TLDR: grandpa/loss issues, pretentious art philosophies, mental illness

• but i'm supposed to do what scares me, right?
• i am a bad person. i know why i've become this way and accept it
• everybody leaves
• without disgust i am nothing
• i don't abandon people
• nothing is sacred - not even the cultures/lives/bodies i care for and inhabit
• yearning and mourning just for the absence of rejection. just for pure unreproachable bliss
• forgiveness as a practice, truth in intentionality since i can't erase the resentment in my emotions. because i can't make my parents die with regrets towards me.
• my life is one gaping wound.
• forming FPs against my will because i am mentally ill, feeling like destiny and inevitable heartbreak every time
• art to survive
• to cause one less slow, painful, invisible, undignified death before i die as well. to save even one person from a death like theirs and a death like mine. tending deathbeds and the graves they leave behind. living like haunting.
• living like a rush to use it all up before death, because if i die having left some talent or idea unused i'd have failed my grandparents and what they saw in me. seeking the freedom and autonomy and time to do all of them.
• that which has grown from the intrusive thoughts of my childhood to the demonic voice to now the overwhelming, too-large-for-my-body deep black, vibrating desire like a possessing eldritch entity too big for its vessel