frog in a bottle

semi adult with a minor in complaining and a master in obsession

[finabottle]

how close am I to my core?

Is there an essence to my being? Did I leave her in the ground? Is she still counting rocks, surrounded by plants?

My tunnel vision is fixed on an income. How could I not, I tell myself. Another excuse.

Am I stuck in a patriachal loop? How close am I to my core. I don't want to fuck strangers. I want to fuck myself forever, I want to cry and hold myself close. I want to lay in a bed of flowers and feel the leaves in every crevice carress me.

I will excist on a stage forever. WHen I'm grabbing coffee or when I'm swinging from the ceiling. I am enthralling audiences and leaving behind traces of wonder, disgust and venomous passion.

My body not yet fluid extends in all fields of clothes to the identity of collapsing structures. The documentation of the lived, eyes of glass mirroring between the brain and it's output. The reflex camera capturing a hazy translation of the glass eye.

I aim for fluidity in all fields corresponding to my nature.

[finabottle]

My feet are in the sand but my body is stagnant

I question myself. All the time. I distract myself. All the time.

To ignore my purpose. To not even feel aware of any possibilities. My thoughts travel to futures I am not working for. My body is stagnant in a monetary exchange of labour in trade for exhaustion. Bore the brain with excuses. Feel the ideas float by but don't bother reaching out to catch them. Let your own hesitancy rule. Neglect the itch. Bore the brain.

Go numb. Exhaust yourself. Forget what you intend to do.

Travel exhausts. I will always remember travel. Much of life passes by in routine in which days are lived for others, for systems, for monetary exchanges of exhaustion. To not think but to please the itch by means of material additions.

I gain intrinsic knowledge while I travel. I feel the sun on my back as bike towards an emotional release. The glimmer of the water is enough to make me believe in ancient knowledge. The moss and edges of the rock help me play out events of bodies past.

I can feel and taste and smell the ripe melons I ate in France. I remember the saltiness of the ham I ate in italy 3 years ago.

I remember the tin of sardines I ate over 5 years ago.

All my senses highlighted and engaged by being present. Travel makes me present. I long for moving forward. As I move forward I am reminded of how little I have left. How shallow the ground I grew in was. Fed by unfertile soil I long for expansion of knowledge passed through by people, not a system.

Will I move forward to forget the itch too? I aim to remember, I aim to be remembered. Not to be praised but for my path to educate and awaken those who are stuck. Those looking for a balance where there is none. Logic where there is none. Answers where there need be none. Let it be. Let it excist. Let it move you as it moves me.

I long to create, to express, to make sense of what I see in my brain. Let my moving forward not numb my itch to create. May my feet in the water ease the tension of brows after I've journaled. May the moss of the forrest hold my body after I've danced. May the wind and sand create patterns I find in my brain. May I come to the conclusion what I create, how I am remembered, every fiber of everything is the same. Only what I create is my conviction my experience is unique. May I be remembered a fool with a foolish mission to find balance in creation and moving forward. May I be rememebered a fool but a fool with a purpose.

[finabottle]

Water damage to my Iphone improved my taste

I've been scouring Facebook Marketplace for a legitimate seller of an Iphone. Quite a hard feat, people really do put in a lot of effort to make their profile seam real. Meanwhile you're getting scammed out of 500 euro's just so your legs can go numb on the toilet as you scroll. My back camera takes pictures like I put it in a microwave, as soon as I switch to the camera app I hear the sound of at least a dozen cicadas trying to escape my phone.

I currenty have over 25 000 photo's & videos in my gallery. A lot of them were made with the intention of being used artistically, I had a lot of ideas for them. Now they are gathering theoretical dust and taking up literal space. The quality of everything is overwelmingly shit, useless pictures of useless things, saved conversations I never look back on, apps I use to scroll my feelings away instead of cry or write.

18 hour screentime, no sleep and a deep hate for myself I deleted everything off my phone. I'm left with spotify, bumble and some messaging apps.

I feel inspired again, I feel in control of my emotions again, I can sleep again.

I was productive, I took rest and I set boundaries.

Here's what's been inspiring me this week.

Shows:

Mr & Mrs Smith by Donald Glover

MTV Downtown

Music

Nick Cage + the bad seeds

Podcast Fashion Neurosis

[finabottle]

I can’t keep up with myself. I have moments where I want to throw my phone out and only communicate with postcards and letters but then I’m reminded of all the people I met while traveling. I wouldn’t want to lose touch with any of them in the hopes of one day being able to send them a text saying “hey, i’m in your country. you got plans?”.

I find myself being strangely obsessed with sharing my life & thoughts. I want to be seen, heard and enjoyed but I feel guilty for admitting so. It feels a little exhibitionistic to me.

I’ve had a weird relationship with the internet from a young age. I remember seeing a computer for the first time. It was square and big and wide and I wondered what my mom did on it for days on end. I would beg her to let me use it but when she finally let me, I had no clue where to begin. I couldn’t spell or really type any words beside my own name but jabbing at the keyboard and seeing letters pop up was ridiculously intriguing and the introduction to a medium I struggle with daily over a decade later.

I’ve moved around a little bit when I was young but we always stayed in the same region. You’d say it wasn’t a big change but moving half an hour away felt like I was in another country at the age of 8. Everyone spoke a different dialect, I felt even more excluded then I had before and the bullying continued even at a new school. The internet was a refuge.

I found places like Blogger.com, Stardoll and Neopetz . One of my babysitters introduced me to Stardoll and it gave this unlimited sense of control over my identity. I curated an entire fantasy world of what it would be like to live without being afraid of how I was being perceived. I saw her blog on tumblr on which she reposted as many pink, fuzzy, ballerina esque photo’s as she could. I’d been amazed by all the photo’s and wanted to do the same. She’d written me a note spelling out the word “tumblr” for me because I couldn’t remember anything for longer than 10 minutes. I lost every note she wrote and forgot the website every time she mentioned it. Maybe, I could’ve been the next acacia brinley if I had remembered. Maybe I would’ve had all of my nudes leaked.

Speaking of being perceived, I used to want to become an influencer. If you scroll down on my instagram you can see the proof right there. I tried so hard. The posed photo’s. Promoting “body positivity” while hating the way I looked - a term which I once had a very intense DM about bc I am white and skinny and absolutely the wrong person to promote “being okay with your size”. (i still need to change an old caption but i don’t want to erase my unknowing&relearning) Swearing my eating disorder was over while it’s still something I struggle with every single day. Trying to be a positive influence when you hate everything about yourself makes it really difficult to write a catchy instagram caption.

I love having the world at my fingertips. I can find any community I’m interested in and add myself onto any group/chat/collective. While doing so I’m walking around the world with my head down thinking I’m seeing the whole world wide web but instead i’m missing the whole wide world.

I long for community, deep connections, music and anything else that will make me feel alive. Instead I numb myself by liking little photo’s on a screen thinking I’m motivating myself/ inspiring myself or just simply because I need to soothe my anxiety because I’m terribly afraid of what other people think of me (no matter how many middle finger photo’s i post).