[12:43 PM, 3/2/2026] Adrián: I will be taking a little break from posting, and focus on the show and maybe my novel
[12:44 PM, 3/2/2026] Garrett Vanlandingham: i see. not to be self centered but it's it related to anything i said? or made you feel? because you are a great writer.
[12:44 PM, 3/2/2026] Adrián: no, no, no
[12:44 PM, 3/2/2026] Adrián: not at all
[12:45 PM, 3/2/2026] Adrián: I just feel like I need a little time to muse about things -- and since we got Mercury retrograde -- figure now is a good time for that
March 3-3-2026 I only ever wanted to be invisible, to hide in my bed, tucked in by fantasies— cotton, wool, slick sheets, imagination skipping like a little girl in summer. I would be content alone: a leather chair, one worn out book, a warm cup of nostalgia forever. Nostalgia is sneaking downstairs as a child while everyone sleeps to watch Thundercats, drinking sugar bombed milk over the sludge of cocoa puffs. Nostalgia is my rich friend’s pool— the reel where I fall and scrape my leg edited out. All that remains is the sauna with the girls, a sweat overloaded with testosterone, pumped full of unbound hope of touching and being touched. Nostalgia is a cage of old hopes in makeup, pretending they are young— buccal surgery, botox veneers— putting on a play for a one man audience. I have to really squint, really, really squint. I don’t want to write anymore. I don’t want the moon to wake up drenched in blood, like Carrie howling and tearing the world apart. I don’t want to fight. I want to delegate. I want to be a child, driven around in the backseat, I want to turn on the news and let someone else narrate the end of the world. to lie in a patch of blooming spring, smell the roses I tell myself I used to smell but never did. But the moon is not the moon. It is a fragment of glass that reflects the hunger uninverted, atrophied, taking off the gas mask, choking on the air, stretching its arms and legs, no longer a child, it remembers the scrapes, the rejections, the mockery, every cut frame— remembers it’s not helpless, remembers to wake, remembers to bleed, remembers to be grown, strong, full— a red fire remembering it should burn.
The ash Wednesday moon was supposedly a really powerful one, happening on the heels of an aquarius solar eclipse, but who knows. Last few days days I've had an insane amount of fiery energy, is it the moon? Just a coincidence? Not sure.
I was howling at the moon yesterday, you are bleeding for it.
I feel this. The allure of just a couple of days of ignorance, of 'sugar bombed milk' and a summer vacation mindset.