Bloom 99: TV Channel #8


some part of me has attrophied grotesqely.

Diary, october 6th, 2024.
I want to write to you because I had a good day. I know this because it stands in contrast to the rest of my miserable week. I chose not to write either of, or in the miserable state. Although It was relentlessly on my mind, I couldn’t think of anything useful to say. As wilde said, “one can be forgiven for admiring a useless thing as long as one admires it deeply”, but the things that I have to say more often than not cause me to feel nauseous instead of proud. I think that it’s possible to talk about useless topics here, but only if I translate them into vague poetry, which I would like to experiment with in the future. The biggest change in my life from the summer season is difficult to define. My inner life has shifted from the way it was before. My place in the gradient that starts at my birth and ends at my death has been moved forward, and with it a new stare of acting, perceiving, and thinking, has come upon me. Regarding the behavioral changes, I have continued reading. I think that this in tandem with school has helped me become very in-tune with a natural routine. Every day I do my school, and I do my gym, and I have meals and I have to walk, and I have to talk to M and I want to play a game in the meantime, and I want to watch the Underground s2 wire, and maybe I have to clean or see M’s parents, and the day is broken into segments, each which are dependent on the before and after segment. And if I organize them in the correct order, with the meal after I no-longer have to do things outside the house, and the games after I do school, and the walk after I’ve sat too long at the computer, and reading when I’m bored of the games or when I have to wait, then the day is good. Even if it is bad, it is not catastrophic. And I never get too much of anything, but everything gets done. And that’s how my view of life has changed (and become more "normal"=good).

The gradient is from bad to good. Sometimes when I have a bad day, I wonder if I have a bad life, and think about shooting myself in the head. But this doesn’t last very long, because something good will happen to end it, or the condensation of black tar on my brain will be dissipated by my (fortified by at least a years-worth of goodness) circulatory system and I will feel good again. This is because my life is good. [10:36 PM] Here are some things that I have been doing lately as-of October 8th: Trying to come up with stories, reading (carmilla and stoner and may-be the consolation of philosophy (in bite-sized-peices), going on /lit/, playing deus ex, playing tf2, playing skyrim.

I'm 20 years old now.
I didn't think about my birthday as it approached and I forgot that it had happened after it passed.
I suppose I'm reaching that age when birthdays are meaningless.
I'm writing this on October 26th.
I haven't felt like adding to this site.
I went to georgia for a week before my birthday, and I've been touching panzer plenty, and I've read Carmilla and Stoner and We Have Always Lived in The Castle, (all good).
I met a co-worker of my mom's when I was there, and she told me to read faulkner (Read A Rose For Emily and TRIED to read Absalom, Absalom! (I don't like post-modern needlessly difficult stories), and vonnegut (I read bluebeard and I'm currently reading Cat's Cradle with little interest), and some other misc titles.
I have a flask bettween two books in a cubby of my desk. I decant at most a teaspoons worth onto my tounge when I want to experience a sensation.
It's full of whiskey. When it first pools onto my tounge, and bleeds coldly into the crevices of my mouth, it tastes sweet. Like apple juice or sugar water for cocktails or hummingbirds.
Then it sears the surface of the soft pink tissue which it submurges, and the acrid vapor of the alchohol, which smells like apples rotting in gasoline reaches my nose and seeps into flesh.
I don't like getting drunk.