culpability.

Real straw that broke the camel's back moment today. I think they were stolen at work.

I spent the last 15 minutes of my shift crying silently in the corner. I drove home with water in my eyes, so I had to keep wiping them so I could see. Those items were just the final push to open the floodgates. I've been dabbling in self sabotage the last two weeks. Intentionally avoiding clear communication because I didn't want my loved ones to think about me anymore. I didn't want any new connections because I didn't want anyone to care about if I lived or died. I didn't want to feel strong emotions for people anymore. I spent the whole car drive thinking about what would happen to my friends and family if I died. I find myself thinking fondly of harming myself and taking my own life. It's just a bad downswing. I'm praying I just forget about that coat, that necklace. Those are just items. If i can forget objects, then I can forget people.

It's psychotic. I was telling myself a few days ago that I've got to find a way to make this girl hate me, so then I wouldnt have to figure out how I felt about them. Because I wasn't ready to think about it. 

I felt that I wasn't stable enough to try anything with somebody special. I thought it would be better to try my hand at being caustic, and indirectly sabotage myself by oversharing in everyone's face, so that my peers wouldn't feel comfortable listening to me anymore.

I'm thinking I probably succeeded in my task. I think I lost all my people, man. I just know it. I'll have to really work a long time on this, I know.

I should have noticed a heavy downswing was coming. The last few days, I've felt hideous, and I didn't like seeing myself. I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. There was a day where I tried taking a hundred pictures to convince myself I didn't look like some sort of gargoyle freak. I don't think it worked, for the moment.

I'll tell you what's really sick about it. I looked at myself after I woke up, with all the tears dried on my face. I look pretty again, all of a sudden. Maybe I'm more bent up than I ever knew. Maybe I just cried all of the trouble out of my system.

Either way, glad I changed my eyeliner look to keep my inner tear ducts free. Say what you will about that self sabotaging bitch from a week ago, but she ate that.

My friend told me, in earnest, that she doesn't think I have fully healed from my experience in my last relationship. I think she's right, but I don't like the idea that everything is "their" fault. That's not how it works, I feel like. It's me ruining myself. That's my problem. I sound like a man right now. Maybe she was right about me.

Won't this bitch ever have a good day... I keep hoping I will. I was laughing off getting physically mutilated for hours at work, I was choosing to take nothing as seriously as I should've.

That's part of it, maybe. I dunno. I talk about a lot of really serious stuff like it's funny. I only feel that way when it's about me.

I remember describing the day she took advantage of me to my friend. I was so casual about it, and I think I unsettled him. He told me, "I guess all you can do is laugh, huh?"

Yes! Of course! He got it! But that doesn't mean we really should though, right? I keep doing stuff just to avoid the tears. If I really let myself sit down with my mind for a whole day, I'd probably cry about it at least once or twice every day. Maybe I should let myself do that instead of doing this.

I haven't been very considerate, patient, or kind with the ladies in my head. They're not in my head, yknow. Real people, what a wonderful thing. I disrespected some good people with my psychological aberration. That's not right.

So I guess I'm not a girl's girl... that's disappointing. I think that's the worst part of it, to me.

I won't refer to anybody in my depositions. I won't allude to any real people. In fact, this might even be the last public entry of this entire blog project.

I think I've learned what I needed to learn from this experiment. I say too much bullshit. Hmm. I feel like I lost my wonderwall about it.

I'm gonna learn to accept this guilt as being necessary for my growth. And now that I know this isn't the right apparatus, I'll look to something else. I'll figure out a healthier way to stake this tent to the ground.

I'll let you guys go. Thank you for reading my blog. Be safe everyone. I'll figure something out.

11/3/25 - You're Not The Only One

Just an advisory, I guess. This one is a little exhausting. If you're a fan of my ruminations, by all means, keep reading, but I'm not proud of this entry. It's all just me and my whining. Boring, if you ask me.

Let me start with the good works. With smiles from Gaza. That which fills my heart...

Remas and Manal, they are both still alive. Remas has found a solution to her problem, and she has a new campaign. God is good. God is good.

Everything is good. Ibrahim is alive, he sent me a video. His neighborhood is nothing but rubble. But he was smiling. He believes in tommorow.

Zahr is alive, but her life is difficult. She looks after her husband. She is having to learn so much, in order to save her world.

