dona

I was not a cartoon villain, I was just the evil front desk receptionist.

I'm watching a concept of stability, and the only constant I have ever known dissolve in front of me. This place I felt was home feels like a hollowed out crust of a forgotten memory slowly crumbling around me. I'm watching the dust collect in corners and fruit tree cycles without harvest. There is a feeling of laughter that was once here... See more

Maar – wil ek melodramaties vra –

het ek al dié absurde myle uit die niet afgelê om net

die wit oom te speel wat niks

behalwe sy bevoorregting het

om te verklaar nie niks

van magtelose woede en onreg verstaan nie gegiet

in ’n white body [...]?

On one hand, I know the self is a made-up concept of the mind, that identity should be kept small, and that trying to pin myself down usually does more harm than good. On the other hand, when I sit down to write, I feel like every sentence disproves this

Aren’t we all still quivering

like tuning forks

with the shock of being,

the shock of being seen?

Victoria Erickson has a good line on this: “When you’re deeply sensitive, love is ecstasy. Music is godlike. Heartache is a wide, somatic wound. Visual natural beauty is jewel-drenched, wild bliss. Tension and conflict are muscle tightening and toxic, straight down to the cells.” While I know that the sensitivity she describes is actually just an... See more

I’m a mid-30s, well-educated, experienced professional who was like, “Yeah, I would be happy to pick up your groceries for you.” So that was pretty demoralizing.