A shapeshifting mantra that can never find the perfect form, but a mantra all the same. In all my efforts to find he something that I am, I begin to believe I might be a nothing.
I wrote this about a character that is yelled at by her father for walking across the driveway while he backs up the truck. She writes a reddit "Am I The Asshole" post, titled "AITAH for jay walking across the driveway?" which she obsesses over the perfection of the wording therin, begining with the introductory paragraph, causing her to spiral and snap over pre-existing issues including her lack of identity outside of being a normal country girl engaged too quickly and living in a nuclear family.
2025
You say how could you do this to me
And I can see the fear in your eyes
I know I can't change your mind
But I would say
Let it fuel your fire
Let it fuel your fire
Let it fuel your fire
Quite literally these lyrics came directly from a dream I had, addressing something that has pained me for a long time; I am not the speaker in these lines, though. It's someone else addressing me. Though they are short and simple, it brings me peace. I need to recite these every day as a mantra.
December 2025 - January 2026
A hint of gasoline tints the air that burns
Wafting from the nozzle, boiling in the engine
Slick on my tounge, a dream appears of burning everything, and I swallow it.
In a quiet office she politely asked me to immolate myself
I consent, in quotes
Though the trapped audience for whom I perform seems uneasy
But she in the monitor smiles. I see. Very good
And many nights waking in half dreams, smelling that tint of gas on a wave of night air that carries a foggy goodness
I run my tounge over my dry lips
Arising from within
From my chest
Boiling deep inside
Slick to the tounge, I can hardly swallow it but I swallow
I burn myself whole and I swallow.
2025-6
(Liminal Summer)
There's a demon in the sun
Screaming, through the treetop leaves (white)
(Bright) (radio.
Silence.)
Peirced a hole right through us.
The dangerous summer of 2023 was the most quiet I've felt in ages. Nature was quiet too, or, at least, every time I went outside I was too hot to pay attention. I was particularly fixated on Serial Experiments Lain at the time. The sky was pale, sun glinted off the leaves like they were metal. Everything was white, bright, bleached. In Serial Experiments Lain there are many scenes where the scenery and sky is obfuscated by a merciless white sun, leaving very little washed out color, but casting these deep shadows filled with stars at the same time. This surreal dream-like scenery reflected how I felt in the real world. My outdoor world was minimized to a small island in a white void, only shadows, a computer and my own footsteps to keep me company. No wind.
12/25/25, poem written 9/19/23
They sent a dove and I ate it up
and plucked its feathers to put on my hat
and white heel
Jan 2026
To-do list:
2/25/25