008Meander

14 Aug, 2025

hey. its another night where I'm just writing because it feels like the right thing to do, even though I have nothing at the front of my mind to write about.

good media seems to do that to me.

...

I've been sitting here for about 10 minutes now. I've deleted two paragraphs, and drafted about 3 more in my head without writing them down.

Usually I'd get to this stage and abandon the post, figure that I don't have anything to write about after all. But I feel like I do, tonight. I just gotta find it.

I suppose there is, as usual, a million things I could write about.

I dyed my girlfriend's hair today, and it's both better than expected but not quite what I hoped. Two people I care about are going overseas soon, and I'm going to miss them. One person I care about is visiting soon, and I'm excited to see them. I watched two really cool episodes of a tv show tonight, one that a friend recommended to me a long time¹ ago.

I accidentally bought bedsheets that are someone else's favourite colour (I'm pretty sure, anyway). I keep thinking about how the ceiling of my room is the perfect height to completely cover in fairy lights. I always want to go and do photography at 2am, when it's an obnoxiously silly time to do so. I think I finally understand what it means to grow up.

I keep getting lightheaded at random moments, and I'm not sure what this means. I want to make a game about a spaceship that doesn't know it's a spaceship. I don't remember the last time I [______ ____], can't even picture it, and I'm actually weirdly content about that. I still haven't found anything to write about tonight.

But there's a sort of meditation in writing.

Sometimes I get mad about knowing a language, because now no matter what I do I can't get words out of my head. There's a set of 26 random shapes that I can't look out without automatically trying to derive meaning from them, whether I want to or not. It's fucked. You cannot picture a pink elephant without also thinking the words "pink elephant".

I wonder what it would be like to go back to before that. What's it like, to live in a mind that has no concept of words? How do you form thoughts??

When I was younger, I'd often realise I was in a dream because I would try and read something, and there would be nothing there. No meaning in the squiggles, just shapes on paper. I remember the feeling of those dreams very clearly.

But at some point, that changed. I can read in my dreams now, and for some reason I frequently seem to end up doing so. I get caught off-guard by waking up, because my standard for knowing that I'm asleep no longer reliably works.

I never remember what I read in my dreams, though. I just remember that I do.

I feel like there's gotta be some metaphor in that, somewhere.

...Well, this post isn't going anywhere fast. And I needa go pee.

Did I accomplish something by doing this? I think so. One more attempt at writing just for the sake of it. One more dubious success. Sorry it was a bit of a meandering one.

See you next time.

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