september 21 2019
just started pounding so hard on my keyboard that the J key flew off. i put it back.
writing is an outlet, it’s 8:47 am in philly, i woke up over an hour ago and did some random shit. replied to emotion-induced texts i sent yesterday, genuine still.
confused by many things right now, wondering if my current emotions are just “dramatic”. what does it matter if i’m overreacting? there’s something weird about having a diary that’s essentially public, but not quite publicized. the most recent minimalizing/stylistic update to my website made it harder to share links to things i write, maybe that isn’t the worst thing.
trying not to touch twitter for a bit, it’s weird in how it offers a new “real” feeling but also takes away stuff, puts my thoughts under a gaze of which i’m viscerally aware of but still giddily perform for. i talk about a lot but there’s still very much i’m too ashamed to say.
just ordered anti-oedipus on amazon, probably the only time i’ve ever cliked the buy now button. i came across an article about guatarri’s writing process and it reminded me of how writing is an outlet, an ironically personal and cerebral activity that taps you ever closer to the “real”.
i’ve been trying to apply my attempts at writing a lot more thoughtfully to how i talk as well. i tweeted about saving thoughts until i find a compassionate way to say them.
i wonder if i’ll just go back to normal still, if i forget all the visceral lessons ive learned recently. if i somehow lose the intesity of the moment. if the (feeling of) clarity will go away after a few days/weeks/months. it’s an agonizing intensity, but maybe it’d be worthwhile to maintain this, it’s the realest i’ve felt in a long time.
i’m writing in vim right now.
still pounding hard on my keyboard.