i'm not in bed yet,

because matt is telling how much he loves donald judd and tortoise. i still think this looks like an urban outfitters or ikea shelf. i really don't understand it nor do i respect it.

overcomplicate me, make me feel minuscule, hurt me on some level, let me lose it in vertigo or pain it in a headache - i want to fall into it, art, literature, experience. something simple cannot register in this head. look like mushrooms, i mean fuck look at the biochemistry of proteins and what/how they fold - so detailed, ruled, inexplicable in it's exact process, just humans trying to grapple at its complexity. things that seem above me are the only things i feel are valuable.

this was "our meeting in the middle" mark di suver. mhm - tragic, cancerous oxidation. i'd read rilke to it.