Playlist #???: Remember when I used to do playlists? Edition

Remember when I used to make playlists on here? Like a million years ago? I would do it because I was up late doing work, and it gave me a sort of nice little outlet, and it was nice to listen to them later. Maybe I’ll do one right now. Shit has been weird lately. A lot of stuff is happening. Right now I’m trying to finish up the supplemental items I need to submit now that I submitted my application for a doctoral program. It’s a lot and I’m stressed.

(Stealing Sheep – Shut Eye)

Yesterday I climbed up on my roof for the first time. It was Very Scary (lol). When I was a kid I loved climbing on the roof, I thought it was so amusing. But like… I was scared yo. It felt soooo steep, way steeper than my parents’ roof. But now that I’ve done it and survived, I could do it again if I have to.

(Tally Hall – Turn The Lights Off) 

Yesterday I put up xmas lights. For the first time ever in my life, I put xmas lights up outside of *my* house. It felt really good and sort of magical in a way. Just me, the cold, the shimmering lights. Also, they came out looking pretty dang good, if I do say so myself, especially since I was working with nothing but miss-matched strands, the majority of which only partially lit up. I used the long strands of broken dark bulbs as extension cords, and managed to set it up so there’s only one plug even though it goes across most of the yard.

(Lenka – Everything At Once)

I’m pretty stoked about the impeachment. Like… I know, I know, he’s probably not going to get kicked out of office because the senate is filled with fucking republican scumbags with no sense of morals, but it’s still good. It still happened. It’s a sliver of justice and I’ll take it.

(Lincoln – Saint Bernard) 

It’s cold. I should have brought my water bottle in here with me. My whole body is sore and it feels a little bit good. I’m shivering and it feels a little bit good. I’m kinda in the mood to bite and cut and tear and rend (and it feels a little bit good). Writing shit is stupid. I just want to learn a bunch of new rope ties. Too bad you can’t get a doctorate in tying people up. (unless…??)

(Mother Mother – Calm Me Down)

Ugh. It’s like 1am now. Maybe I should just let myself go to sleep and work on this more tomorrow. What else do I even have to do? (a lot of stuff dude) I should probably do a little more at least. Tomorrow is winter break (not really for me but sort of for me in a way) It’s nice, and sorta luxurious, and I’m not going to let myself lose track of myself and drink every fucking day. Need to schedule the logistics of holiday projects. I want a huge pile of firewood. I want to take a melatonin and try to get some fucking sleep.

(Mother Mother – Bit By Bit) 

Drink per chance to dream

From my observations, perhaps somewhat limited, but not that limited, I’ve seen that when dudes, (especially but not only cishet dudes) get Very Drunk, (like…Ratty as a jay bird, lit up like a Hanukkah bush, studying snakes drunk) they often get withdrawn and angry, antagonistic and aggressive, and even sometimes straight up violent. But when women (especially but not only queer women) get Very Drunk (like… Stewed to the eyebrows, absolutely Moulin Rouged, watching the ant races drunk) they shower each other with love and validation, and tell the secrets of the deepest pains they’ve known, and cry and hug and fucking laugh at how absurd it is to be a person. And maybe the next day you wake up sore. Sore in your body from giving piggy back rides and picking people up bridal style, to prove that you’re strong, and you’re strong. And maybe the next day you wake up sore. Sore in your heart because it’s all so fucking much, to witness and take in, to talk about and just fucking think about. It’s sick whiplashing joy and sorrow. It’s a coven and a cloak and a concern. Maybe by tomorrow I’ll be able to uncurl.

95 Black

Hello (love). I’m getting my life together this month. It’s the month and i fucking have to and I’m doing it. So fucking weak the last couple days tho it’s bullshit. Just want to sleep. Sleep and read and lose myself in silly little fantasies. Sometimes, not very often at all, but once in a rare while, reading will feel the way it felt for me as a kid, as a teen. A real escape, an obsession. It leaks colours and flavours and scents into my life. Cherry and something dark. I understand things about myself, but i also don’t. I simplify myself to myself because it’s easier, or at least i mostly think it is.  Yeah. I dunno. I don’t always know how to use my voice, or how to use it for good, or what good is. Every word is the string for a light and the spring for a trap.  Name things with caution, say “i love you” often.


I get in spots where it’s so hard to move. It’s so hard to want to and so hard to do. I get into spots. I want that job, or really any of these semi decent jobs. I want naltrexone HCI / bupropion HCl. I want the brave streak to fix my body. I want the slick steel strength i feel in a scene to live inside me always. Party in a party. Keep my build me take me. I love you.


Maybe i am a house filled with mysterious rooms. Maybe I’m the answer to my hopes renewed. Maybe I’m the one the ghosts of the 1977 blackout will talk through. Time is thin line important and my demons shouldn’t make themselves excuses. No. The vase didn’t break itself. I shouldn’t let my demons be excuses. I shouldn’t let myself excuse. Read a boring book. Go to sleep. Don’t have anything but new fresh dreams