Everyone is esoteric - by Nami - here i am

I pray to God for nothing to say. The things come anyway so I pray for the words to say them. He breaks no silence; I must do it starved. I feel simple beyond meaning. Reading Joan Didion and not knowing - for the most part - what the fuck she’s talking about. Every perfect sentence is in collusion with a bewildering one but it’s gospel to the Girlhood so I guess not. Perhaps I am too serious for my own good. Perhaps I am missing the big joke that it’s not about the substance but the aesthetic alone, the image of moleskins/ Ladybird/ Jane Birkin’s bag answer enough to the questions beat beat beating in a heart and it’s me who’s doing entirely too much, trying to decipher the shape of a shadow on my bedroom wall when other dreamers have understood it’s only there to reassure them of the form they take in the day. Say it really is all Orion Carloto and Sylvia Plath and Patti Smith. Suffering as pretence to the inevitable auto-fictive novel, because what to imagine if not more of the self

I pray to God for nothing to say. The things come anyway so I pray for the words to say them. He breaks no silence; I must do it starved. I feel simple beyond meaning. Reading Joan Didion and not knowing - for the most part - what the fuck she’s talking about. Every perfect sentence is in collusion with a bewildering one but it’s gospel to the Girlhood so I guess not. Perhaps I am too serious for my own good. Perhaps I am missing the big joke that it’s not about the substance but the aesthetic alone, the image of moleskins/ Ladybird/ Jane Birkin’s bag answer enough to the questions beat beat b