Elementary Particles of Emotion

03 Feb 2025 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in Dear Diaries, Reasons to Live Tags: , , , , , , , ,

If I had to categorize the Elementary Particles of the Emotional Multiverse, I would separate them into Desire, Boredom, and Rage. These three ingredients make up everything in the Emotional Dimensions, just as our Brain, Heart, and Loins compose that which contains our souls; each component worth more than the sum of its parts by joining together with the others in order to create us—thus adding up to 3.14.

  • Desire is Electricity, the force which compels formation of new pathways.
  • Boredom is Stagnation, eventual Death.
  • Rage is entropy and Chaos; the breakdown of thoughts, rules, and information which swirlingly devours at the center of most galaxies and unnecessary sufferings.

My Brain is Desire, my Loins are Boredom, and my Heart is Rage. Therefore:

Brain = Electricity

Heart = Chaos

Loins = Stagnation, culminating in HEAT DEATH should it become too pervasive; this is why we wear our loins so briefly in the Scheme of Things.

Welp, there’s whatever that was.

Love always,

Mister L.

“entire sweating restless world”

01 Jan 2018 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in Fiction, New Media Testament Tags: , , , , , , ,

Excerpt(s) from Chapter 9 of  LONELYHEARTS 2016, my upcoming campy, surrealish, dramedy novel about a bipolar pansexual at the end of the world. (More succinctly: about a troubled young man who starts college during this era of American politics.)

The door was unlocked. Judging from the smell, it’d been left unlocked for a drug-dealer or two. A pungent mixture saturated the air and devoured me as I crept within; entranced. It was like I was floating on his sweat-glands, swimming through his bladder. Climbing his swollen, throbbing intestines. My lips parted so I could taste the flatulent agony, the stagnant waste and recycled air that I recognized from my own life: he hadn’t left his room in days, maybe even weeks.

(. . .)

I’d never felt closer to him, entangled there with his un-showered body. Under sodden, warmly chilling sheets, with crumbs of god-knows-what sticking to my skin. I became possessed with an overwhelming need to lick him clean, to grind my tongue across every pore, valley and bulge of his flesh until I cleansed him of his depression. I would take him into my mouth and hold him inside, bathing him there forever if I had to, if it meant I could lick and suck all his stains away: the lifetime of stains left by selfish parents, thoughtless friends, uncaring strangers, unexamined pain and unexpressed passion. I smelled myself in his unrepentant sloth; saw myself in his dewy-jungle armpit; tasted myself in his salty sadness; heard myself in his near-but-faraway heartbeat. Felt myself, in his struggling to be held. He was me, born into a different body. I was in bed with the entire sweating restless world.

You can read more excerpts (and soon, the first five chapters) here.

Love always,

real cover

tentative cover

your Mister

Responsibility II

09 Nov 2017 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in New Media Testament, Verses Tags: , , , ,

Responsibility II

The knife is on the counter again today. The long one; with the jagged, key-like teeth. The one that always makes me imagine stabbing myself in the heart or in the belly. Restless exhaustion lifts the blade, and the corpse’s reflection shows me something rare: a smile, cold and dead, and the finger cannot stop itself from caressing all the teeth. A sip of caffeine takes me to the bedroom, where a curtain is tied with the scarf, the one that always makes me feel like I’m hanging and swinging from something so high I cannot reach it on my own. The scarf is torn from the curtain because brightness is attacking me, and the shielding darkness must be drawn. It cannot bear the being seen clearly, this thing that must drug itself to perform even the simplest of humanities.

Pleasure comes only with guilt, and connection only with disappointment. Beauty like music, once my favorite food, is now a drug, and overdosing is the only possibility of relief. The things consumed are not appreciated and waste alone is produced. Friends cannot know that I am here again, not even the ones I call “family.” Their faith in me is all I have.

Pages are turned without reading because my religion has never really been there, and impatience is everything I am; maybe all I’ve ever been. In this darkness everything is clear to me. Pockets must be filled with rocks and the truth must be embraced: some people spend their entire lives drowning; I will hold this tightly to myself and dance with it until I can sink no further. Only there can I be truly myself. I can forage for myself and hum to myself, and finally know the one true happiness of not being a burden to anyone but me. I’m sure I can find everything I need in this sunken place that I’ve decided I cannot escape; and, even if I can’t, my story will end the same: lifeless hands, scattering rocks and floating to the surface, no longer bothered by the choice between the problem of evil and the problem of paradise.

Happy First Anniversary, everyone! (Anniversary of the Great Election Day Hangover of 2016, of course.) It’s been a little bit easier for me the past week or so, easier to hold the good news close again and soak it in. But I still must own and honor my dark times, the entirety of the journey that brought us all here to this moment together.

How is everyone else doing a year out from November 9, 2016?

Love always,

your Mister

The Other Side

16 Oct 2017 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in New Media Testament, Verses Tags: , , , , ,

The Other Side

They pound on the door,
pound on the walls,
echoing gunshots through
the empty room
with me in it.
Let us in!
Let us in!
They slide notes
under the door:
Are you okay?
Please come out!
WE LOVE YOU!
But I can’t be sure
if those are the truth,
so I don’t know
if I should entrust
them with my own truths:
like how I don’t know
if we’ve ever really been friends
or if we’ve just silently agreed
to hold each other back;
and how I can’t talk
about death without quoting someone
else, even though I think about
it myself all the time;
and how I play with my body
every day, imagining
all the things I cannot do,
cannot say.
If I tell them these things,
or anything else,
they will try to help
me in their own selfish ways,
and then they’ll tell
me all about their own bad days;
and James Herlihy wrote that
I mustn’t let the demons
of others breed
with my own
or else
I will be forever
imprisoned by the monsters
it makes;
but
it has already started,
so
is this the end?

