primarily, i have and always will be associated with words. writing is the only medium in which i will ever fully be portrayed or understood, or indeed find any sort of solace in.


my soul cascaded into this world to aid me the tools to write; the fingertips and brain cells i was blessed with are intravenously linked and programmed to record every experience, every thought, of what could be had by anyone else who happened to exist in the reality my creator chose to invent.

if i couldn’t write i couldn’t breathe. it’s something like that.


bizarrely i have found myself capable of more than just my ability to record, and so my branches stretch into other rivers, mainly ones of artistic, social, philosophical, and scientific.


perhaps my quest to discover every hidden secret of the universe is not so much a path to learning as it is piecing together what i already do know. 


i only want to exist in words, my words. 

i wish i could just dematerialise into the letters, throw myself into the atmosphere; leave my atoms to exist independently, disconnected, indecipherable. where it all started. 


i love to get lost here

lost in the places i invent for myself

lost in the mindset 

lost