余韻

not done for the night. done done.

11 days chewing on a problem, jaw clenching stress & anxiety. just to spit it all out in one evening. mental.

a dose of cerebrolysin dissolving on my tongue. eyelids feeling much heavier. that’s the vibe 2nite.

columbian triple espresso went cold. I can’t help but suffer thru it.

same black wifebeater since friday. I’m sat on my herman miller, daydreaming.

my girl’s out the flat, it’s deadly quiet tbh. apart from the air purifier humming, like it’s trying to talk to me. I’m quite literally not interested in any small talk rn.

things are finally falling into piece.

yet i’m sitting here. watching a blank white wall change colours.

trynna feel something.

it ain’t coming tho, it’s awful, I know...

but I have no other choice if I want to experience emotions.

i’m allergic to emotions. and anything related. I even stopped celebrating the stripe notifs.

you know what other guys do when they win at something? they let everyone know about it.

ss the notification. text it to gc. sit there spamming f5 key. patiently waiting for everyone to react with heart emojis like a puppy by the bowl. sickening.

if nobody claps, the emotions are invalid.

I sat in the eerie cold darkness and watched a cigarette turn into ashes with a smile on my face... and I genuinely think that makes me a different species now.

I disgress...

there is a japanese word for the emotion I’m trynna feel.

余韻 (yoin)

it’s the sound a bell makes AFTER you hit it.

the part that hangs in the air, vibrating, while the metal’s already gone still.

mfs use it for poems. a kiss. the drive home after a long day. sex. anything that keeps happening in ur inner world after it stopped happening in the outer world.

it’s weirdly peaceful. so I’m gonna keep waiting for it.

phone goes off.

“you up? x”

she’s up cuz she knows I’m still up. can’t get away from this. smh.

“working”

“you’re always working

“

that’s right. left it there. she’ll double text me in 2 days. they always fucking do.

anyways.

everything you’re after is the strike. what you actually want is the ring.

reread that until it hurts.

the $ is not the number. it IS a strike, half a second where you feel something move in ur chest. and it does fuck all for you.

I’ve watched a figure land inside my banking app that would’ve made 19 year old me cry into a pillow out of joy... and I felt roughly zero emotions.

that girl ain’t ur queen of the night. you’ll forget about her in the morning. and if you’ve ever laid next to a bitch heavy breathing on ur shoulder, feeling nothing but the urge to grab ur macbook... you already know what I’m trying to say & you don’t want anyone else to find out. ifykyk.

you simply cannot make a bell ring longer by hitting it max power.

you can hit it harder... you’ll get a louder bang. that’s it.

so, what makes the ring last then?

the quality of the metal.

that’s the game in a nutshell. and it’s disgusting because you can’t buy it.

cuz you have to BECOME it. it’s what you’re made of at the moment it lands. whether you was actually present.

which is why I felt nothing tonight. I quite literally wasn’t there. I haven’t been present since the day I shook hands with satan.

interestingly, I grew up in a ran down block where you could hear a church bell through the kitchen window.

I never once heard it get struck.

only ever heard the echo.

funny what sticks.

now, I ain’t trynna tell you to feel more. it’s the type of advice a coked up therapist would tell you, and I’ll spit onto this till the day I die.

99.9% of guys reading this are not going to understand this. ever. you have to hit anything first.

the issue was never the emptiness. it’s cuz you’re 16-25, mid looking, addicted to 1-2 bad habits, zero money in the bank, and you’ve decided that’s who you are.

u are just deaf and it’s got nothing to do with who you are.

the bell rings, it’s just shit quality.

so no, I ain’t sad tonight. I’d take this peaceful silence over becoming one of those guys.

mishima said beauty arrives complete and then must end, and that most men look away at the exact moment it happens because they can’t stand to watch.

i look away every time. every single time. and i know exactly why...

...looking at it means feeling it, and feeling it means being the guy sat still in a flat at 4am with a cold coffee, and that guy would never have got here.

that guy would have never made it.

soon enough it’ll be strike dawn, and I’ll open up my laptop and pursue my dreams once again... I am aware what I told you, but I’m willing to swing harder anyway.

maybe that’s the price of this life?

maybe humans who get to hear the ring are the ones who never had to swing this hard to begin with?

wouldn’t know this.

or perhaps, I’m wrong and one day I’ll sit in my herman miller with something completed and actually feel it.

it’s a lovely thought. I don’t believe a word of it.

work on the quality of ur metal. that’s all I’ve got for you.

this walk of life has to be walked alone. trust me on this.

mary jane turned into a pile of ashes. never hit a swig of it. but i could watch something with a intense spark inside die out eventually. like the cycle of life.

it’s a beautiful reminder, life is what we make of it.

peak.

until we meet again...

stay schizo.

g2Ø.

p.s I just laid out part of the game infront of u

the full framework, everything I know about money/deep psychology/psywar/aesthetics/game, it’s the deepest work I’ve ever done all in one place, lives in the schizo hub.

before anyone else catches up…

tap here to join up.

I wish you luck.