nice person

my name is ronia and i don't like computers

[convallarioideae]

i look like this

[convallarioideae]

Galkovsky makes the argument that the Russian language is inherently highly amorphous, and that Russian culture is better adapted to faith (which is associated with "silence") than to reason ("logos" or "speech"). In this interpretation, the fragmented nature of Rozanov's later writing is the ideal expression of the Russian way of thinking.

cf.

i've been afraid for a long time that i am not an expressive person at my core, that i am silent and dumb and not worth giving much attention to, that i am built for silence, long and brutal silence.

i guess when i started writing it felt like a feverish attempt to fight against my nature, and it was good because of that

i'm an autistic autodidact with no formal education in anything and with no aesthetic sensibilities i haven't pilfered from elsewhere and a retarded absence of the skill or interest needed to know extensively. as i age i feel more and more like a dumb animal, something that should and must simply observe

i am a 'prose writer' because i cannot be a poet ; i am a 'prose writer' not because i construct narratives but because i seek to hysterically express myself in one form or another. i do not write - i yelp in pain, i wail, a dog whimpers not to construct a narrative with its whimpering but simply to whimper. the only way i can construct a narrative is through framing my whimpering as coming from someone it isn't. if you record yourself whimpering and then trim it on either edges you can make it seem like simply a block of amorphous sound. if someone is inspired by me because they think there is something great to me, they've been fooled - i am foam.

[convallarioideae]

cogently logically & ideologically i feverishly disagree with this but on a purely sentimental level there's something beautiful to me about it - this is often the case when i interact with Rozanov - a contemptible but ultimately sympathetic idiot

[convallarioideae]

When night falls over the photograph again, J.-J. Goux will head straight for his apartment, make himself a sandwich, watch television for exactly fifteen minutes, not one more, then sit in an armchair in the living room and call Philippe Sollers. The phone will ring five times and J.-J. will hang up slowly, holding the receiver in his right hand, raising his left hand to his lips, and touching them with two fingers, as if to check that he’s still there, that the person there is him, in a living room that’s not too big, not too small, crowded with books, and dark.

[...]

Literature brushes past these literary creatures and kisses them on the lips, but they don’t even notice.

[convallarioideae]

i feel like my spirit is markedly serene when it is present but often it's not, it is whisked off away somewhere while i feel like a terrified spiritless body wanting it to come back

[convallarioideae]

i could stare and look at marvin cone's landscape paintings forever

[convallarioideae]

Years go by. Occasionally, just occasionally, and without knowing why, Belano remembers the day on which he arbitrarily announced the death of Burroughs. It was a clear day; he was walking with Lima on Calle Sullivan; they’d left a friend’s place and the rest of the day was free. They might have been talking about the Beats. Then he said that Burroughs was dead, and Lima went pale and said, He can’t be. Sometimes Belano thinks he can remember Lima shouting: He can’t be! It’s impossible. Unjust. Or something like that. He also remembers Lima’s grief, as if he’d been told of the death of a very dear relative, a grief (although Belano knows that grief is not the right word) that persisted through the following days, until Lima was able to confirm that the information was incorrect. Something about that day, however, something indefinable, leaves a trace of uneasiness in Belano. Uneasiness and joy. The uneasiness is actually fear in disguise. And the joy? Belano generally thinks, or wants to believe, that what lies hidden behind the joy is nostalgia for his own youth, but what lies hidden is really ferocity: a dark, enclosed space busy with blurry figures, adhering to one another or superimposed, and constantly on the move. Figures that feed on a violence they can barely control (or can only control by means of a very strange economy). Although it seems counterintuitive, there is an airy quality to the uneasiness provoked by the memory of that day. And the joy is subterranean, like a geometric ship, perfectly rectangular in shape, gliding along a groove. Sometimes Belano examines the groove. He leans forward, he bends over, his spinal column curves like the trunk of a tree in a storm and he examines the groove: a deep, clean trace, parting a strange kind of skin, the mere sight of which makes him feel nauseous. The years go by. And they rewind. In 1975 Belano and Lima are friends, and every day they walk, unknowingly, along the brink of the abyss.

[convallarioideae]

when i don't read, my mind is dead. after a long enough time, it begins to decompose

[memorandumteleoptik]

MTO has a new game in the works, 7KOMADA!

A 3D free-roam mystery VN in which eighteen high school students are trapped in a deadly game, with seven days to find the killers lurking among them.

A full cast from all walks of life in the fictional Balkan nation of Illyria, an in-depth investigation system with trials oriented around social deduction inspired by Werewolf and Mafia, pointless cruelty, and endless solitude.

The release date for 7Komada is coming soon. For now: You can check out the promotional page with the cast and a little "hunger games simulator" style minigame at http://memorandumteleoptik.org/7komada

The Steam page is live, wishlist it if it sounds like your thing : )

7Komada on Steam

7KOMADA is a 3D, free-roam, murder-mystery VN set in a backwater of post-Napoleonic Europe. You and your class’s graduation trip has been cu

[convallarioideae]

it feels like most of the people who "hate summer" & "prefer winter" for nebulous cozy vibes etc just never really genuinely engage with the notion of 'being outside' - their only frame of reference is how hot it is in the 30 second walk from the car to the house

[convallarioideae]

it's funny that people think of Rome as this highly technical scientific-military power but in reality it was a circus of billionaires wildly speculating on assets & indebting themselves by producing spectacles in order to get the Senate to defend their exorbitant rent extractions on peripheral colonies.

"it's funny that people think of America..."

[convallarioideae]

listening to Lemon Demon's "eighth wonder" for the first time since maybe 2019 and just thinking to myself some variation of "i used to care about so many things"

[convallarioideae]

nothing sounds good. there's no new music anymore. i discover like one new song i like a month

[convallarioideae]

back then - you had to at least have telegrams, documents, communiques, written orders, memorandums. now all the orders and communications that matter are conducted in session chats on disposable accounts that are set to self-delete after 2 hours and can only be accessed using encryption keys that are *technically* somewhere but nobody *actually* has - see crypto oligarchs and Thiel personally bankrolling Session's existence despite it being terminally unprofitable. history will not give clarity to anything anymore - we know all that we are ever going to know. the sky is blue. we live in a Perfected Totalitarian State.

[convallarioideae]

[convallarioideae]

i've been passively observing the state of asinine fandom-tinged internet discourse for probably a decade now and it's really never been quite as bad as it is now. people are arguing about whether games made in 2017 were written with AI. very soon there isn't going to be any culture at all - not even bad culture.

[convallarioideae]

you don't see many movie trailers narrations starting with "this summer…" in a deep voice anymore. (thinking intensely) you also don't really see tend to see caramelized apples