Definition of language / devices:

To illustrate points at multiple points i have fabricated words or phrases, or used phrases in obtuse ways. For legibility, I will first define these things for you before you engage in any other parts of the statement.

1. Symbolically high quality foodstuffs.

This is defined as foodstuffs of high Symbolical quality, consumption of symbols in litteral consumption, as an extention of the consumption of symbols via interacting with cyberspace / modernity on daily basis. An exercise in control of symbolic environment.

2. The horseshoe theroy of consumption.

Popularized via memetic image sharing starting arround 2020, the horshoe theroy of consumption states equal importance in the consumption of "high quality" consumables (Seasonal / local goods, Family recipes) and "Depraved indulgences" (over processed pre packaged uncookables, energy drinks, smoking). Use connects the exparament fundamentally to the memetic sharing of information, centering it in the manifestation of cyberspace in reality, in a effort to prove humanism to phenomenon of the digital.**

3. Asthetic in-group.

Social classification of ones algorithmically determined persona. Presentation of contradiction from popular culture in controlled manor, removing traits from oneself that contradict the isolated notion of protest that one projects. The flattening of self into caricature for out-group community, the existence of in-group without definition or purpose beyond asthetic.

Thesis:

Cyberspace has evaporated personal symbology via the erection of memetically shared cross cultural, collective unconscious. In western culture, the symbol has been reduced to classification tool of asthetic in-group via the same phenomenon. These phenomenon spread via consumption of symbols, while habits of literal consumption are increasingly absorbed into cyberspace.* If one reads litteral consumption as the consumption of symbols, one can come away with the conclusion that personal symbology is evaporated into cyberspace in the same manor. In a effort to be increasingly defined by meaningful personal symbols, I aim to conduct a refinement of my diet to only consume symbolically high quality foodstuffs, defined by meditation on personal history, values, and the conception of the horseshoe theroy of consumption.

Defination of Values:

Dietary refinement is based holistically on personal history / values, centering the most historically important and symbolically communicative of my values. It is imperative to define these values, and i have created a list to explain complex personal machinations into legible depiction.

1. Beauty***

I place great importance in the pursuit of the experience of Beauty. I believe it to be both enriching and necessary to seek and find beauty in every moment that one finds themselves in. I value very highly the pursuit of expanding ones wealth of beautiful experience in every way that one is allowed by extenuating circumstance, and the personal proliferation of beauty to be integral to my values.

2. Ability

Ability is valued as the understanding of ones possiblely used potential energy for persistence and experience. It is valued as the actualization of ones complete ability creates a nodule that can hedonistically experience more for longer, and process it better than one who is leaving personal ability without utilization. I seek to have myself be as able as I can possibly be to increase my frequency and quality of import understanding and meaningful expirance.

3. Folk

Folk is a written catch-all value. It more or less defined as the methods of interaction, understanding, creation, and proliferation of people who are outside of positions of influence outside of interpersonal relationship. I value this very highly because it defines the architecture of the ethos I work out of, aswell as defines a geographys persona in acute detail. I value folk in most things, a place, a person, a work. I place more value in somthings folk

4. Gratitude

To express appreciation for what one has is important. To combat sourness and envy is to be grateful, and envy is the roadblock to knowing fully. To know fully is to appreciate each thing that passes you by, and to be grateful of each step taken. To be grateful is to be earnestly living with joy, with love, close to the heart.

5. Love

Love is the most important thing in the world. To love a brother. A friend. A lover. To hold love, to speak love, to shared love. I dont think love needs explanation, but I value love above almost everything, for it encapsulates every value. Its the singular value, is love.

Procedure:

Development of dietary refinement first centers ability. To give myself the best ability my caloric intake must be somwhere arround 2500 calories daily. Most meals will be low quality, bruised or discarded in-season / late-season produce, with a focus on mangos, bananas, and carrots as symbols of love, ability, and personal history respectively. I will sorce said produce from grocery liquidators / discount goods. I will consume protein primarily in the form of homemade regional sandwiches, sourced from recipes in personal handwritten cookbooks. To enhance personal ability, most of the sorcing of ingredients in these sandwiches will be from low-cost ends, but simultaneously containing 1-3 luxury quality ingredients (i.e homemade sourkraut, local tomatoes, self made corned beef). Oftentimes high quality ingredient will be self made cuts of deli-meats sourced from local butchers, symbolically representative of love and gratitude. All caloric intake besides these 2 staples will be categorized as "Depraved Indulgences", smoking menthol cigarettes, over processed candies, low quality fast food. Daily Indulgences will be the sort of "glue" that holds the diet together, embracing expirance.