These people, you know... they are the emotional bedrock from which I stake my strength, in this day and age. I am not a superhero, I am not Mr. Schindler. I am just trying to do the best I can.

Ibrahim is one I do not text super frequently, as much as he provides me with updates on his family's welfare. He is a trusted friend, and I try to look after his condition. He is trying to make this all work, with a new child. God bless him.

Remas is my dear friend. Remas is so close to my heart. Every chance we get to talk, my heart can be at ease. She looks after her daughter Amal, and they survive day to day. I love her so much. Remas likes to ask me questions about my life, about my feelings. I work too hard these days, this job ran me dry the last few weeks. I listen to her speak on her life, on her experiences. She is the same age as me, we are so different... but there is never judgement. She wishes we could be friends in a better time. God bless her.

Manal is a close friend of mine, as well. She has three kids named Qasim, Luay, and Jamalat. Sometimes she sends me pictures and videos of them playing. I try not to cry when she talks to me of her life, of her exhaustion. She works herself to death to keep her family fed. I could never know what that's like, that struggle... but she always wants to know about me. She sees the multitude. She's always speaking with wisdom to me. She empathizes with my life and my struggles... I don't know why she cares. I could never have that blessed of a heart. I could never be so tender and understanding. God bless her.

All of these friends, they see me as something so much better than I really am. Every day, I hope I can become even half of what they see in me. God bless them.

Sometimes... I think my work in managing Manal's campaign, my friendship and communication with these families, are the only things I'm doing right in this world. All I want to do is see the terrors finally end. Our age of genocide, the coagulation of the blood altars... it's starting to feel heavier.

They're beginning to take their seats.

And I'm so tired. 

And the Ring is so heavy, Sam. 

And I begin to see it in my mind all the time, like a great wheel of fire...

I don't convince myself of my better value. I don't believe that my service makes me a good person. I don't hurt people, I don't lie, I don't steal, I don't cheat or fight. But it doesn't matter. I'm missing something in my heart. I know in my mind I shouldn't look for anything tender. I shouldn't be trying to talk to anyone. I'm not put together well enough to entertain the company of... these angels, these champions. Sometimes I'm almost grateful my job surrounds me with mediocrity. It pulls me back down to Earth.

This job makes me feel more confident, for two different reasons. One pure, one bizarre. What is good about this job is connecting with families, with children and elders. I learn so much. I have been able to ingratiate myself into the community of attendees at ABC.

But I do not like my coworkers. I've a great disdain for my supervisor. They're very conservative and straight laced, they're a bit homophobic. This office likes to engage in gossip and tribalism. Some of the worst tendencies of our community become very evident in the way this team treats "others." It's a lot of jealousy and emotion with these people. It helps me understand my worth and my value as a person, because I know that I'm better than that. I have no shame in admitting that. I don't think it's haughty or unfair. I don't.

But what pulls me back down to melancholy is my crucial vice. I can't stop thinking about them.

I don't know what I'm saying. All these feelings are bullshit, you know. All these feelings, they will pass. The good ones, the bad ones. The only feelings that can never pass is my devotion to seeing this through, my mission with these families.

I just need more money, I just need more time. If I had a million dollars, I could free one of them. And then, another. And another.

You're probably thinking, that is not pure. Not well founded. This is not activism. You're not well, you're mentally sick. You don't have the right mindset needed to perform acts of service to the greater good.

You might be right. You might be right.

I have discarded the mindset that just because people are living through worse things in other parts of the world, doesn't mean that my problems don't matter. I understand that. But I feel as if these people I've mentioned... they deserve a better friend. They deserve to admire someone who isn't so lost in her emotions. Someone with the mental fortitude to ignore the conniptions of their heart, who can focus on the good fight.

Enough of that, aye. No learned helplessness, no learned helplessness.

I haven't done enough to stop La Migra. I haven't done enough to help families on food stamps. I have to do more for those poor people in Sudan, those families in Congo. In Tigray, in Jamaica.

It is so heavy. I think things about myself, about my responsibilities, that are wrong. 

I keep thinking, I shouldn't ever admit how I feel about the good fight. I should speak of how we will win. Of how we must fight. And we must, we are! We must become harsher, we must grit our teeth and ball up our fists. We must batter and bruise and cripple the fascists, the zionists, the capitalists. We must kill, we must link arms together to create a superbeing of the masses. The common people, the working people, the disabled people, the poor people, the sick people, we will win...

