July 4th.

i numb myself and yep.

L went on ahead without me and i am mad about that.

yesterday was good though. today is hell. went down to Denver with Q, we then went and picked up A. me and Q went to gas station because A wasn't ready. got six hundred grand. felt better, i played Q some of my weird music. drove down and talking with Q and A was fun. S told me Thorn was sick and so might not be at picnic. it wasn't there, this might be good. later i'd write a poem of poems on watercolor paper for it. 

i am at Shiv's place now. on the fifth. and i am something. L has her feet on me.

i got angry at thorn for sleeping with        but i cannot complain truly. i can complain because id like to have had a talk or something, screwing old friends i dont know about all that and i am royally screwed because i screwed it royally by not saying "i need to be alone with you because this week has been a week of week and i am not yet used to this idea, id prefer to just do art together with her and you".

and now i am writing for thorn when i should be writing for myself. 

the past week i watched the worst of the worst. yesterday we went to Denver and sucked tits in a park and got chicken nuggets for Rose. got cream bars but A bought them. we forced M to socialize. it was so good to see her. we have adhd meds to pickup. kissed women. need to hangout with ragdoll. rambled on down to whole foods with L and A. i kissed a girl's tummy at picnic but forgot her name. i feel like part of me being a slut is some veiled attempt at getting back at thorn even though i know it doesnt care. 

i am going to play a ttrpg now. will keep a log for more.

July 4th.

July doesn't feel like the seventh month. it feels like the sixth. i am writing here again i guess. i was told that thorn doesn't hate me but it needs time. i think that's true for both of us but i dont have anyone else to tell "heres what happened today" other than it. i wanted to see it at the picnic. if it wants to continue dating me it will probably see this eventually at some future point. i am not gonna tell people about the blog anymore. it's just incidental. but i thought about telling Aurora what happened each day but it's not that kind of closeness. i miss it a lot. not sure what ill do without it. i guess, do this. i spent the past week in a self inflicted numbness, i hungout with E again which was good. we on Thursday watched live action one piece. on Friday i hungout with C and we got food at a diner. ive been watching awful family guy reaction and skyrim slop. family guy is truly a once in a generation show because it's just truly made for youtube shorts. watching it feels like eating lead. i miss playing skyrim. 

today i wokeup at eight thirty and wow. 

down to denver, drink, Q drove me along with A, haven't seen A in a year or more. drunk at picnic. an orgy of tits, i understand things now. went and got food with A and L. saw M and that was very good, glad i dragged her down to Denver. got to poke boobs. i was too possessive. oh well. about thorn. went back to Shiv's place with A and L and C, C went home to work. the sun is a lovely friend. watched Octopus. Q drove L and A back to A's place. Q revealed important things. 

2/27/2026.

Doggirl Rodney Dangerfield verses Konata Izumi, a wrestling event for the ages. theres thirty nine days until April 7th. 

2/24/2026 again.

I look at a playlist called "forestcore", it is on spotify and "made for me" which means nothing, target audience and statistical outline. today is the 25th and i was just reading Sandra Simonds' Triptychs. it feels like a month since i have sat down and read. last night i finished 17776: The Future of Football. the playlist gave me a song called *Millie, Warm the Kettle*, it is not a song for me.

Reading The Future of Football gives me that feeling of recognition of great art. i felt it when i read Canto One by Ezra Pound, i felt it when i watched The Mouth Experience AMVs by nearphotison. but those differ. in Pound i saw an evil but talented man taking language to its limit, taking all he knew of history and speech and trying to make it have the most meaning it could have, a man who knew Odysseus well. in nearphotison i saw a man overcome with love and obsession and could express it with the only medium he truly had mastery of, reviewing and reviewing his work again and again, looking into every song to make the perfect joke, reaching through memory and forums to find the perfect material. with Jon Bois i see a man who knows humanity and its beauty and its limitations. a man who knows how to craft people because he knows people and what you can gain by gleaming at a few moments of a life. i dont think the world Jon Bois makes is a utopia or dystopia, it's just a human world, maybe death is a necessity but in freeing humans from having to ration time they create so many wonderful things. April 7th 2026 is forty one days away.

on the lightrail to þorn's place i talked with an old lady, retired English professor. she spoke well. i recommended The Future of Football even though i wouldnt finish it completely until later that night. she was Lutheran but told me that if she wasnt she'd be Jewish. she did have knowledge of Judaism in the way that those who want the mystique do not. we talked about long everlasting life, she said that immortality was a theme humanity had been dealing with for ages; she told me about how Odysseus refused immortality from a Goddess so he could return home.

2/24/2026.

finished 17776. jerked off. the jerking off came before the future of football. took three hours jerking off. at þorn's. my sister hates me. i think 17776 is one of the best works of the 21st century.

New Shoes On A Dying Horse and Where.

I have been reading New Shoes on A Dead Horse by Sierra DeMulder, there is not much that impresses me about it. by that i mean makes an impression, a mark. anything. 

When I read poetry by women, as a transgender woman poetry making thing, i always think of other women poets of the same era. and how it compares. unfortunately Sierra DeMulder is generally weak. this isnt to say bad, just unremarkable, theres a few good poems in there but nothing like J Bailey Hutchinson, Franny Choi, or Kimberly Johnson. and i am having trouble placing exactly what about her work makes it seem trite?, uninspiring?, mundane?. i guess it is a lack of humbleness and the fact that reading her work feels like reading a sentence and not a poem. with Kimberly Johnson you are filled with Marian holy feeling and a deep connection to the landscape of Utah, with Hutchinson you step inside her entire life. Hutchinson's My Dad Has Sleep Apnea and Has a Gun in His Nightstand works so well because it comes after Heat Advisory and with Sierra DeMulder it doesn't feel like that.

she has poems about genius but it doesnt string together well, theres no succession of images that build off each other. Sierra DeMulder does touch on similar subject matter as Hutchinson but it lacks the same musical or sonic quality to it.

today i watched part of a video of Rebecca Mead talking about Middlemarch and that itself gave me more investment in the life of this one woman among many than New Shoes on A Dead Horse does. the lines dont break well, it's decent enough breaking and pausing but subpar, and sometimes it just doesnt make sense.

i could grow to love the collection if it was one of three books in a cabin and i was staying there for a week, but i am not in a cabin.

today i watched Azumanga Daioh and Nichijou and read haikus. i forgot to clean. 

i think Sierra DeMulder is another Andrea Gibson. 

i remember when Andrea Gibson died, thinking that i could no longer call their work trite because now it seemed purely hateful.

some poems' simplicity arises not because of aesthetical choice but because the author only knows how to speak in sentences. 

ive been reading japanese haikus.

i called þorn today.

the third.

read poetry and watched nichijou, called þorn.

i got fired recently. oh well. Sam and Mandy both messaged me. calling Mithos and Bram. i wonder what W.S. Merwin would think of Azumanga Daioh. there are too many seasons of survivor. straight male fujoshi are in for 2026. awful tepid birthday. so this is twenty five. i havent written enough. i love the world. trump kidnapped the president of venezuela. i need to clean. you can get up early and sit down and read for four hours if you really want to.