The exparament will exist for 2 months. Daily reported mood levels, and consumption habits in the form of personal journal entries. Existent journals of social positions that triggered emotional / intense response will provide a base level of personal behavior and responce to stimulus (as seen on, this substact page). At the end of exparament, one can deduce the results for themselves via consumption and interpretation of personal journal entries.

Footnotes:

*i.e; mcdonalds app, doordash, grubhub etc

** As the existance of this on the publication app substact

*** Functions on the understanding that beauty is subjective but ones understanding of the beautiful is enhanced by education / experience.

Yet, my feelings have shifted on cyotees, the cultural symbology of the animal is something I hold a degree of dissidence with. I do not seek so often to prowl, to live in scheme. I, as anyone engage in said behaviors, but don't seek to have myself defined by them. In a way it feels like the labotomization of my machinations to be defined by nighttime escapades and subtle maneuvers, but when i see an animal moving with such spirit of intrest. With such curiosity just a hair adjacent to purity, almost childlike. I find it hard to disengage with a nature i find so admirable.

A week ago, I was biking down east river flats distantly remembering a time when I lived to see a rare owl species that was rumored to be wintering in a log here. I never saw it but i think in hindsight I saw a tulpa of my yearning in blurred owl form for a moment only once. I've consistently been drawn to birds. It comes from my father, whenever he'd be driving on the highway he would point at a bird overhead and give his colloquial name for its species. A drive on average had 1.2 conversional breaks where he'd call out "redtail" or "little coopers". I try to carry that with me because I really love my dad, and my family, and where I come from.

I was biking home from Hannah's house, and i saw a cat with a parrot in its mouth. The parrot was chirping loud and the cat was just still looking out with those werid green reflecting eyes. Cats eyes look almost completely absent at night in that shimmering green. It seemed like a bad sign to me when I saw it but I didnt know what it really ment. I think I saw that the same night I was reminded of the owl. I think maybe the parrot in agony reminded me later on to remember the owl, to pull out of myself a intimate memory of the land I was raised in. To give thanks to my symbols later on. If thats the case I wish I were able to have that gratitude without agony coaxing it out of me.

I was at Hannah's house that night because we had gotten the news about Robin westman, who murdered 2 children in prayer, in a targeted attack. She had injured a few more people, i think 7 or 9, and taken her own life. It had happened only a few blocks from Hannah's house, they had to take a diffrent way to work that morning because of the streets that were closed. I got the news early in the day, a very stoic longtime friend of mine had called me multiple times and than texted me the urgent nature of me calling him back. He and I both used to know Robin in highschool. We didnt know her as a dangerous person, a person who was intrinsically hateful. I knew Robin as a trans girl who was into some werid stuff on the internet, who was really good at skating and a little rude somtimes. I knew she had a troubled home life, I knew she became a lot more socially isolated after a few mutual friends who were a lot closer to her moved away. I didnt really even know what a groyper was, or how to get a high grade assault weapon.

I initially posed the attack as a demonic possession, as it was overtly clear a vulnerable person was manipulated by strange outside actors on the internet. I was very scared and angry that people who are at the most vulnerable positions have a pipeline that ends in unforgivable atrocities. I was able to own my reaction maybe for one evening, and than the internet collective-consciousness started the process of the digestion and regurgitation of the "story". Any present actor in the atrocity was first flattened into caricature, and than the caricature was three dimensionalised and absorbed into the US unconscious. I was struct by the reality of the horrors, but my understanding of what happened in my backyard was muted by the endless voice of algorithmic disunderstanding. It was striking everyone. I remember that same friend who first told me of the happenings being struct with such hopeless anger at the sight of seeing robin drawn as caricature by right wing comic artist ben garrison. The whole community was flattened and cartoonized.

A week or so later I was displaced in Portland Oregon. I shouldn't say displaced because I drove directly from minniapolis, but I find its very challenging to directly think while driving. I remeber driving along apocalypse middle america interstates and just kind of ambiently thinkng about my ex girlfriend until id start to hallucinate. I wasn't enterly cognizant until I had been in portland for 2 or 3 days, probably due to sleep deprivation and malnutrition. I couldn't think about the happenings back home till I was gone, I felt like that was taken from me.