But my rhetoric, my ideals have become corrupted by bitterness. I've let that sort of cynicism take me.

I keep repeating myself. It's childish. It's so embarrassing, you know.

I've decided. This is a bad decision, this is a bad decision, but I tell you that every piece of wisdom I recieve from my peers about the needs of my spirit, the resolution is fire. It is danger and uncertainty.

With tear in eye, and heart of love, she said, "She would leave."

Then with a questioned expression she asked, "Do you believe?"

I don't read tea leaves because I'm afraid of what they will tell me. I keep telling myself to buy a set, to read the cards, but I cannot allow myself to become superstitious. My infatuation with this girl is making me crazy, I have to forget about her. I don't want to, but I should.

Maybe that is untrue. What could I ask her, what could I say... You know what I was reminded of? Unicorns. Re'em.

That's not a topic of conversation. It's just the motif I can never get away from.

I keep trying to become less of myself. I lose my own magic in these diatribes. Lady Amalthea finds herself forgetting her true nature...

Have I been hiding? Is that what this is?

I tire of uncertainties and siege tactics, I tire of it. I am choosing to be vain, I'm going going on be selfish for once, I want to try something with nothing at stake.

I'm almost changing my mind as I'm writing. But in spite of the complaining, the whingeing... I haven't given up.

This project, it's killing me. I hate Unseen, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I will stop working on that song. Banshee is good. Updo is good. Even Leg, as much as I hate it, is good. Unseen is not good.

I can feel my friends getting tired of these blog entries. I can feel your exhaustion. I should just shut up and do better, right? I applied to a couple different jobs, y'know. I got a call back today. I'm gonna see how much they're offering. If it's north of 40k, I'll take it. But I want to be ambitious, yeah. I want to do something creatively fulfilling. So maybe I'll pass on that one.

Today I'll apply to unique positions. Positions out of my wheelhouse. At the museums, at the clubs. Who knows?

I just know that this album is in a weird spot. If I find work, it won't concern my output.

You know, I keep entertaining the digital company of artists. People with vision. What do you say to these people, I dunno. I guess I am artist, whether I want to be or not. I keep making it, its uh...

That's just negative self talk. Just like at the conference again.

Whatever. I got sick and couldn't go to Samhain XXV, sister went with their friends with those tickets. They had a blast. That night was when I was talking to Taco Girl. Sick out of my mind, sniffing and sneezing. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the UAE. Weirdly enough.

How hard will it be to wash my hands of being complicit... a different lifestyle is calling to me, you know. A way to make it possible.

No. We're gonna get a cushier job, I'll finish moving back to the East Side.

Yeah. Hmm. The work continues, I'll see you tommorow.

10/30/25 - Death

I'm doing my eyeliner a bit different now because of that psychological insecurity I developed about my eyes. I go along the outside, I keep the tears and inner lids naked.

I feel absolutely awful today, but I'm... fine. I'm okay. Nothing bad happening, just regular work.

First day since my favorite coworker got moved, I have nobody to talk to anymore. Nobody who really understands what I'm talking about half the time. I can feel anger and distress radiate throughout my body as I sit down in the locker room.

I had trouble putting on my eyeliner today because I couldn't stop crying. I was eventually able to do an okay look. Had some lip gloss and everything, whatever.

It doesn't even make sense that I feel this bad. Good things happening, great things are coming.

There's only one place I could go to make this go away. I do have my passport, I could go to Windsor again. That helped a lot last time. It did so much for me last time. I was still letting them talk to me then. It could be even better, now. They're not there to hurt me, anymore.

The best thing for me to do in these moods is watch a movie and eat pizza, but I can't do that right now. Whatever.

I can't believe the world didn't end. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not. It's still hard to believe there's life after the answer. What an unserious way to feel.

I should be happy. I'm not happy.

I don't have a gift for language. Not anymore, anyway.

This is Endurance Music. I understand Meredith, now. We don't really talk that much anymore. There's nothing to talk about.

11/2/25 - Multitude

Few days back a friend in Palestine showed me a receipt of a man asking her to send nudes for donations.

There is a feminist, principled way to talk about this. That's not authentic to the feeling... I'm just gonna say what I'm thinking.

Some people need to fucking die. Men like that are the scum of the fucking earth.

