liveblog 23/12/25
01:00-ish: Jack off thinking about Clément. Soooo much cum splatters over my abdomen.
06:40: Lick the vyvanse. Back into bed. Send the mixtape to everyone I’m still mutuals with on the list.
07:39: Go toilet: My shit’s thicker than my bicep—which is a low bar—but still crazy to be coming out an asshole. I have to squat on the toilet to get it out and groan. Head back to bed.
08:01: Morning walk: Dance while walking – hands above my head, making shapes like shadow puppets. A stranger walks past. I close my eyes – not to make me think they’re not there, but so they don’t think I’m performing for them.
In a field, I catch up to an old couple. The man takes tiny, shuffled steps, his hand behind his back, possibly in pain. They don’t notice I’m behind them. I imitate his walk for a song or two, so I can understand what it’s like to be old.
09:40: Mom’s car isn’t in the driveway, but the kettles’ hot. I make myself tea.
11:10: actually so horny I’m tugging on my soft thang and it feels good I need a bj so bad
Think of how silky and tight Kyle’s throat was
🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥
Not horny anymore.
11:24: Begin blog update. Kill a mosquito and feel chic about it.
11:54: My medication hits my throat, followed by a gush of water. I snort, choke, spit water down my chin and shirt. The wet feels nice. I’m a thirsty dog.
Things that happen on phone:
Someone posts their pubic area after a month of not shaving, captioned ‘bush is bushing,’ I want to reply ‘not really,’ but practice positivity instead.
Want to Msg some guy ‘you look so cute in some pics’ but that sounds too backhanded. Can’t lie and say ‘you’re so cute’ because sometimes he looks like this chop hoe I used to tolerate. He’s not cute enough to workshop the compliment so I drop it.
Texts with friends, vague hangout plans.
Play a wordsearch of ‘the first three lorde songs you see will define your 2026’
If She Could See Me Now
Favourite Daughter
A World–I knew it was gonna be A World Alone, so I stopped reading it–Current Affairs. Fuck.
13:54: My dog always lies by the door. I can never tell if she wants to be inside or out.
I let her out.
I like the way she pants.
She stumbles n struggles as she pulls herself onto the wooden chair. Her muscles shake as she climbs from chair to table. She stares at the houses across the street below.
She doesn’t bark as much anymore.
I’m overwhelmed by thoughts about her and vacantly float to my room, then hide under the covers
14:54: Play one game. It wasn’t fun. Play another. And another.