are you lying about who you're crying for

    (spontaneous. for some reason this word remains stuck in my head and i twist it around, mull over it and chew it until it tastes like something grey. i cant figure it out - for its right there, it makes sense but i cant hold it in the palm of my hands. my ears hurt from all this music. i wish i could be spontaneous - but i am only reckless, restless, impulsive,)

    theres this book i randomly picked up because i saw it in a list of recommendations titled 'weird books for weird girls'. on a whim, i decided to read all the books on the list - the first of which being Y/N by Esther Yi. this is a pivotal moment for you, dear reader - if you know what a y/n fanfiction is, you might be immediately intrigued by this book. this book promised sufficient weirdness - with its reviews ranging from 'i hated this' to 'i hated this. five stars.' 

    but something about this book holds my attention. anything that holds your attention also holds to you a mirror; for the basis of an audience these days comes in the condition of relatability. there are elements of this book that i recognized - the fanatic obsession that can grip a person as they detach themselves further and further away from reality (and to cling onto a person that does not know of their existence). the intellectualizing dialogue of rational madness, of reasonable madness and madness madness. the delirious narratives that shift between teetering at the edge of sanity before completely abandoning it. 

    i dont know how i feel about this book. but it holds my attention, and anything that calls to your attention deserves analysis. 

    which begs the question. if this fact is true, then there should exist the alternate - what is deliberately withheld? what is withheld from you for if brought to your attention, it might lead to analysis, and analysis might lead to discovery. im travelling a very obvious thread with this; of academia and of research and the growing disdain given to both. or generally, the need to explore, the human urge to be curious is met with apathy - of all things, apathy. fast-form media is a threat yes, artificial intelligence even more so, but this growing lack of interest most of all. maybe all three tie in together (they do) and maybe theres a larger factor that causes all this (there is) but i am only a random literature student musing, theres only so much i can speculate...

    (i would also recommend you a videoessay - 'cunk and the rise of anti-intellectualism').

    Y/N, however. this is not a book i would recommend, as this is not a book for all. i do not particularly believe in the existence of books that exist for all - but i would encourage people to seek books regardless. to me, finding hyperspecific niches of books i would love is very akin to curating a personal style. i also think reading with love is a dying art. everything is measured in numbers - how many books can you read in a year? how many pages in an hour? how many words can you write in a second? do you post something every day? (youre a failure).

    dont listen to the demon device, dear reader. embrace your individuality. your self is not something that can be captured by an aesthetic. please put down the demon device, i promise selling your soul isnt worth all that. 

    these days, i keep going for only snippets - smaller reminders of life. the spark of light in my sisters' eyes when she gets a new idea, a work of fanart of something so niche and unserious that only a human couldve come up with it, a bowl of ramen that is somehow always perfect, music that screams, music that says if the heavens ever did speak, she's the last true mouthpiece - reminders that even if i go back to place that commands me to unbelong, i would do so with people i loved. 

    thats true resistance. kindness and love. if i had to conclude this somehow, i would tell people to be weirder. to keep going regardless. to keep writing. nothing specific, but i would urge you to find out.