there's something so inherently revolting and in perpetual, abyssal state of confusion about how I'm in touch with masculinity. the yearning towards becoming it and the caged nature of it are constantly warring and ripping each other apart. naturally it has grown into a weirdly seated desperation of destruction and creation. then it dawned on me that victor frankenstein already did something about it, and it's still born from the reflection of a woman regardless of how many victors' jealousy.















