my absurd consciousness

and the thing that haunts me the most is i am so disgustingly fortunate to have friends and family who love and care for and support me unconditionally. yet it doesn’t seem to matter. my existence, besides this fact (that exists within the objective reality of my lived experience), is perceived (and therefore subjectively experienced) by me in a way that feels perpetually isolated, lonely, and unlovable. and i don’t know why that is. like a pile of decaying organs trapped in a body of quicksand i drown myself with so much guilt about it. i hate it (but would i change it?).

my birthday is a cracked mirror, one that projects a perverse, fragmented reflection of my being back onto me. one that tells me, SCREAMS at me, that i am the arbiter of my own existence. that all the stories i tell myself about being a “lone wolf” or “not needing anybody but myself” are complete and utter bullshit. and i think a part of me, deep down in my subconscious or unconscious or embedded somewhere in my spiritual being, throughly resents the fact that my birthday is in fact this very mirror. and so instead of facing myself head on (as any responsible or self-loving person would) it (i) perpetuate(s) a cycle of self-loathing instead.

lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely…

lyrics//

head from god

he knows just what i like

lead for lunch

and now i’m tangled up

in the hunt

hi everybody :) i recently put out an album :) second pic describes it, but i would also say you could describe as being something swirlies would have made if they were instead a t-girl who came of age amidst the mid-2010’s internet culture…lol