This is part of what i think

I'm a cursed being condemned to a cyclical methodology of useless using of what are really very useful materials in the form mostly of books, but i am literally unable to use them properly, i horde them, and there can be sublime moments when i connect with them, but then LIFE insists on pushing into my idyllic island of refuge and the sensation of both exquisite and rich fury and woe ruptures connection, and there is a deadness.

Now the deadness is fine, as long as i can distinguish some things from other things, that's what sanity is remaining, distinguishing a little bit. And having a record of what used to work, so that when the deadness subsides, temporal slivers of sublimity can resurface, and i welcome those times as much as can be, and if i wasn't cursed they'd be happening most of the time.