This was inspired by a letter from James Herlihy to Anaïs Nin, which I read in Trapeze: the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1947-1955 (published earlier this year; the sixth installment in the MUST-READ series of diaries from one of the most tragically underexposed authors in history.)

Love always,

your Mister

Everywhere

09 Oct 2017 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in New Media Testament, Verses Tags: , , , ,

Everywhere

I am not here
in the home we share.
I’m not in the folds
I’m smelling
of the roses he bought.
Nor am I with
the little brown redbirds
we’re watching together,
nor the late Harvest Moon
I could’ve watched all night.
I can’t remember the last time
I was in the room with myself.
Somewhere, I can almost hear
the song I’m singing,
see the words I’m writing,
no longer in hatred
but still so far
from the love in “I love you.”
I promise we’ll meet there
soon;
again,
I’ll touch you without this
dimension between us;
otherwise, I’ll die here,
deafly, blindly, echoes from now.

Anybody here with me?

Love always,

your Mister

The Hope Does Not Spill

05 Sep 2017 1 Comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in New Media Testament, Verses Tags: , , , , , , ,

I received a particularly disappointing rejection last week; BUT: it’s the first rejection I’ve ever received that was addressed to “Miss Lonelyhearts,” so I’ve decided that it was cool and that I’ll take it as a win. I’ve also found a bit of solace in this poem I wrote about a month ago, which touches on depression and writer’s block.

The Hope Does Not Spill

Calm, warm blue
beckons me like a husband
from beneath
the sweating white ice.
It commands me
to bring it release,
promising
it will do the same
for me, eventually;
and, although it never has,
I can’t stop myself from
imagining, again, what it would
be like to believe this thing
I don’t remember asking
to be filled with,
which abuses me tenderly,
passionately sometimes
with healing bruises, telling me
that I am nothing without it,
that it is godlike and far
older than I can imagine,
and that I am unknowably lucky
to be its vessel,
to divide myself and slowly die
so it can continue replicating
itself, maybe forever,
replenished by countless other vessels,
some impossibly younger and sexier
than I am–
cells within cells within cells
that don’t technically exist yet–
because I am too stupid
or too something or everything
to contain it, understand it
completely.

It screams at me
for the first time
as I trace its path,
a river down my arm;
it’s so loud
but so impossibly faraway
inside me,
so I cannot hear it
but I know what it wants,
what it always wants:
to be freed, for me
to stab the cold, wet
touchability that separates us,
breaking it just enough so
I can chug its burgundy
on the other side
of the ice, released,
and finally drown in it.
My finger reaches
the end of that river
and strokes what it finds there:
an opaque patch of ice;

my body collapses
like the ice in my mind
as I blink away dryness
and try to cry out
all the trapped, dead, frozen things,
but the hope does not spill from me.

rejection

Historical document: my first rejection as “Miss Lonelyhearts”!

Love always,

your Mister

My First Heart-to-Heart

10 Oct 2016 Leave a comment

by MisterMissLonelyhearts in Dear Diaries, Reasons to Live Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been grappling with what exactly to write about here, but after I realized that today is World Mental Health Day, I decided to share something I wrote “last night” as I struggled to fall asleep at 4 a.m. I was still reeling from the presidential debate, and I was painfully trying to stomach a Truth that I can never quite seem to internalize: the ABSOLUTE BEST we can hope for is a lifetime of baby-steps toward a better world. I grabbed my phone and typed something I needed to get out of me:

“I struggle daily with an immense self-loathing. It starts on the outside but it penetrates me so deeply, to the very core of who I am. It pierces every molecule of every synapse behind all my thoughts and actions. I rarely act upon this loathing anymore, but for most of my life it was my main motivating force. And still, it’s always there. Maybe it always will be. I write to document this war within myself, to remember the beauty and goodness that has fallen in defense of the beauty and goodness that still exists. I describe these battles in as great of detail as I can manage, fueled by the Hope that these stories can help you in the fight against your own demon. We all have one. I actually think everyone’s demon is the same. But I have faith that you’re stronger than I’ve been, even stronger than YOU’VE been. You’ll probably even vanquish your demon for good. Someday. Until then, maybe you can help me with mine, or someone else with theirs. We all need all the help we can get.”

I’d been feeling rather blocked and uninspired lately, but the clouds parted a bit once I confessed this to myself. In my writings recently, I’ve felt a tremendous pressure to only express my positive thoughts, but that one-sided pursuit actually caused the goodness in me to weaken–because I wasn’t honoring its struggle. The unhealthy thoughts were actually growing stronger because I hadn’t paid attention to them in so long; they were exacerbated by election-season madness . . . you know, the feeling that you’re never doing enough to help but also that you could never do enough to really help anyway. . .

Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help!

Love always,

Mister L.

my last drink

November 21, 2021
1492 days ago.

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 95 other subscribers