I am someone’s dream husband.
I like to fail just to have something to look forward to, which is success.
my favorite relationships are ambiguous, unreciprocated or entirely fictional.
I love being retweeted by a stranger more than I love myself.
the trajectory of my life is a pendulum getting entangled in itself.
I regret every part of my body that’s external.
my hobbies include dying alone.
I believe that if there is no hope then there is no disappointment.
I am immune to cereal.
I like to delay gratification until gratification is no longer possible.
my penis has unrealistic, utopian views of other people.
I seriously need someone to explain my hair to me.
I am a catalog of anxiety issues.
I experience anxiety in non-anxiety situations.
I read in a book that anxiety is the median between desire and jouissance.
I will tell you what I did with that knowledge.
I revisited the memory of my mom lying to me when I was eight.
she said, ‘we can’t have fondue like other families, because I am allergic to fire.’
she had anxiety issues and was afraid the flames would kill everyone.
I ate cereal and didn’t call her on her bullshit.
when years later we finally had fondue it was jouissance.
sometimes I sleep with the light on.