Introduction - 10 February 2024

Hi! my name is glass somnambulism! my pronouns are she/it, i'm trans, and im an anti-civ egoist anarchist. though obviously i am outside of thought and speech and writing, (and even outside of the word "i") that should help you get your bearings a bit. i'm writing about anarchy, nature (for lack of a better word) and other shit.

Mycelia - 11 February 2024

swampland of memories

sinking under the weight of presence

recall a sight sought thru

haze of smoke and soot

malevolent future past groaning rumblily in the distance

tho injured she lay

like an impassioned lover

harsh bleating wails of steel bodies

haunting her

she never left but the mauling

self-perpetuates

Yet the threads that bind are bound to unravel

if only stopped mending that which maims

Please say hi to me i only bite when im really happy :3 - 14 February 2024

a song i wrote i know this wasnt what the website was for and its probably kind of mid but ive never really made music like this idk. i promise i will actually put that thing im writing up once im done with it i just want it to be good and my dumb ass started this when i was actually pretty busy so it might be next week or week after instead unless i have a day where school doesn't really burn me out. (sorry, my trains of thought doesn't have any punctuation)

anyway this song is about how no one ever talks to me irl even tho im really nice im just pissed or sad or completely dissociated all the time at least in part because no one's nice to me.. oh well.

here's the beepbox url if the iframe thing doesn't work for whatever reason: beepbox

Oh Look, a Person - 15 February 2024

this one's capturing the feeling of an encounter i had on the beach today where some early 20s person was walking by listening to some music but they were holding the phone like they were on a call but i could hear their music. then they said "oh look a person" out loud and i was like hey and they just kept walking. They hit a vape and kept on strolling until they sat down a bit further down the shore. Some bald older guy started tiny boating out from this weird greenish kind of dingy looking boat and picked them up. It felt very surreal and kind of scary but i was also in a weird headspace. i decided to get out of there and then some white person in a rastafari beanie was also on the beach and i high tailed it out of there because i was kinda freaking out. when i got home i tried to get in by jumping a fence cuz i didn't wanna walk around but then a dog barked at me and the neighbors ran me off so i walked around the block to the front door.

im awful at narrating things interestingly lol but yeah this song is like that story.

direct url link: beepbox

"'We will always be ready to self-alienate again' ~ crisis and madness"

note: in this article the first person pronoun "we" is used in place of "I." This is not after the fashion of communists who posture to speak on behalf of the entire proletariat or liberals speaking on behalf of a movement or whatever, we're not any of those, it's because we're plural lol

It's been said before that the foundation of the crisis is self-alienation: "creating frozen concepts out of flowing life" and allowing these concepts to "supplant the real of phenomenal life."¹ (emphasis not ours) We go further and say that self-alienation is not alienation of or by the self, rather the production of a self is alienation is the beginning of the crisis. (as much as the crisis can be said to have a singular beginning. it was likely gradual)

Much as "[i]n [bureaucracy's] clutches, [we] become a person: a name and number, a rights bearer, a property owner, a bank account holder,"² so in the clutches of sanity we become a self. The self is an impoverishment, a dispossesion, a desperate flight from the real to so-called security and higher standards of living. Not only does this security create authority in spiritual/psychological specialists, it is mere delusion produced by false thought.

The sane imagine that the self operates outside of the real in a state of reason. Through false thought the reality of sanity is constructed³. This much in the same way liberals proclaim "by the grace of the Holy Triple Engines of Progress of Technology and the Market and Democracy we have overcome our savagery and live as our True civilized selves." [ed: i think we were exaggerating]

Though illusioned in their acting, the sane do still act, and in doing so create the crisis. A world of perceiving subjects and objects to be acted on, both laden with characteristics, is posited, and by this alchemy the sane in their coming-to-sanity forget "[t]he respiratory system for living beings is collective and consists of a multitude of lungs, leaves, bacteria and other organisms."⁴

This is not a calling to accept some new-age oneness or 'mother earth,' rather to stop creating things to chase. Rather to "awaken to the fact that there is nothing to be awakened to."⁵

we wrote the phrases "the mad real" and "cracking your sanity egg" but we forgot where we were going with it and whoever knew what was up with that seems to have left or gone to sleep or something. we think it had something to do with this meme..

[ed: im not sure what the hell we were talking about (in any of this text) but i remember we saw this (that is, not being sure what the hell we were talking about) coming ahead of time and resolved to publish what was written regardless of this feeling. and so you are reading this text on your screen.]

1. Bellamy Fitzpatrick, Corrosive Consciousness (Unknown: Enemy Combatant Press, 2017), 6 and 10, disrespectfully (as in, we paraphrase page ten in the bit about foundation and the quotes are from page six).

2. Sascha Engel, Plant anarchy (Berkeley: Ardent Press, 2023), 102.

3. often by force, but only after the belief in madness as sin and vice versa has failed, or before it has been instilled in a populace. the optics of murder are worse than that of "helping those who cannot help themselves"

4. Josep Gardenyes, "23 Theses Concerning Revolt," via theanarchistlibrary.org

5. Jeffery Broughton (trans), The Bodhidharma Anthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 16.

"im sorry i wish i could help more"

She meandered in the park, from picteuresque creek to tress mossy with old age and wet. Somewhere, spores were dropping out of the head of the heady shroom. She sought these, to gain insight she already had.

She was late to meet her friend who adulterated. Though their lover may be more to blame.

But still, even if she and her friend made shaky companionship, they still made it. To the beach they went together. Clear water met the shore where clear wanderer met someone more sure.

There was some sort of social tension with a tranny on the walk. The vampire tried to hide but they all saw it in her eyes and looked on with judgement. Her experience was forbidden and her mood became forboding.

Every glance of an eye became suspect. She felt like a suspect, like she was being subjected to followings and monitorings.

And in a way, she was, and in a way, it worked.

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             / im sorry i wish i could help more  \
            / ,___________________________________/
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Her Friend