JOURNAL. November 2025.
oh dear (06.11.2025)
and there is no hope of expressing to people that the strangeness they occasionally find themselves face to face with when speaking with you is the same strangeness you feel emanating from the entire intersubjective world, that normal speech is as foreign to you as administrative writing is to them, it is the same language but no it isn't, that this strangeness they recoil from when they draw close enough to you to feel its radiation is but a small fraction of what there is inside you because there is simply no point in allow people to sense it and even this inside you is but a small fraction of something which has since its construction been collapsed
pain (02.11.2025)
Recently a friend to whom I had sent my (academic) essay for feedback said that he would be delighted to work with me academically. This is a good thing. And I am unable to prevent myself from feeling pain at his admission. It is not his fault. I like this friend. But to receive warmth is very painful to me.
I appear "happy alone". I am not. It is simply still very painful to me to enter into relation with humanity.
This is a rather glum beginning to this entry, but things are not so bad. I played more Silent Hill f this weekend and got to a new ending. Unfortunately I accidentally spoiled myself a bit on the first ending, but I've managed to avoid spoilers for this one (and the rest). I still wish I could go back in time and not have spoiled my first SH2 playthrough.
Anyways, it was nice just to spend the weekend doing something I enjoy. I've spent too long avoiding (for whatever reason) almost anything pleasurable to myself. Unfortunate. This particularly as an interest in one thing tends to encourage an interest in other things. things form a network. There is no center but the net coheres.
(I write oddly and I know it is amusing to some. But this is often the only way I can bring myself to write, particularly in this moment.)
I emailed the professor I want to supervise my (sociology) bachelor's thesis yesterday. Waiting for a response. Hopefully fruitful. I have an idea I am interested in. All it is for now though is a murky intuition. I need to read and I need to refine it. Art as magic.
Ridiculous amounts of reading for my classes, honestly. But there is not much to be done about that. Must spend less time staring at the wall and un-fry my brain from phone usage.
I hate these months. Ones where the sun sets early. I wish "vacation season" was not summer, but winter. Not to travel, but simply to rest. On the other hand, at least the dark months are better for playing Silent Hill games.