got your souvenirs.

thought about herder all morning. it hurts to. i always feel a little small, as if i'm perpetually looking at my shoes, when i notice that the actions and life stories of certain figures affect me emotionally. benjamin's suicide, you know. the unfinished arcades projects. threads that never go anywhere, or it's that they do and noone's watching because. because people are busy things. you know. you know you know you know.

my head hurts. a sort of radiating throb at the flare at the base of my neck, where it turns to heavy head i guess. it's like an imp that leaps up now and again. it doesn't hurt so much as just. it's intense pressure and heat.

i wish i knew what was wrong with me. i know things aren't right, and the sense that things won't be right, that attempts at fixing them aren't going to go anywhere or do anything, also looms. last night laying on my side, dangling off the bed i thought quietly about how so much has receded. on purpose and then as if dropped from hands, from fatigue. any matter which remotely matters to me, hidden swollen in my heart, stays there now. i pulled it back. this is okay, i think--but it makes the days dreary and long, because days must be spent socially. you know.

that sounds really asocial, doesn't it? antagonistic or brushing off...but i think it's more just small trickled sadness that has nowhere to go. filling up a basin. a lake at... you know, at the base where the neck flares, grows into a heavy head.