03 february 2021
this ψeudoglossary of mine
ψarchaeology — what does the mirage say about who I was? the record of a bribe, an artifact left over from many aeons’ worth of things now fossilised, fallen leaves turned to stone under great pressures, the subject of my ψeudogeology, and as I find traces of what lived before, ψalaeontology—a daemon’s dessicated husk—i dust it off, exhibit it like some ancient pride, unaware of its own daemons, delving into ψeleology—a collapsed mineshaft, craniums accumulating loose dust of coal, inflammatory—i mean flammable—and burning up, a layer of ash, trails of dusts between two sheets of leaden granite leading me to ψtratigraphy, mapping it out like I would a blueprint of apostasy, of a master plan to build, or break, or back an altar to false gods, to those same demons I thought i’d left behind first in the Cambrian, then the cave, the mineshaft, the mummified remains of that faceless husk, the certitude and comforting weight of megatons of granite like a weighted blanket or a heavy sweater, an altar to false gods indeed—ψeudotheology they always catch up with me…. all i have is the ψeudo, the ψycho, the ψychic, the ψychotropic…. and finally the pervasive ψychedelic.
this is kinda shit bbut here you go. today i feel...unheard. or maybe just voiceless. both end up the same don't they? at least i'll blame myself for both. this poem was too shit for medium but i wanted to get it out there. it's definitely verbose, of course, it always is. but for what it's worth, it's meant to talk about my feeling of persistent otherness, my flight from my demons through various kinds of study of the past, various glorifications and fioritures, also inspired by the word 'cryptozoology'. and it's also inspired by my being high last weekend and my addictive personality. i don't take it as a coincidence that psychoactive and psychological are so proxinymous. i mean it's not, of course, they both descend from ψυχή, the mind...
i cant escape this.
i'll post another writing draft tomorrow. i do plan on working on this one again but i'll probably do that when i manage to leech off of someone's praise for attention..
satsu-san had a bit of mold growing. i cut it out but it looked like the inside of satsu-san was all brown and weird inside. i'm really sad about that. i've grown seriously attached to satsu-san and i feel like i've betrayed them. i'm a bad caretaker. i can't take care of myself, friends, family, acquaintances, not even a tuber.
pretty pathetic when you get down to it. i haven't taken my antidepressants in a week now. i skipped my therapist's appointment because i felt exhausted but now she's made me feel guilty. i hate this. i hate therapy and tbh i hate everything. sick of school especially. i need to check when the next vacations are in France. i can't think anymore. i can't do anything anymore. this isn't a cry for help, but i feel like it's becoming more and more a final cry into the night, the sound a candle makes when it's going out. pschhh.......