The Way Out Is Through Cut loose from abstractions Chase that name down That title. Repeating. 3 words, four syllables Grasp it Run.

The document spoke of a lifelong obsession with night, lighthouses, radio towers, liminal spaces not as windows of nostalgia but places separated from function and a loss of social context, light, radio, air, fog and mist, smooth stone, mountains, and street lights. poetry of self through passions

Run. Thinkonly if it helsp you run.losing my grip might help me get one back. I focuse on the light coming around a tree like a glimpse of Hieronymus Bosch painting on my eyes as a canvas. Then I spiral out out out in in in in and through . Pick an end point and plow away to nowhere. Make it through

The way out is through. The way out is through. The way Out is Through. The Way Out is Through. The Way Out Is Through. The Way Out Is Through.The Way Out Is Through. The Way Out Is Through.The Way Out Is Through. The Way Out Is Through.The Way Out Is Through. The Way Out Is Through.The Way Out Is T

Run. Don't think. Don't describe. Run. Run. Move. Flow. Run. Feel dizzy. Good. Dizzy is moving. Don't think, don't stay static. Don't stand still. Stillness became wrought for the author/source/writer/loser/poet/artist. Stop thinking about them. Stop but don't stop. Twist my ankles if I have to. Run

I start to feel unstuck but not in the way I need to be. I feel a third layer, I think. I feel my thoughts on themselves. Another laminate. Like I'm narrating myself, which is a dangerous line of thought. I try to describe what I'm seeing less. Try to think less. Think less. Move. Don't think. Move.

I get up and start moving. I am still sprawled out on a table in the real place, and in the written space I am walking up a street in the night. It is vivdly real feeling, but I only need look inward with eyes I can't shut anyway. This is a long long time ago, not me, not my life.

Okay. Okay. I was with the bandit, we are searching somewhere on the far side of a gate, in a/n room/archive/storeroom called DEAD MEMORY. The whole cache/collection is from a singular source, possibly a plural system, probably queer. The resource/material/me€=¥° is much more multimedia than expec—

Come on. This is another layering. If I get into a space, I can find away out again. Focus. FOCUS.

Finds keep pulling me through. The world washed a little, and I washed away with it. How can I describe it? I let go, my hand slipped from the rope in the rain, and I slipped down the side of the dirigible. The scientist looked down on me in pity. Nonononononono that's nonsense. It's a fragment.

Have to go to the pharmacy for some meds and This from just 2 days of this

The air quality is something else. This is an undoctored photo of outside highland hospital in rochester while I was waiting for my ride home to show up. It got WORSE after this. I strictly don't post photos from the house where I live but it's piss and cigarettes out there.

Damn, you weren't kidding. @lake-ontario.live

I haven't touched the games in a while and I sort of retired from pokémon in general, but this is still one of my most important possessions

I wat a fly on my arm. I feel my metal arm slap my real nonmetal arm, at the pain helps me pull. There's the sailboat. I'm almost to the end of this. My eyes recognize letters that my brain refuses to interpret. The shape of it. Tug. Yearn towards it. Take myself off this path and out into

Another break in the tree line. My eyes are glossing over the document but I'm barely processing it. I've got to find the sailboat again.

There's a bench and a break in the tree line, and I have a view. Somehow I feel the lake will be my salvation, just as the author felt it was theirs time and time again. I focus on a shape in the distance. I pull it closer. I pull but it's not quite enough. What is this place that we have found?

I can hear myself panting, in the dark room, sitting on the bucket, but there is a space between me the reader and me the body. It is a terrifying gulf. Has this ever happened to her? I need to get back I need to get back I need to get back I need to get back until finally a dead end lets me turn.

The narrative varies between recovery in 2016 and a liminal listlessness in 2026. There's enough in the text infer that the author probably transitioned genders in between. Signs of civilization drift as the narrative turns naturalist, and I start to panic because *this has never happened before.*

The trail pulls me out of the woods again and into the clearing. I'm beginning to understand a little bit I think, at least that all of what we've found comes largely from one source. The sun is unforgiving, and the flies are getting be a bit much, but the breeze from the lake soothes all. Serene.

It winds me forward, until I can't tell the document is there anymore, my motions are just my motions in this place. I find myself at the end of the trail through the woods standing above a lake that seems infinite, like an ocean but with that freshwater scent. I try to linger but the story pulls.

One second I'm reading through a document, and the next I'm nearly blind and shielding my eyes from the sunlight with my metal arm. As my eyes adjust, I find myself outside, in a field, part of the park I'm 100% sure the document I was reading was just describing.

Looking beautiful from the other side of the lake too, Bear Creek harbor, a little west of pultneyville, NY

Fuck me running. Tomorrow is supposed to be worse. 36*C for you better units people.

okay i made another one, and this one took like 5 minutes instead of an hour #makeaterriblecomicday #makeaterriblecomicday2026

Here it is. It got...out of hand this year. I'll go through and drop close up photos with alt text in a bit for legibility, but for now I have to give my wrists a resst. #makeaterriblecomicday #makeaterriblecomicday2026

Spectacular day to be up by the lake, tho. I just find being around very large bodies of water very calming.

The closest I've been to being in one of these, but unfortunately I'm behind the left end of the bluff, lmao I was sitting on the dock at sandbar park when this was taken, and you can spot that on the satellite map easily, but alas, today I elude the eyes (lens?) of the bot.

#food

Hard to believe this is 12 years old now