Transition. Night|Mornin’.

Furthermore, it lingers like a razor at the tip of my tongue all the time. I start to feel dangerous as my skin starts to warm up.

Angry without being asked, sparked, and ignited. To disregard prudence for no reason. Every chuckle that finds me does me harm.

I may destroy my sense of realization, production, and functional consciousness and never get over its loss. And why should I? Because I want to taste the blood of a thousand years on the tip of my tongue. I want to develop a conscious phobia of my own sinister secrets. But I am unable. Thus, I won't.

5/5;

Persistent on the insignificant considerations of some time recently. Some time recently what? Some time recently me, some time recently it, some time recently whom? Caught in it. Caught in what? You're not making any sense. Sense. Does that qualify for rational soundness? Or is that a classic problem. Prepare for the leading, halt maturing on the glasses of it being the more awful. Of course life is worse— each day we breathe we pass on a small more. That, ought to illuminate you to be free and live. Hold nothing back, be louder, go father.

When is sufficient... considered as well much? How much do we know about being sufficient? Go farther...be courageous. Cry, be irate, and...take jumps. Life is disintegrating. Broken. And however, it's never been way better. Battered and bruised; but sweetened and lively.

- Mahmoud Darwish from 'Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut c. 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)

To begin once more, almost reborn? Does that make any sense in the slightest? Or am I crossing the threshold of denial. solutions, I want solutions. Will that put out the festering and flora and fauna fire inside of me? solutions.

Riddle me this...and achieve this to the point where my eyes sink in. What am I gaining, if there's some thing to benefit? Retreating into my own mind creating conditions that haven't and won't appear. Crazy? possibly. Insane? it truly is a piece on the splitting facet. So many matters at bay—my fingertips stained in within the blood of what may be. ...it is simply that, what could be...

Where's my Jacob Marley when I want him? Am I too forging the chain link by link, yard by yard? Where are the three spirits with the intention to help me alternate my ways? I'm calling out— I'm yelling in. I am full of light and rain. Extra solar than rain, more tears than ache, and this...like many different writings is an ode for development. Angelina! you are okay. it's going to all get greater later... And remember later doesn't mean today, tomorrow, or next week— it just means later.

𝐈𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧—

Lonely thoughts of yesterday— will come back to haunt you. Memories of the future, will creep in. Isolation, desolation —captivation. These shall be of things that you can be proud of. You may not be alone, but you are still alone.

And where does the soul reside? Where do you think it lives? What kind of environment do you think it thrives in? Would you say it thrives in solitude? Or perhaps when we're abandoned? That doesn’t sound like a very satisfying answer. But what about when we're completely isolated? We've become so lonely. We've become so disconnected from ourselves. Do we need this much silence? We lose sight of the beauty around us— the beauty in us. And what happens when there isn't enough of ourselves around to remind us? When there aren't any voices left to tell us otherwise?

In solitude; alone, then you may feel like your loneliness is overwhelming. Or does it us the strength to face loneliness and still be happy? To exist is hard. You need energy, a soul—find it, in isolation.

I can't rest. I can't reach that level of calmness... I'm like always on edge. Okay? And? More cheese with that wine? That's a bad pun and a line from a 90s movie. Great, I can't rest and I'm having “Guess that movie quotes!” with myself... great. GREAT.

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝐼 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒.

-𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝐽𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑒

Franz Wright, from God's Silence; "Why Is the Winter Light"

[Text ID: Empty me of the bitterness and disappointment of being nothing but myself]

There are parts of me that are broken, tangled together, hurtful, and joyful. I've talked about this before, but that ravished part of me doesn't care. I am still learning. Learning how to... To put on paper how I really feel. It goes well beyond the creepy, spooky, and unsettling feelings that I will harbor within me. No fancy talk, no cover-up, just how to...

The high effects of life's ecstasy warn me off. Dull eyes, zombie dragged and drugged, I am a personality bubbled and bright, but only in the dark crooks of my mind. No mask. Uncovered and here to stay. I can be two, three, four, or six people at the same time! I don't want to be trapped in the bug house. I don't want a circus. I'm just letting loose this sticky muse.

There will be another muse like this. This personality will regain its strength and trust me, I'll be here to capture it. I am not someone who locks it up and pretends to be a housewife. Fuck it. Captured it and I'm happy. This is an anxious capture.

To: Angie.

From: Angelina.