In the first few days, I saw a baby possum with its back legs crippled crawling thru the street outside my house. I talked to it, it wasn't doing well and its fate seemed certain. A neighbor came outside and spoke of how he would "take it out of its misery" if not for his children being present. I told him I felt the same, but I didnt really think the possum was in misery. It seemed really spirited, it was quickly crawling arround and flicking the flies from its body. It was stubborn. I didnt really think about it as a symbol, just as a little tragedy outside my home, but as I write this i feel like I understand the possum a little more.

I write this as a antithesis to the internet artistic front, but the zealous discontent has left me. i cant equate my vampires tower esc separatism to anything besides this world becoming more perverse with each draft of wind that blows past me. I can feel my body, a damp crystalline form, harden into depiction. and forever I will search to tightly bind myself to the fresh water, to shared history, to momento and undefined symbol. this is not autofiction, ommision and warping is insult. this is 2 stories, as aposed to one, told in the language of a man treading water.

My Worst Boyfriend Ever 2 Christan

well. she loved me

what an embarrassment, to be introduced to a love so pure for its gates to suddenly shut so violently. the gentle, elegant woman whom I found myself so fond of has been defeated, and the weapons of her destruction are a dense mass of wingdings. I've given up, completely, i just make offerings of fruit and vegetables when able, effigies to forbidden care to the corpse of a woman I heald so dear. when I walked to work, when she loved me, I imagined the cold air was her nipping at my exposed skin. but any indication of that has been lost with the seasons colapse into summer. the phenomenon that provoke the slightest passing thought of her lover are so unknown to me all I can do is pray she see me in the barn swallows as aposed to the concrete rubble.

christian is a 38 year old disabled homeless man. he has giantism, lumbering above every passer bye with unimposing disproportion. he is a low functioning autistic, whos reality is structured arround the star wars franchise. he cashes disability in the pursuit of expanding the indulgent Darth Vader cosplay he often equips. when its not draped over him, its in a plastic bag beside him. our relationship started as patronage, I would provide him heavily discounted if not free fruits and vegetables from my 11th century esc market stand, at the dismay of my obtuse and cruel sales associates. his free rambles, mixings of reality and fiction, all painted in a sobriety and kind disposition were so ever curious and objectively entertaining i went out of my way to engage with him. my distant, hidden care for him, was somthing i held so dear.

christian appeared like a spector. you could never make space for him, hed be there and than disappear. his diatribe remained consistent, some person or force had wronged him in some indeterminate way. his speach incoherent, he communicated one conception with such purity; hes alone, hes scared. as the wear on a statue suggests the environment, he often would default to his reliance upon this present truth continued re-emergance. hes poetically blind, his vision is somthing that remains without much compromise yet in all legal regards he is a blind man, and in moments inopertune for his spontaneous entry i meerly stand 10 feet from him and he hasn't a clue of my presence. I am ashamed each time I am to do such a thing, so deeply ashamed, but the cocktail of ease and comfort is far too soothing on occasion.

for weeks my ponderings of her overtook myself, I was no longer anything besides desire. desire for her in her absence, for knowing of her conditions. I was a skilled laborer in a forren regional industry, not in this alien factory. her movements and communications sharp jolts, inhumane and withheld. my nervous system braced for resetting, and was in the midst of said processes in the midst of her demolition.

she appeared a did-up apparition, a spector taunting me with her approach. there she was, the hollow recreation of a woman I loved, sitting on the corner of a bed that contained our love as if it itself was causing her physical pain. the sore torment of her asking me about work, as if she was still there, was sharply cut by her admission of her own pondering of what to do with me. she proclaimed inability. there was a intense shame in her proclamation, and one would assume it to be out of care for me. it wasn't, it was out of morning. her inability, rather nebulous in definition, was resulting in equal torment upon her as her presence plauged my heart. in this moment, I ran to her, even with her being the pimp of my obtuse devastation, and she equally ran to me. she outlined her fantasy of a interpersonal immortality, perplexingly describing a level of intimate knowing best suited for romance. I told her, verbatim,

"honey, your not doing that for anyone else"

and she laughed, and cried, and we shared our devastation and desire for each other's unmade love in silent embrace. apon a unmade bed.

