my journal entries

approximately October 2025

All of a sudden I am so bored by modernity again, and all the fast-thoughts and fast-feelings that come with it. But I reject the idea that the alternative is only the slow life. I want to live in vibrant colour. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, and all that crap. But also art, and sleep, and philosophy, and artist's memoirs, and music, and meditation, and dance, and silence, and conversation. I want to read only what fills me with fervent passion. I refuse to engage in what numbs me. This shall be my mantra.

approximately October 2025

I have been feeling like an adult this weekend. How strange.

approximately September 2025

I had a dream last night where I gave you a stone. Others gave you gifts, but I spent hours stooped over a pebbled pathway looking for the smoothest stone, one that felt just right in the hand. One that, upon iving it to you, would communicate exactly how i feel for you.

approximately August 2025

I often find myself reciting "I must remember this moment, the way the few longer blades of grass stick out like a sore thumb on the golf lawn and wobble clumsily in the wind, and how it reminds me of how we so often find the things that stick out to be ugly", or something to that avail. But why to I feel the compulsion to remember something for it to be important. It's interesting how much memory rules our life, once it's gone it's good as dead.

There is somebody howling nearby.