My hopes for a lasting Cherry Blossomification of my consciousness didn't pan out, sadly, and I'm back to the familiar one man fantasia of suffering, come & see, come & see. It's not any of that garden variety Lovecraft meets Beatrix Potter in a Vietnamese child brothel shit either, much less fantastical & esthetic, just really fucking overwhelming, the total horror going on constantly everywhere that floats on the periphery, informing everything thing I do, sure, but mostly being pretty unobtrusive, keeps drifting into the center of attention & lingering there. Doesn't matter much, it's just feelings & what they're about is so much worse than any way I'm likely to feel, that really, so what? Going to go climb into my isolation box and hope for an orgone recharge, feel free to sing little songs to my voicemail.