let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes

Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

there is an exhilarating joy in the formulation of words and worlds, something I have experienced for almost as long as I can remember. And if there’s anything about me, specifically, it’s that inspiration has an odd way of striking me when I’m often supposed to have been long asleep, resulting in an unfortunately groggy me the next day (not that I’m not always groggy. I am. But exceptionally tired).
memoriam noctis ought to mean midnight in memory and I’m gonna be very mad if google translate failed me (which it probably did), and okay not gonna lie I really don’t know what it means, it just sounded cool at 2am.
but yes. This is the dumping-point for the (rather rare) times when I actually produce something worthy of reading, whether it be some sort of fiction or a broadly-defined “review” (mine are generally more rambles).

So I say, bienvenue. Welcome to the madness that is a sleep-deprived teenager.

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