Humans could do better. I think that’s why they’re so infuriating and disappointing. ‘Cause it’s a choice to suck, even if everyone else is doing it & there’s no end of excuses and rationalisations for the suckage and sewage. No, it ain’t easy, especially when everyone else is sucking and dumping and it’s hard to do the right thing. People improve if they have external sources of love and support. I have to believe this. To get through a little longer.

Feeling seen, heard, validated. Leading to better quality sleep and self-treatment. crying stray kitty in background at one point; I do not like cats or human babies and discuss as much. Unpopular opinion. And my honest feelings.

To: someone. Address: outside of Corinth. Love & kisses, the Corinthians. …Didn’t Ken Robinson say we don’t live in the world but in our heads, and slightly to one side? No wonder the stage feels tilted. PLEASE SOMEONE SEND A COMMERCIAL-FREE AND ALSO FEE-FREE LISTENING EXPERIENCE OF ALL OF TAYLOR SWIFT. I would like to have a swift and life-changing musical experience, starting with Red (Taylor’s Version) and working outward in an idiosyncratic spiral pattern according to my auditorially-sensitive whims. D’accord au revoir.

Better than silence, and at least if I talk to myself I feel heard, and value and honour my desire and need to be heard. I have to be a friend to myself, and that means being there for myself when I need me, in whatever way I can with as little judgment as possible. I think selfishness is contagious, but selflessness is a trap for me. Both are traps, to be frank, but maybe by over correcting eventually I’ll find a happy medium. Or a sustainable one. Or die trying. But at this point I can’t stop or hold up or wait for someone to catch up. This is an express. Jump on or don’t but mind the fucking gap.

Usually at a most importune and ill-timed moment.

I’m only human, I make mistakes. I’m only human, that’s all it takes to put the blame on me.

(HI EBT/SNAP benefits card). Givers need limits, for takers have none.

I’m trying to alleviate the pressure of unheard, unspoken words in my brain. Without an outlet they tend to turn septic. And tangled as string shoved in a drawer. It’s easy enough to tell a human in pain to talk to someone, but what we need is people with the skills, capacity, and willingness to make an effort to listening. It’s not as easy as being equipped with two functioning ears. If someone is used to only listening to one sort of language, one sort of experience, one sort of input, of brain, of ability, then this person is not a versatile listener. This is the equivalent of someone who can only eat Twinkies, or else some kind of allergen-free gluten-free dairy-free vegan heirloom artisanal organic free-range locally sourced handcrafted BS. Echo chambers have made us all but selectively deaf, but this is not a new phenomenon. When people could not and did not travel outside their hometowns, and were born and lived and married and had children and died all within a ten-mile radius, then everything was foreign, different, incomprehensible, exotic at best and demonic at worst. I want to make an effort to make sense, but when my best efforts aren’t enough and others’ best efforts aren’t enough for me either, there’s no real motivation to share my words or any flake of myself with others. Why chase after nothingness?

He sees things that others don’t. He’s the man in the Sufi teaching tale ‘When the waters were changed.’ He’s Crowley on ‘Supernatural,’ Vetinari in the ‘Discworld’ novels, Miranda in ‘The Devil Wears Prada.’ Tyrannical, unloved, yet the magazine runs on time. I don’t want to be unloved but I want to live, and it seems like I can either survive or be lovable. If I love myself enough to fight for my life I can’t do it in a way that’s convenient or pleasing to others, so I cannot love them, and they cannot love me. If I try to love them and earn their love in return then I let myself be destroyed in the name of compassion. But it’s not true, is it? I can’t love others by sacrificing myself, it’s a trap. It’s bait. I’m expecting something in return. Do I give up on loving others, for now? Stop considering anyone but myself? I don’t have faith in anyone. Nor their imaginary friends who work in mysterious ineffable ways, and do even less than they do but provide a sanity-proof excuse for their carriers so inclined to excuse-making. I’m alone in my reality. Even my oldest friends, on the other side of the world, have no time and comprehension of what my life is like. I wish life wasn’t set up in such a way that people have to actually care about one in order to do one’s job, or else fear consequences enough to do it. Where we depend on people doing certain things that they will only do for the level of self-sacrificial love mothers are theoretically supposed to have for children, or fear of losing their jobs or overwhelming punishment, and even then probably not. It sucks that life seems to depend on certain things that don’t exist anymore, that died of a long and slow depletion of health and defences capped off with an opportunistic plague. And still no one has noticed that the love is dead and gone, like gods in Pratchett’s ‘Small Gods.’ It’s all about the church, the administrativia, the litanies of love and family values, the rituals, the hymns we sing to love without realising that it’s all gone. (Dark in here, ain’t it, Alex? Pick another category.)

It’s called a revolution ‘cause it goes around.