IRK - journal

nhat huy nguyen

@cicada.aubade

january 27th- 1:31 am

im everythingburger.

god, i used to be so fun. i am so fun. i need to stop writing things like this so online strangers do not think i am unfun, and only melancholic. hm. audiences. truth. there is no winning.

january 24th

When I get into these moods, the worst part is that I become a total idiot, reduced to routine & numbness. An instinctual animal. I forget everything from my years of learning. I forget who I love, and why, who I talk to, I forget everything about myself. I forget what clothes I like wearing, I forget to shower, to eat, and how to eat it. Here is where you work, here is where you sleep, here is walking, here is water, here is your vocabulary, say 'ah', here are your friends, you don't want to lose them, do you? Here are your hands, here are your eyes, open them, open, now.

Everything takes up a tremendous effort- even the most obvious things. I am reduced to a useless, genuine machine. On how to take on the Problem of People, without taking on the Problem of Consciousness? I fear the bridge between theory, knowing about this 'problem', and the practical, the actual living of it. Such a sloth.

Enough! I am through with understanding! I want to rest now, I want good tea, I want movies, and an easiness with life.

january 27th

But of course, there is always hope. The disease I believe in, hope. I believe that everything is a good thing because you have experienced something truly unique. After all, it is you who has experienced it, and in this world in which you & I call 'life', there is only experience.

I want to write about good things, even if I haven't experienced those good things, even if I am disappointed by people, by reality, by myself. What is the other option? 'Death'? The only thing that truly stops experience? Astonishing. And the other option, numbness, and the subconscious walking of a capital life, is also astonishing. Seemingly, the most difficult parts of experiencing, the most terrifying parts of heartbreaks, misfortunes, disappointments, have so indoctrinated many of my peers into shut-in puritans. They squish intensities into a muteness, even in words. The greatest devastations to the Soul are merely 'crash outs', or the way they talk about sex with holy reverence, and not to mention the parties, the late-nights, the outside- not to mention how walking is not about communion with nature's beauty, but for solely physical health reasons? Gross. Completely gross. I cannot live my life in that neutral state.

But it is so difficult!

As this loneliness weighs on me, and the convincing I must do with myself to be okay with, and accept, this loneliness; that I might be lonely for a long, long time, longer than I can stand, longer than I can handle, longer than my heart can take- there is a powerful voice that tells me to give up. Paralyze my psyche, become completely dazed. Walk, work, sleep. Do not think about lovers, do not think about wanting to be good, do not think of these abstract things that do not give a shit about you. Think of the screen. Think of porn, think of unmoving. If experience has the chance to be terrifying, and not purely beautiful, why even try? It has been terrifying as of late. It might have always been terrifying. Think, and unthink. Love, and unlove. Hope, and hope. And hope. But oh, goodness-

It is so difficult.

And it is so difficult.

Nathan Poem #7 // Awesome Nhathan Yaoi Poem

Our shadows kiss alongside this walking,

beneath streetlights.

These unreal bodies made warm, surrounded by

hesitant darkness, & we are only ourselves.

The lanterns flicker, & for a brief moment,

We are the world.

winter poem #1

I release from my hand an original feeling,

there it cries to the river's fathom.

eaten by a salmon, eaten by a fox.

In the animal's dream,

there is a wide, moving somatic thing,

moving through an impossible colony

to meet you.

Arms as a body.

Feet as a mouth.

To exist alongside a defined mystery is

to exist before this mysterious fact.

And how do you wake up from here?

(Are you scared of what you have witnessed?

I release a composition into the passion.

Within the heat, a choking child walks

out of the urn. And within its hands:

an unfathomable feeling

fades into impossible air.

And what have you learned so far?

winter poem #3

Here is the shopping cart, here is the sorcery, here,

In the midst of great famine: a swan's song.

I bite the apple at its core. In ballet, I aim for the

Throat. When you're a hammer everything is a child,

Or a vending machine which only dispenses glass bottles,

Or a round-a-bout with no exit roads-

When you're a child, everything is a humiliation ritual.

