(i promise you) something visceral

 it is not a fact lost on me that all of this is quite pointless. that i could write today, learn something tomorrow and make art about it over the weekend - and i can keep falling behind. theres always an answer to this; that everyone moves on their own timeline and it is not up to us to worry about the ifs and the whats and the maybes. the maybes have been pissing me off quite a bit lately.  i keep isolating myself. the more i fall into this pit - this forsaken fucking pit of footnotes and addendums and the madness that says more more more; i fear that there is no real path for me. i could make something out, a vague creation of something, somethings, a somethingsomething but i dont think anything could satiate me. in my dreams i think of a life as an artist but (i could sell my work. this is not lost on me either.) i think ive spectacularly fucked up being twenty. i had no grand love story this time, no extravagant adventure, nothing new but for the old grief escaping the c...