debauchery assaults a evening like a red eyed bull. the stage of a evenings theatrics often appears to me as a historic tavern called lindas, a place that christian is no stranger too. lindas is one of the few bars that refuses to 86 the strange giant. he offers them no patronage, no satisfaction, but is met with compassion by the keepers of this place, and perhaps environmentally I was moved to share in this one sided relationship as I found myself indisposed to him in the filthy men's restroom. christan the bullfighter. his utterings were the same word salad he served to each person that passed him by, but the futility of my presence in his life shot reminder into me with each psudeocoherent line. I was hopeless to change his position, entirely. before me I found a gambler who was delt a 7-2 offsuit, and existed no systems for him to increase his hand. each line cementing his devastation for his position, a endless string was erupting from him and I couldn't stop providing him audience. I held his heavy mechanical Darth vader suit peices as he slipped into his facade, as he escaped. I aided him in the momentary abolition of his devastation, at the cost of holding close my inability to harden it to being more than momentary. christian, that sly theaf, had not only robbed me of my evening but robbed me of my heart. yet, momentarily, I was able to share his devastation, his hopelessness, with him, and id rather be with him for a moment than be stranger to him for eternity.

I

found myself unable to weep in the fetal position for more than 30 minutes, I opted for malort lobotomy. the skilled laborer would rather exist in a factory he had no place in than on the street, and im weathering that. I will hold space for her until I die. every single person who I have loved, who has seen me beyond the constricted self and embraced that with love, will forever have space in my life. for some reason I compulsively reflect on a special moment i shared with a very dear friend (who, gavin, I dont call half as much as id like too) where I was entranced by the rare sight of a hummingbird and he was captivated with the beauty of a passing truck. we were outside, in the bounty of summer, and the deviding line was completely erased. safety, and comfort, seem so fleeding, I thank god that my midwestern sentimentality allots me the space to inpissate such purity into amber memento.

i fail to find conclusion, for I loved her.

the last thing I told her, the last thing I wish I told christian, they both are the same and parallel they both understood without me saying them.

I love you, its a shame.

My worst boyfriend ever

if i was to be a woman I would be juliana. a drunk, elegant and tall woman, who moves through environments as a hummingbird (ethereal, fast moving but with a slowness, a gentle energetic playfulness), so I send her pictures of every one I can get on camera. she loves me, she looks at me with such affection and care, and she's terrified of that. she's mortified of how vulnerable she is in my arms, she hasn't let her guard down to a boy like me before and she has a degree of trepidation in doing so. she says im too nice to her, to often I give her gifts, display a great fondness in memento far to frequently. I tell her that I won't stop anytime soon, and she laments her inability to meet me where I stand.

she's sexually expiranced, and open about her multitudes of inexperienced or inadequate lovers. I meet her where she stands in that regard, and i had the expectation of providing her repose to be far more of an outing than it has been. she colapses to my curious body, my small, illustrated form, with muscles tightly bound to tattooed skin. a wild beast, a drunk coyotee who follows her in the tall grass at night, she can see my iridescent green eyes shine in moonlight. the line between my animalistic pursuit being out of a feral hunger or habitual training is thoroughly blurred, I'd rather have her see my intentions with cataracts instead of her seeing right through me.

most everything she does is plesent or erotic. her voice, a Mid-Atlantic drone, her expressions, transparent pure machinations of a woman whos in deeper than she wants to let on. I genuinely, am fond of her company, which is unlike me. id go as far to say that her company is paramount to my attraction to her, if not the driving force in my devoted pursuit of her sitting beside me. my midwestern sentimentality gets me in trouble with her, but I dont really care. compromising my desire to protect myself in the face of a woman who i find so, almost spiritually compelling, is a circumstance i earnestly haven't a qualm with.

I keep hidden my written words, in time she will discover indulgent letters of a man in love, but after getting accepted into an environmental program in the San Juan islands i gifted her a bottle of amaro. I attached a note with a drawing of her cat and a bird, arround a heart with her nickname apon it. on the backside I wrote a lyric from a frank dorian song, another gratifying memento of my obtuse purity, my overwhelming desire, my unending pursuit.

"when im feeling somthing special ima make that shit work out"

its ineloquent, but whatever. I'm meeting her where she stands.

coyotee dogg. montana golden hillside, flying grouse angels, their antennae pulsing. pursuit of them is playful, endless. feasting on bones at night with vultures and grassrats, eating trucker-canned beans as the sun rises