Sunday, January 18, 2026

"my year of rest and relaxation." by ottessa moshfegh

I took the garbage out into the hallway and threw it down the trash chute. Having a trash chute was one of my favorite things about my building. It made me feel important, like I was participating in the world. My trash mixed with the trash of others. The things I touched touched things other people had touched. I was contributing. I was connecting. 

a curious parable of a person alienated and isolated, brought up in cold privilege, lacking any direction, meaning or drive towards a better life. 

to reset she decides to pursue the pharmaceutical magic of sleeping pills giving herself a year to sleep it out. we are reminded of a common treatment for hysterical women widely practiced at the outset of psychiatry. it doesn't always go as planned, but at least now she is determined. 

she is a gorgeous blonde thin new yorker, who studied arts, whose both parents are dead. has a friend who cares about her, but who she struggles to sincerely care about without a touch of disgust and irritation. in the background the year 2001 steadily taking its course, day by day, month by month. 

the language is a bit simplistic for my taste, it has a diaristic quality to it, a certain lack of refinement. but it didn't stop me from often deeply empathising with her inability to belong, to feel human, with the desire to fall asleep hoping to wake up a renewed better person, fitter, happier, more productive. 



self.

self hate is self absorption

self soothing with self deception

self made selfhood 

taking a selfie of oneself

straying into selflessness

for self satisfaction

self preservation through self loathing

through self harm

self obsession

self self self self self

tear the self away 


Saturday, January 17, 2026

infestation.

stink bugs riding back and forth between the throat and the diaphragm 

sucking out the juicy red

leaving the crispy wrapping of a bloated ego to shatter with the tiniest vision of threat

eventually ones has to give up on gentleness 

it’s been three decades 

burn the host down


Friday, January 16, 2026

books i read during my winter scotland trip.

Émile Zola "Nana"

a story of a parisian sex-worker rising from a street walker to a high-class courtesan during the last few years of the second french empire. she is a myth, she is a legend, she is an ancient pagan deity whose overwhelming sexual force burns through the masculine establishment. men's undisciplined decadence and vain lust destroys them and the republic while Nana in her unconscious act of class revenge feeds on their finances, status, and self-respect. 

i loved all the situational prose: dates, vain conversations in salons (mostly about Bismarck), detailed descriptions of the weather. there is also a strong queer undercurrent among sex-workers, however tainted by the competitiveness of the field. 


Anne Carson "Eros the Bittersweet"

Anne Carson's first book, her dissertation on how eros is portrayed in Ancient Greek literature reworked into a non-fiction literary masterpiece. starting with portrayals of love between people, the lover's chase of the beloved and the unbridgeable distance between them during the adolescence of the written language, she applies the same geometrical analysis to writing and philosophy, to the pursuit of knowledge itself. 

it was a bit of a hard read being focused on the Ancient Greek and detailing the particularities of language that i cannot understand, so i can only conceptualise the flavours described by her rather than experience them. but it is an incredibly helpful text to have a better grasp on all her following writing. 


Anne Carson "Autobiography of Red"

one of my favourite books of all time. this was the first book of hers i read a couple years ago. but this time i decided to re-read it together with its sequel ("Red Doc>") and "Eros the Bittersweet".

a myth of one of the Heracles's labours reworked as a beautiful and heart-breaking queer story of two canadian teenagers: Heracles and Geryon. Anne Carson has a gift for keeping multiple contexts overlayed without fusing them, mixing but not shaking. in this book the myth coexists with the modern story. Geryon is still a red-winged monster living his relatively normal life and reading Heidegger. 

this particular book is so abundant with unexpected metaphors and ripe comparisons, leaving mind soft and receptive to the beauty of the mundane world. 


Anne Carson "Red doc>"

sequel to "Autobiography of Red". Geryon is now G and reads Proust and Kharms. Heracles served in the army and came back as sergeant Sad. he suffers from PTSD. here we finally see G's red cattle until Sad takes him away on an adventure, ending up in a psychiatric clinic/auto workshop based in a glacier. 