Here is a potion that makes you smaller, here is a

Potion that makes the world bigger. Here is the body.

Here, in the midst of a racetrack: a nail.

(actually, i love the entirety of this album. i remember on christmas, i listened to the album two times in a row while going up and down an escalator for one and a half hours.)

january 4th - 1:21 pm

this is all ridiculous, and uncool.

whatever. :/

i am trying to be less lecturing with my writing and i am completely failing.

january 4th

i have bad dreams almost every night.

here is the original thought, but i afterwards i thought it was a bit gross:

january 4th - na-na-na-night time

i am wondering if isnt ending problems and gaining new problems, but a resurfacing of problems i ran away from. i have bad dreams almost every night. i am a very neutral person most of the time. i am sometimes a delighted person. it is not difficult for me to write about that, but my friends are private people. outside voice & inside voice, the problem of intimacy. i am not a very social person. i sleep on the floor sometimes, i hit my head on my wooden desk sometimes. i have bad heart issues. i enjoy the song seyburn from racing mount pleasant. i think cruel things about the people i love. i want to not think while i am dancing. i am usually thinking. i am thinking of how good not thinking would be. i want to sleep for a long, long time and hope my friends feel bad for me. i love being missed. i am liked, but sometimes not in the ways i wish i was liked. i am not special. what is the deal with, when youre with someone you really like, you lose all personality of yourself? Total Perversion. an unrare inferiority superiority complex, i have no good taste. i dream almost every night. i have an insane amount of hope for the future. currently, everything is a lot. i think i am going to write an infinite poem that is only for me. i dont think anyone is interested enough to read it. i dont think i am going to read it either. i suspect everything is for me. i... want to sleep. i want to be cool. these are the truths that always resurface: i want to sleep, i want to be cool. I AM BEING RIDICULOUS. ok.

october 19th

subway singularity theory : every single fast food thing will become subway. salads , burgers , burritos , etc , will be a line of base, meat , cheese , toasted , vegatables , extra guac , sauce , , , you understand . and the most tragic part ? when we reach the horizon point , subways will declare full bankruptcy . and the last store will remain open in Sault Ste. Marie , the touching kiss of lake superior and lake huron

photo i took

two videos:

one made of scraps from feb - nov

one made of nathan fielder, attic abasement's a werewolf, sylvia plath's the applicant

spring poem #32

we lurk underneath these dark hills,

that house could be inhaled.

give me your hand.

give me your disease.

portrait within a portrait within

your dead-eyed boy,

we crawled, we slept, we escaped

through fog to oceanside,

everything leaves everything behind,

within tongues, the dark also leaves.

autumn poem #3 // space soldier

three-thousand degrees of separation between you & another peach planet. in this simulation the universe is sliced into two & look around. everyone is on the other side. Oh. Look. Look. your heart is a switchblade with no sharp sides or a kissed satellite sent looking for certainty, beep, beep. most nights you cannot see that silver singer. beep beep. It is too far now. false detection, cannibal scarecrows, barren worlds. and how far our soldier still goes, through Turbulence & Turmoil. & look, look. and how we love our little guy. batta batta beep, beep. our only hope for the future, our little soldier.

thinking of the julius and ethel rosenberg kiss photograph

september 2nd

i have no idea how to feel about anyone. i have no idea how anyone feels about me.

a poem that got nominated for best of the net. i hate this one, it isnt good.

a movie i like: he died with a felafel in his hand

collages from summer, the first one includes one stanza from shelly's adonais. which ive memorized as a prayer on fridays.

august 14th

daydrinking at the beach. bought a saturn ion for 1 , 300 . may named her Yukon Striker. lemonade for sale . a short story of mine got accepted . sleepy . sunny . & 80 more years of pure joy remain.

update: the short story got nominated for the (a?) pushcart. yay.

march 27th

i want to be cool.

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