no cowboy could ever achieve this in my heart

"you'd have to stop the world, just to stop the feeling" - chappell roan

“My queerness is not a question. It is inherent. There is no choice to make or point to prove. We do not ask the ocean for proof of her depth. Fluidity was never something to be measured.”

- Haley Jakobson

diary entry from november 2022:

“ {…} yesterday I went to the Tate here in Liverpool. I walked along the aisles of exhibitions with soundscapes and projectors that showed art that replaced the sun with a peach + the general holy journey of creativity’s process. Saw a Picasso in person (pretty impressive). After some trotting around, I overheard sounds coming from two speakers in a corner, hidden away. No one stepped into the little nook of sound waves but my curiosity entered the little booth. On the screen, a short clip of art. A 1-minute clip of cars driving on an autobahn. I sat on that little chair for fifteen minutes minimum. I was perplexed, I was speechless, I was astonished. After five minutes, I started to cry. Slow crying. The crying where your tears are slowly moving out of the eyes unto your cheeks. Believe me, I thought I’d go to the Tate and cry over some very beautifully painted flowers and there I was crying over cars. {..} This trip leaves me confused and safe.”

Feeling confused and safe left my first solo trip to England at age 18. I felt so young, so small and so big at times. Concert venues, trains, and cinema screens became my home. Confused and safe sounds quite similar to how I felt the very first time I watched Basic Instinct, realised there might be someone hotter than my 40-something Harrison-Selleck-esque celebrity crush, maybe a complete other world I would be able to live, love in at age 15.

@b0nl8ve on Landing

48 days ago (May 23, 2024), I sat down to write a silly little diary entry again. This blog felt abandoned from my presence, so obligated I started putting my fingers onto the keyboard and what I started to write more and more turned into this holy script of my “sacred” sexuality.