life is a garden ➿ and the roots are all touching
absolutely crushing
The planetarium gives me slight vertigo. My eyes are damp. C.A. says she almost fell asleep, M.C. says her neck hurts. Pedro Pascal narrated this Milky Way short film at the Museum of Natural History for some reason. I haven’t thought about him in a minute. In recent years, I haven’t thought about the Milky Way much at all.
I’ve thought about time on the scale of generations, never in the millions. We’re all just rock-things twirling in a vast expanse. Knowing this, we still exist the way that we do, hurting each other and withholding. Seeing our animated solar system collide into another cosmic blob that I don’t remember the name of kind of freaked me out. Something about the rendered Earth floating through the universe in a simulated animation of millions of years past squeeze on my chest. We are so small. The sun, a thing so eternal and fixed to me, was:
1) once born, and will eventually,
2) die.
We move on to an exhibit about mass extinction. This makes M.C. sad. I am indifferent in a detached way. C.A. says dinosaurs are ugly, and I begrudgingly agree. Feeling bad for labeling an entire generation of earthly beings as “ugly”, I chalk it up to our biological difference. Yeah, that's right, we can’t relate because they’re just different.
We enter an exhibit about DNA. Turns out, we’re pretty biologically related to most things.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Still yet, somehow, I get wrapped up in bullshit, but I honestly think it’s fine. It builds character. I aloofly look at you and say: all of this built character. You’re not convinced you believe me, and I don’t care enough to be believable.
Bataille says some shit about needing to spend more and I agree, like, we’ve accumulated too much to the point of being accursed and now the vibes are straight up bad. I don’t know about the whole human sacrificing thing, but I think we could use a proper festival or two, gorging ourselves in a ceremonial manner.
And if I may add: we’re withholding love a little too much, like, please release it from the gorilla fucking grip you got there. I see your hands and they are turning purple from holding on too tightly. I’ll release it, finger by finger, kissing each knuckle if you need me to. I just want you to be happy. Your knuckles are turning white. Please, sweetheart. You’ll squeeze yourself to death. Please, sweetheart, your eyes are growing bitter from what was force-fed, bloating you to death and still lacking nutrients.
The light streams through a gap between a nondescript FiDi building and another building (that would have been doomed to nondescriptness if it weren’t for the big ass Verizon sign,) and I swear to you: that shit looked angelic. I took the most ass-horrid photo of it on my phone. I guess it makes sense, since you’re not supposed to capture an angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Going back to the constant flux of things, going back to the unfixed nature of things, going back to dying one day: every moment is special, so special in a way that sounds so fucking banal when writing it down. You just have to feel it weigh on the essence of your fleeting short human life, feel it so painfully like a palette of bricks crashing from the sky, straight into the heart. Planets laugh at us, and we’ll never hear it from light years away.
I look at D.T. and B.J. and A.Y. and start howling; we keep shortening words to oblivion, rendering language into sweet, nebulous little nothings that only live to serve as a conduit of laughter. Nothing we say makes that much sense anymore, and yet, we relish. Each friend group thinks they are so special for this, for inventing a new language, but honestly, that’s just really the truth: it really is special. Every act of love is a miracle, every cluster-system of friends an achievement of a microscopic margin of success.
So I text D.T. and i say oh my god I’m going to die one day and things will never stay the same even if we continue to know the same people because circumstances change, life around us changes, so we might as well accept a beautiful evening full of laughter even if it feels fiscally irresponsible and it finally hits me that we live in a culture of debt and guilt, that i am yet to fully accept good for what it is. I want to have a good time and let it just be that. I'm working on it.
related notes:
★ the accursed share, george bataille
The planetarium gives me slight vertigo. My eyes are damp. C.A. says she almost fell asleep, M.C. says her neck hurts. Pedro Pascal narrated this Milky Way short film at the Museum of Natural History for some reason. I haven’t thought about him in a minute. In recent years, I haven’t thought about the Milky Way much at all.
I’ve thought about time on the scale of generations, never in the millions. We’re all just rock-things twirling in a vast expanse. Knowing this, we still exist the way that we do, hurting each other and withholding. Seeing our animated solar system collide into another cosmic blob that I don’t remember the name of kind of freaked me out. Something about the rendered Earth floating through the universe in a simulated animation of millions of years past squeeze on my chest. We are so small. The sun, a thing so eternal and fixed to me, was:
1) once born, and will eventually,
2) die.
We move on to an exhibit about mass extinction. This makes M.C. sad. I am indifferent in a detached way. C.A. says dinosaurs are ugly, and I begrudgingly agree. Feeling bad for labeling an entire generation of earthly beings as “ugly”, I chalk it up to our biological difference. Yeah, that's right, we can’t relate because they’re just different.
We enter an exhibit about DNA. Turns out, we’re pretty biologically related to most things.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Still yet, somehow, I get wrapped up in bullshit, but I honestly think it’s fine. It builds character. I aloofly look at you and say: all of this built character. You’re not convinced you believe me, and I don’t care enough to be believable.
Bataille says some shit about needing to spend more and I agree, like, we’ve accumulated too much to the point of being accursed and now the vibes are straight up bad. I don’t know about the whole human sacrificing thing, but I think we could use a proper festival or two, gorging ourselves in a ceremonial manner.
And if I may add: we’re withholding love a little too much, like, please release it from the gorilla fucking grip you got there. I see your hands and they are turning purple from holding on too tightly. I’ll release it, finger by finger, kissing each knuckle if you need me to. I just want you to be happy. Your knuckles are turning white. Please, sweetheart. You’ll squeeze yourself to death. Please, sweetheart, your eyes are growing bitter from what was force-fed, bloating you to death and still lacking nutrients.
The light streams through a gap between a nondescript FiDi building and another building (that would have been doomed to nondescriptness if it weren’t for the big ass Verizon sign,) and I swear to you: that shit looked angelic. I took the most ass-horrid photo of it on my phone. I guess it makes sense, since you’re not supposed to capture an angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Going back to the constant flux of things, going back to the unfixed nature of things, going back to dying one day: every moment is special, so special in a way that sounds so fucking banal when writing it down. You just have to feel it weigh on the essence of your fleeting short human life, feel it so painfully like a palette of bricks crashing from the sky, straight into the heart. Planets laugh at us, and we’ll never hear it from light years away.
I look at D.T. and B.J. and A.Y. and start howling; we keep shortening words to oblivion, rendering language into sweet, nebulous little nothings that only live to serve as a conduit of laughter. Nothing we say makes that much sense anymore, and yet, we relish. Each friend group thinks they are so special for this, for inventing a new language, but honestly, that’s just really the truth: it really is special. Every act of love is a miracle, every cluster-system of friends an achievement of a microscopic margin of success.
So I text D.T. and i say oh my god I’m going to die one day and things will never stay the same even if we continue to know the same people because circumstances change, life around us changes, so we might as well accept a beautiful evening full of laughter even if it feels fiscally irresponsible and it finally hits me that we live in a culture of debt and guilt, that i am yet to fully accept good for what it is. I want to have a good time and let it just be that. I'm working on it.
related notes:
★ the accursed share, george bataille
last edited 3/18/26