At this point in time, my writing here is no longer a coincidence. I have fallen into the throughs of intention. I write to force the habit, here rather than somewhere else. Writing about myself is much easier than writing about others.
This is something new I have discovered. I feel the need to write rigidly.
I feel the need to ask "why?" I feel the need to investigate, to dig, to uncover. I feel the need to pursue. I feel the tense stirring of a congealed surface, a desperate emulsification, a plea to reduce and synthesize and understand and know.
I wish to write freely. I wish to write with the current of a thousand streams, combining and colliding and falling into one another with the trust of a boundaryless existence.
I wish not to disappoint. I would hate to disappoint! What if X considers me in such a way that I cannot be? Perhaps that is the main reason why I find myself occasionally telling people "haha, no, I'm straight, haha, I wish I was gay though!" I don't REALLY wish I was gay. I have enough on my hands! What I wish, is to not be a disappointment. That's not so much up to me, now, is it?
I have been having ideas for projects lately.
One is a narrative expose on frat culture. It would involve a main character, a boy, not so much pressured as encouraged into fraternity by his father, or by his friends, or by instagram reels, or by all three. It would involve a sexual assault. It would involve profound empathetic capacity.
Wow. Lots of worked up feelings about an interaction with riley earlier to day. I'm hoping that writing them out to her and ... yep. sent her a text, and I feel way better. Way to go, parts. Alright, I'm done here. See ya! Tomorrow?
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