Write every day

I just wanted to get this down from a past written entry:

If these things end up being no thing, but in fact less than a thing, why do I want to loose it? If its all imaginary, it matters only as much as you allow, but his face looks like a sunrise and his eyes like brown earth in an eternally warm morning.

time—and these interconnections I feel I know not whether they are my own inclinations toward a stabilized world that does in fact go my way or just an actual thing that goes my way or perhaps that they are one in the same. Writing. That effusion of my soul, I guess is more difficult when my soul is feeling rather weighty lately, when I feel torn, and the angst of self-imposed abuse on my mental faculties—I miss you world, I am betwixt, between, and in, All, and I know that when I become acutely conscious of my breathing I see stars. And that kills me[ laying in bed late at night when I am enmeshed in those time less moments of joy and the profound and silences holding the best of all worlds between your eyes and mine. Of all eyes and mine. I see you world, and am in love with you, all of you, forever.

I havent done this in a really long time. I have started to absolutely hate academia. Hopefully this will happen more over summer.

i feel so wrong about absolutely everything. like i thought i know some things, geeze, any things, and i know nothing. i mean, i thought some things were envitable, i thought i could believe in some things, but the only thing i have come to find that one can continously put faith into is the fact that you will be let down or in only yourself, which you can still let yourself down, but that is far more unlikely, in my experience. but then, of course, you are truly alone. maybe we all die alone because in the end, there is nothing that is left, but loneliness. i know this just sounds emo, but sometimes, life is just sad. which makes me rather pathetic in a way. and i dont even care. which is the emoness for ya. i just dont know what else to do, count on. except nothing. i am a fucking romanticist, but jesus, maybe i should just fuck alllof it and become a nihilist. or atheist. at the present moment i cannot distinguish the two. how many cats does it take to become a cat lady? 7. thats what i think. i just feel like none of it matters/ed….in the end, aka, now.