certainties are shameful

[chevaron]

reflecting on the nature of reality seems to consume my mind moment to moment and day to day. there is no time in my consciousness for applying value to the dumb young fun things i seemed to have let retreat into a state of unfamiliarity. god damn am i existential, and i can't shake it, which is the nature of a hyperventilated, de-frocked and defenestrated soul. and though i have calmed my base, and feel cold air from the electric fan blowing in my room nightly and sometimes daily, simply for the sake of therapy, there's the overwhelming feeling of one's fourth dimension being consistently just behind the wall of the room. i feel the wisps of direction, the fog of something splattering its body-and-soul enlightenment somewhere in the subtleties that surround me, but sheeeeiiiitt if i don't fucking know what it means to "activate" something, or anything anymore.

nor do i apparently remember how to write ;.;