Anecdotal foreplay—of the 23 problems my eyes face, the consistent seesaw-standout is either more uveitis [imagine vision-clouding abstract art] paired with less glaucoma [imagine eyeballs ever-swelling, mm] or the reverse. Lately it’d been glaucoma to which I had borrowed time til my one remaining good eye explodes; after this week’s checkup it’s borrowed time before my one good eye’s inflammation tears through the back and detaches the retina [your camera’s sensor]. Either scenario would have me selling what’s leftover on body-parts-ebay. So to cut through your likely what-does-this-do-with-any—zzz, well if I go blind you no longer have to feel a self-argued I-support-I-think-he’s-autistic-people obligation to engage cause I straight up won’t be able to see anything I do.
I’m also jotting this down cause I really enjoy contemplating the fragility of my existential mortality, which is more or less in if-I-go-down-I-take-you-with bondage with my physiological existence I’m fine Matias see you tomorrow. And I guess if I think about it and also cause it’s pretty noticeable now that there’s a lot more transparent wraiths in front of me, I’ll temporally take that over my eye exploding which hurts a lot in the lead-up.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for normal emotionally-self-shaming people to share what’s busted about them. I guess the culture’s changing nowish-maybeehh? Or maybe the news is just reporting all the people who do speak out—and really most peoples just cannot wait to put this all behind them. I know governments and regimes never even tried to feign otherwise but there’s also a sinister fatalism to a person refusing to change especially when the world has made it impossible to ignore the question.
I want how I change to matter. I want the things I give to matter. I want bonds I consider still worth fighting for to matter. I want what I briefly bring to a stranger to matter. I want my attempts to be better for the better to matter.
Does any of this make sense? Can you actually sympathize [not with me, but it]? Do you even care?[???[?][??]] If you’re still reading, there’s the slightest change it’s a yes to any of that.
I’m closing my eyes between typing half cause I’m lucid and half cause I delusionally think when every time I re-open them that the uveitis will have had added seconds to die out cause I’m lucid. It won’t. That’s what the weekly badass-self-stabbed needles are for.
Multiple objectives. First, upfront disclaimers. Gratitude can harmonize with self-worth. I’m not simping so this isn’t a double-single release thirsting over Peter or the others the track listing refers to. Actually Peter doesn’t even really like the track named after him and I think he forgot about the artwork depicting his visage by like the afternoon after I shared it with him, though it has nothing to do with Leonardo’s artwork which Peter loves. Just yeah I don’t think people notice my elaborate gestures unless it offends them. I blame the pheromones. Before anyone thinks I’m actually being down on myself no Peter, Adam, Justin know this is performance art + I’m long numbed and empowered by all this existential not-good-looking-people aloneness among people I don’t even conceptualize making out with. Just imagine how I’ve transcended wholesomely-dimensional women with all-the-same horrible taste in men. Beards, turtlenecks, mod haircuts, posh well-adjustedness, ahSsshhhHHHHHH, just, fuck. Right so what started as a birthday joke 10-second track for Peter over time became its own thing but I’ve retained the Peter propaganda cause I will always find ways to express my gratitude, even weaved through the otherwise autonomous art. That reference along with the other tracks honor the trinity that exposure-jumpstarted the artistic movement I gladly moderate for.
More multiple objectives. A summer expression I can with peace of mind direct back to, unlike mango which is more a kid I disowned but then became thus far the relatively successful kid who I still won’t ever look at again but I have equal willingness to talk about when someone wishes to discuss.
Right, multiple. An exercise in mediation between the feelings summer evokes and the weary-shifted perspective against the lie that summer longing-suggested, at least for those without the pheromones to live out that coming-of-age bullshit. To clarify I specifically cherish the ODC gang including the people depicted in this portrait.
Some abstract between the main dream [see: ODC] and a separate entity—one that may weave or root back iconography and mythos back to ODC but ultimately can stand on its own. No it’s not canon, this isn’t a poor man’s cinematic universe [shit’s so exhausted man. ..]
Aight I’m not gonna start analytically dissecting my art and as if you’re getting any more engrossed. Proceeds go to the rest of Open Doom Crescendo’s realization. If you hate paypal’s guts like I do and don’t wanna give them the conversion fee, then the gofundme is still up. Again the closer we get to the objective, the sooner this guy gets saved. See you tomorrow on twitch.