Today I woke up from a dream where one of the guys that plays basketball at work was listening to me describe the pancakes they sell at the Disney World restaurants, and then he tried to fuck me. And I woke up before we actually started fucking, but after we kissed(?).

I'm hoping that dream doesn't mean anything other than the basic fact that I like dudes, that much I already know. I don't like this guy nearly enough to warrant all of that.

I had a bad cold that prevented me from going to Samhain XXV. What a bummer. But I went out to get food with my friend, and I left my wallet at home. We were in Dearborn and the biggest rat ran across the street when we were trying to park for the taco truck. That was a little Nutria, what a sight. The tacos were incredible, by the way. But we were talking for such a long time, she wanted to help understand my whole deal with... the psychosis. And what I feel about this new girl I texted.

I was telling her about everything that bothered me with what I feel like might be bubbling underneath the lid with all of this stuff. With this psychosis, as I call it. I want to focus on maybe meeting this new girl, I don't want to step into dangerous waters with what I've been feeling for the past year. I've written about it so much, you know. It’s uncomfortable, now. Because my friend, we'll call her Taco Girl (bc we ate Tacos while we were talking) was able to surmise something more tragic about this saga I was describing.

I don't want to entertain the idea of having any serious chemistry with... Titania, as we called her before. I just can't think about that. If beautiful gorgeous is reading this, please don't take this the wrong way. I can't tell you how to feel, just know that I mean it when I say I wouldn't lie to you. You deserve transparency.

I really am the worst. Guys and girls running through my head, and it's never just a crush. It's so much worse. I remember reading Spider-Man: Blue, by Tim Sale and Jeph Loeb. The greatest Spider-Man story ever written, ever painted.

I'm not saying I'm Peter Parker, no. But I'm saying that this confusion is all too real. I feel horrible. I don't want to wrestle with this, you know. Is it Gwen Stacy or Mary Jane? Who is who? What do I really know?

I want to forget what I was feeling for Gwen Stacy. I want to focus on Mary Jane. This is not a comic book, this is a disgusting thing to express. These are real people, not characters. I don't understand why I'm like this. I don't.

Let me ask you guys a question. Have you ever got along with someone really well, had someone on your mind, really cared for someone... but it just... couldn't happen? It could never be? No matter how many times you talk. You're with someone else, they're with someone else. Even when you're single, you need time. The circumstances, they're too much to bear the risk of speaking up. So it never happens. You wish that things were different...

It's much more serious than being a hopeless romantic. It's a very real sacrifice. To choose to let go of something because it wouldn't be right.

In humor, we reveal our conceits. In silence, we reveal our longing. I choose a mode in between the lines, and I find myself ruminating on things so heartbreaking.

It's crushing. I feel afraid of talking to her again, Titania. I don't want to think about it. I want to stop caring so much about her. I want to stop myself from ruining my peace, from sabotaging something safe. She deserves to never see me again, to never have someone remind her of... I just can't say it.

You know, the sensible solution is to not write about this stuff in my fucking blog. To just shut up about it and be normal, and let things go as they should go.

Don't go near the water...

But I have this problem. I like to throw my feelings on the fire, to put myself in danger for this vulnerability. I think it's best to entertain the possibility of losing everything. I don't gamble with money, I gamble with gossip and emotions. I wager myself, I chance an opportunity to lose out on knowing a wonderful lady. I wager my friendship with someone so trusted, so beloved.

I have a gun pointed at me, and I'm unbuttoning my shirt to let the bullet run me through. I choose... chance. Cosmology, God, a black cat crossing my path.

I wash my hands of agency of this matter of the heart, and I give control to the hands of fate.

I think if Beautiful Gorgeous reads my words... they may rightfully feel disappointed. Maybe they'll understand what I mean. Who knows? I really do admire them, I want to preserve any connection we might potentially have... but I know that my candor in these accounts can be caustic, unruly.

If Titania sees fit to read my words today... I would ask something of her. I would ask for a hair beneath a brushtroke of oil paint. An artifact in the corner of a digital collage. An apple on the table behind the subject of a photograph.

I ask for a sign. A sign I may not deserve to see. A sign to tell me if I should go away.

What a cowardly thing! If I were a man... that would be something. It'd be so much easier.

If I were man, I would already know.

I love you all. I'll see you soon.