📝
Cryptic and poetic notes under baseboards and desks or even within the holes in the drywall that you patch, mild unobtrusive graffiti, old pets buried in the yard, etc.
I get sentimental about the fact that I'll never have access to a certain place again, and that a certain period of my life is coming to an end. The spaces we inhabit inevitably mark us (whether good or bad), so it's nice to leave a piece of you behind before it's too late. To try and resist against it all getting flattened and annihilated by the perpetual deluge of time and change. I've found that it helps with meaning making and the navigation of loss.
Also, I think it would be fun to discover this sort of stuff as someone else. Sort of like a little low stakes mystery or impromptu archeological dig. You know, real fuel for the imagination amidst the monotony, while also encouraging you to embrace our shared existence and connection throughout time and space, concepts that are so often obscured within our modern fetishized and individualized world.
Feb 27, 2024
Related Recs
🎆
-there was a recent time where i met someone, someone very sweet and interesting. we talked and talked, and no matter how much i'd ever see them again, i was okay with myself. to me, they were an anomaly in the people i met, because they were that remarkable to me. i walked away from them fulfilled, as i repeated to myself in my head "even if i don't see them again i'll be okay".
-i've always held on to those kinds of experiences, minus the acceptance. that's what's new with this one.
-first it was holding on to the memories of people who i couldn't see anymore due to moving, then it was holding on to the things we did. in elementary, the people that befriended me had a binder and we'd draw and play characters all written in that one binder during recess.
-one of those friends, kaden, moved away in 6th grade without telling anyone. with how much i've moved state to state, i completely understand why he did that or why he couldn't do anything about it. i've thought about disappearing, without anyone looking or having to worry about me. but, me being the person i am i couldn't forget him.
-the last move i have to do is this year. it won't even be out of my control because of it's that of college. my house won't be *my house* and it won't retain the shape it wrapped me around with.
-i live in myself and i'm learning to stop disappearing from myself, because in the end that is impossible.
-so, when i met this said person recently, i acknowledged that i could miss this person forever, but also the hope to meet people like them that i could keep forever. that there are good people i can be good to
so, when i leave, i want to accept that *things can happen again*. don't know if this made much sense
Jan 24, 2025
🪦
I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Mar 26, 2025
⏰
I left for a while to go on a study abroad experience. The more time passes after The Thing, the less life makes sense. I'm trying to get back to the people I used to know, to get back into the routine I had, the things I used to think.
But somehow EVERYTHING about and around me is different and I don't understand ANYTHING. My body is different, my time isn't the same and somehow even my thought process has changed.
I came back home expecting familiarity and warmth, and surprise, the world has obviously moved on (as I did) and nothing is the same, except all that is. Maybe not understanding everything I thought I had already integrated is part of growing up, I feel as if I'm shedding old skin to make room for new one, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared, confused, and generally don't really get the concept of time passing.
I never used to get when people said they wanted the world to stop for a second, because that wasn't me, I wanted more, faster, more, all of it. Now I get it. Let me lay here for a moment and not think about anything.
☆lookaliveodette!!!!!!☆
Feb 26, 2025
Top Recs from @ruffianbandwidth
🔎
I don't know how well this actually answers your initial question, I think it's more of a counterpoint to some of the stuff people have already said, but here it goes.
In the past (prior to social media or search engines) specific styles, specialized knowledge, and niche awareness actually took effort. You had to go out into the world and find a scene, be accepted, participate in it, contribute to it, and learn from others with specific knowledge within the specific sub- or counter-cultural scene. It took time, effort, and experience to craft an identity. Nowadays people cycle through various identities and trends like commodities because it takes no effort (they're sold to them by social media algorithms, influencers, brand accounts, etc.). It comes to you in your phone without you ever even having to leave the house or put in the time to discover it or participate in it (you just follow specific people or subscribe). You can be a passive observer or consumer, not an active contributor. As a result, you're not invested or tied down and committed to that core identity. You can cosplay depending on your mood or who you want to momentarily convey yourself as, because it's easy. Essentially, being a poser has become normalized. An identity is now something to be momentarily consumed and affected, rather than grown, built, and developed over time.
Granted, it's always been different in regards to "mass" culture and popular trends (both in the past and now). Those are impossible to miss and were always monopolized by specific trend setting institutions, but always by the time it gets to that point, the actual initial counter- or sub-culture that inspired it has already been coopted and has started to disintegrate under the weight and attention of mass consumption.
Feb 18, 2024
It's an action deserving of its own nickname. My cat's name is Gomez, but when he crosses his paws like this, he turns into Hodgkins Plumpersocks.
Feb 2, 2024
Oatmeal raisin cookies don't get enough love. As a kid, my palate couldn't appreciate their subtle flavor, but thankfully oatmeal raisin cookies we're rehabilitated for me later in life. I now see the error of my ways, and am trying to evangelize about them, and rehabilitate them for others, by making this recipe.
They're great cause they're not too sweet, so they feel appropriate for both dessert and breakfast. They're also like a blank canvas of oaty brown sugar goodness that you can then imbue with whatever add-ins you want (thus turning one recipe into a plethora of variations). My personal favorites are semi-sweet chocolate chips, dried cranberries, and roasted cashews.
Feb 26, 2024