barefoot & barely lifelike
deranged happy tears
my favorite person in the entire world - with whom i only have a parasocial relationship with, but nevertheless he's my numero uno, nummer ett, nummer eins - started a new podcast. a while ago acutally, but i only found out about it today when t messaged me about it. it's his fifth podcast, and 3/4 of the already excisting ones i've listened to and 2 of those i love more than life itself. which i know is not saying much as i don't really enjoy life per se, but you know. i love them more than ... umm. salty liquorice? oh this reminds me of the fact that google translator translates salmiakki into "straightjacket" and that makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever. anyway, i really love salmiakki, but i love those two podcasts more. one of them is a bit too chaotic for my taste but i mean i do still enjoy it, and the newest one - before this one i'm about to waffle on about like there's no tomorrow, that is - is only on a streaming service that i haven't yet wanted to pay for. i'm waiting for the podcast to be completed so i can have the best marathon of my life. BUT now, this one. damn this one makes me the happiest person on earth and i know that sounds like i'm exaggerating but i really am not. i'm just insane like that.
so in this podcast he sits in his car, driving and rambling on and on and on about every single thing under the sky and absolutely nothing at all. there's so many trains of thought that it's psychedelic and almost unfollowable, the stream of his consciousness is turbulent beyond comprehension and i am fucking living for it. there's road rage, commentary on passing cars and people in the streets of pasadena and wherever he goes, dog-talk and just unhinged internal monologue that's, bless his heart & lucky for me, spoken to tape. there's no script and no sense and it's just... everything. everything. all i've ever needed in my life. i'm not lying when i say i shed actual, real-ass tears, just because i was so happy listening to all of it. it's my own personal text book definition of perfection and i refuse to be ashamed of the fact. if this podcast could just go on forever i would die a happy gal, i really would.
the finglish in the pod makes me especially happy for some reason. in one episode (of the four that've come out so far) he talks about a 'muscle car' that was blue - like 'grandpa's long kalsar' blue. he also talked about whether or not one should keep wearing adidas clothes now that it could make one a nazi in someone's eyes, and i mean. i can't deal with the whole kw bullshit cause i just find the whole man so unbelievably disgusting and the whole case is both deeply sad and so mf'ing enfuriating i simply can not, but the way this man pronounces "ye" just. gives me life. perhaps i should be more worried than i'm currently being? maybe the amount of love i have for antti holma is not normal? ok there's no perhasps or maybes, it's so not normal, but normal is just another word for numbingly boring, right? normalcy aside, is it ...idk, safe? sensible? idek what word to use. maybe it's okay. perhaps it's fine. i should embrace the little - or big - joys i have in life. that's what she said. okay
talking about homosexual men that make me the happiest, daniel howell made a tiktok account. it almost made me open the app. almost. i refuse though. i know that in my inbox there are so. fucking. many. videos sent by my mum (who, yes, was on tiktok before me) and i and f and i just can't handle it because i know myself. i would force myself to watch all those videos, hundreds and hundreds of them. and i would undoubtedly have things to say and, like the kids nowadays say, ain't nobody got time for dat. not even several nobodies would, and i'm only one. so no, not even for you dan. not even for you. as enjoyable as the 'dystopian daily' he made about it was, it's still a no for me. ...until i crack and give up. i give myself a week. sends halp.