journal 0001
happiness has reached me again in the form of fantasy imagined in reality. i slept in today, friday, because i thought i deserved it. oh god, i want so much and i want to write down what is accurate, but i do not think i'm there yet. i reach out to saturn, so that the orientation of all my cells fly in formation. and so that my shoulder cracks, and my ribs expand, and i feel as if there is meaning to it all.
i am really twenty-six. i went to the library yesterday, flipping through the the books at the end of the shelf, looking for something to read. but there are so many books, published recently or years ago, synthesizing everything to do with the future, which to me flattens it out like a history textbook, except instead of retroactive it's proactive and thus behind. there is only firsthand perception and synthesis. but i struggle with this too, and i don't feel as if i know what i'm talking about so in the end i got a book called time after time. in the end this is relevant to everything: it is the panini press, the air fryer, the big wormhole, the time machine inside our minds. what am i doing and what is my role? time will tell, and i can't stop reaching forwards, to saturn, and i can't be sure but come with me, we need to look beyond this, we need to train ourselves because they won't do it for us. there's something already there.