And the cadences of my evening ends upon elaborately concocted echoes, in which the oppressive sound resounds the reproduction of echoes… Something is always of something, which the thing assumes. The of that I’ve been referring to, the gap between others and me–the synchronicity between me and others. For example, in object belongs to me, Continue reading

Woke up for meeting but ended earlier than anticipated anyways La Tana Itsumo. Very friendly dogs. Salesperson very vibey, as people nowadays call it. Oh so very cool. I love the smell of incense. It’s so fragrant and earthy, but not like the smell of weed, which is smelly. But the incense, mhm, it smells Continue reading

Today–and now–is a time of serious reflection for me. I must reconsider the values that I considered as values, for I do not think of them as values now. And I must figure out what it is that I value as valuable. Because now, I am lost with losing my values, and within such a Continue reading

Rewatched Your Name. So sad and warm and infinitely sad, the kind that bathes you in a warm shade. Continue reading

Took a walk in the mountains at night. Not actual mountains but the landscape was cut clear and you could see the soft glow of the sun. Anyhow, I’m walking and I see a bunch of slugs. I try not to step on them but some have already be trampled. Then their slimy slime explodes Continue reading

The delinquency of lying. Where have I seen her before. One exhausts the other through the synchronicity between them. I don’t know. The replica, reflection, shadows… permeate. I do not think of it. Something appalls me, and the incandescence of the trees glows. Continue reading

plucking the roots of my stasis off the depth of my languor. When it rained a few days, I realized that the sound of water is really the water flowing over the rocks. Or at least the sound that I heard had incorporated the sound of rocks, but not necessarily rocks themselves. But it is Continue reading

Glow that slowly peels off the slugs on the streets… It’s good to have a black dog. Nothing interesting in the past month. Or have I become boring. I mull over the stupor of mud again. A pomegranate. Evening. Ejaculation of the sculpted pulps–sleeping. The slugs are over me again. Continue reading

The image of which everyone dreams erodes… an illusion is only an illusion. Continue reading

Stupor of forgetfulness. Is there a portrait of nothingness. Continue reading