hi Faucet reminded me to say i still am in love with the Spirit /(and) Life but that doesn’t mean i dont carry the black cloud with me (somewhere?) somehow–
Feeling sheer any way bc just tired af and if anything my strange animal sounds and queer movements kind of help me feel level, like if i don’t move or vibrate somehow i will v likely forreal die from something prob v similar to a star collapsing into itself–
in the same way, writing is v much like breathing too; and doing so even tempers me too, helps me to eat my sorrow, and be the champion of my sorrows, the stuart of my traumas