What the fuck do you want me to say? That it's been two years since I've been in academia? I'm so tired of wallowing away, not choosing to be lead astray. Yet still being filed away as trivial. Subliminal. Failing all the trials and tribulations. No. I don't wish to reconcile. If it were a crime I would be without parole. I whine on that CV and attempt to sell my soul with decree. Only to receive a computed passage, encased with subtle glee. Unfortunately, you didn't achieve the score required. You just didn't have the highest falsetto in the choir. And what's more, we won't give you a why. Because we the coveted sourdough, you the overpriced rye. We do recommend you apply again next year though. Don't sigh. We know AI discriminates on applications but it saves us time! A pine tree in the shade, never shining. Other acres freed of strife. Can you call it failed potential if I've never had the chance to be monumental? Maybe I should just settle for retail.

My uncle passed today, on Labor Day no less. Quite the irony (and he would probably agree with a smirk) considering how he was constantly griping about the inefficacies of his workmates. This is a difficult post but I felt that it was necessary nonetheless to honor his memory. And at the same time, revisit the concept of momento mori. He was a jovial chap, always filled with joy. He would make the most flippant remarks but one couldn’t ever hate him. He was like Budai, the laughing Buddha. Christopher Daniel Overee, you were a class act. I love you and you were an amazing uncle who has inspired me to become a better person in your unconventional way. But with his sudden passing, I’m reminded of the philosophical concept of momento mori (remember that you must die). To me, it’s about having genuine gratitude for each moment, and a reminder to live to the fullest even when the immediate present is pure bollocks. How does the old saying shape your perception of life and by extension, your work? Once again, bless your soul uncle, and may your legacy of smiles and sardonic wit serve as a reminder to embrace life with a cheeky smile and open arms.

'The way you phrase your words is just interesting'. I remember her saying for the third time when I was in the heat of the moment about our cousin. Smiling. She continues to crease my falters. Always something wiring me loose. Always something I can't do. How can a sister be this selective? Fist to the uvula. Create a ruse so bruise-inducing. No excuse. I swallow the sentence like a recluse. Maybe I shouldn't act so John-doe. So and so. It may not seem huge to you. May not represent the permanence of a flashy cruise sinking underneath the blue. She doesn't know I think about these things like they're chosen, until sleep seems like a ghost overdose. A diagnosis forbidden from tokenising. Why should I have to catalogue my words before they're spoken? Materialistic. Wrong word. Success-oriented would have been sturdier. Interesting. Next day. Different person. An idiom that I mixed up. Interesting! Oh the realisation, oh so forsaken: she has a hobby. You are indeed the hobby.

In his own world on a laptop that would've won beauty contests in 1976. He was told beforehand. So Mohammed, tell me about yourself, wait what would you like to be called again? Fucked it anyway. The damage is done. All I spoke about were mere accolades. Narcissistic or holistic? Blotchy red raw fingers tapping with timed authority, because they can. My fate determined by a Timpsons. Conscience turning to crimson, the thoughts fully formed of a pole and some flashy heels. Is an autonomy worth my soul? I speak about a chess rating of 2100, an art portfolio that he swipes only 4/16 images through, how I'm self taught in Python and HTML, but I'm just ruled with an array of agreements. An oil painting not varnished. A lime corset feigning a sour hourglass. Pestle with no mortar. One nobody sought after. I guess we'll let you know by the weekend if you were successful.