Carson experimentation with styles and forms is in full force here. she accepts the formatting accident making the text a mere three words wide column. what is poetry after all? and here we hear explicit chorus named "Wife of the Brain". 

i read it once before, about a year ago, but it was hard to follow for me at the time. as i submerged myself in Anne's other writing this trip, i could finally feel the extent of surreal imagery and human grief and care this book offers.


Mona Awad "Bunny"

an incredibly delightful magical realism novel following Samantha, an mfa creative writing student in Warren University. the workshop she attends is populated by a clique of saccharine, annoyingly affectionate girls from a wealthy background. at first she keeps her distance, hating their high-pitched mutual cooing, until they invite her to join their Smut Salon, where she discovers their dark extracurricular activities and gets engulfed in them. 

to say anything else would be a spoiler. this is a story about the power of imagination and how it is informed by life experience and intellectual rigour. who can and who cannot create convincing characters. it's a story about the writing itself told in the horror mean girls shutter island terms. 

i ate it up in two sittings, just couldn't stop. definitely going to read more of her. 

Thursday, January 15, 2026

no stranger to jealousy.

i am a jealous person. envious person as well. i get possessive and obsessive. i cling tight to people to avoid loneliness. push away those who seem enthusiastic about being around me. 

anxious-avoidant. avoidant-anxious. anxious-avoidant. avoidant-anxious. 

i hate this about me. i can't escape it. 

i see people doing what i want and could do, i get bitter. the poison bubbles up and sits in my throat. i see people loving each other lightly and tenderly, my eyes tense up and get peppery. 

i got all sulky seeing my bestie having more success feeding pigeons than i did. we were seven. 

my grandma complimented my cousin's hair, i took it as a critique of mine. 

over and over and over again any sign of goodness in the world reminds me of my own shortcomings. 

it's a type of narcissistic behaviour, the most unproductive kind of egocentrism. that's how people become incels after all. stewing in their own saltiness. rotting away the days. 

i just need to get my sleep schedule back to normal. 

    





Wednesday, January 14, 2026

i love on-screen violence.

finished watching the fourth season of "the boys" just now. ate the whole shit up in less than a week. hate that i have to wait now till april to see the last season.


i love it. it's silly at times, of course, and the political conversation is less than subtle, but the whole drama is honey to my heart. i would forgo being vegan and being sober just to eat some of frenchie's dishes while hign on a melange of hallucinogenics. mon coeur, there is no one better than you. 


i often think whether i should psychologize my fascination with media portraying the violence of emotionally unavailable men. out loud i said "he is so me" when watching "drive" with ryan gosling. then i slurped up "the sopranos" empathising seemingly a bit to much with the cast of characters and often reproducing their inflections in real-life conversations. 


sometimes i ascribe this to being brought up as heavily emotionally stunted woman, who primarily pours all of the anger back into herself. it rots inside and leaks on others slowly, spreads a stench all over the shop. oh how i wish sometimes to just be a man prone to anger, getting into fights, receiving and giving scars rather than pursue my pathetic strategy. 


obviously would be nice to be properly emotionally regulated, grow up stable and well-rounded, brave but not reckless, assertive but not violent, forgiving but not a doormat. 


oh well, in the meantime, serve me up some of that ultra-violence, baby. 








Tuesday, January 13, 2026

lilly mothcub made me do it.

 first post to seal the deal. 


i've been thinking of creating a blog for way too long. always overthought the project, the subjects. overestimated how developed my thoughts must be to be published. 


oh well, may be i'll never be a "proper" enough writer to have a blog, but i'll still have one. 


current concept is to write down the conversations i have in my head. recurring opinions, thoughts and stories that haven't found their way into a face-to-face engagement.


thus welcome, everyone, to "tails of conversations" brought to you by da:ze.