A Children's Book

I appear to have lost myself. Where could I be? Have you seen me?

I look for myself in some books on Greek mythology. I am not there.

I look for myself in a bottle of Moscato. At the bottom lies something that feels a little like me, but it is not me. I am not there.

I look for myself inside someone I love. Is that me? No, I am not there.

Where am I?

I miss the friend I had who disappeared because she was so raw, and you could talk to her about anything at all, and since she left I've been quickly filling up with stories that no one else will be able to hear.

Basically just a summary of my dissertation, but like, better

Headers loosely translated from Danish but with the real content instead of the stuff that's written on the pages. 

INTRODUCTION.. 3

this is where I spin a golden net of lies about my capabilities as an academic.

PAN IN ANTIQUITY.. 5

a historical chapter on myths, beautiful myths, feel the beauty, understand what I'm trying to do.

The God of the Country Before the Moon
look I can divide my thesis into big chapters, and small chapters, surely this must count for something?

Boundless Desire, Panic, and Teoleptic Possession

I'm terrified.

The Death of Pan
But this will probably be okay.

NATURE AND THE SUPERNATURAL IN THE FIN DE SIÈCLE 
I'm not sure I know what I'm doing. Does anyone else, though? How will I ever survive in the real world?

The Lost Paradise After the Death of God
Late 19th century modernity is actually a lot like a mind, all muddy and riddled with contradictions. Someone save me from myself.

The Aesthetic Chaos of Arcady as an Alternative to the Ethics of Christianity
I wonder if people will still like and respect me if I write a truly terrible dissertation - maybe they'll be fooled by the poetic quality of the headings?

THEORIES OF TRANSGRESSION
Yiss. Everything is about something else. Does anyone have some wine? Can I just get drunk and sleep it off and skip to the part where I retire old and worn down and hating young people?

From the Unity of Nature
I have no idea. But okay, let's be realistic, no one will ever read this except for like maybe four people and I can always send them something else. Maybe a cleverly disguised box of something that's fifty-fifty either utter crap or candy bars.

Through the Grotto to the Grotesque
I know too much. Too much. There is no turning back, as they used to say in the old days, seeing god is like dying. I'm dead. It's over.

PAN RESURRECTED: ARTHUR MACHEN'S SACRAMENT
it's never over, I mean, I don't even begin my analysis till this part. I don't know, man, I don't know, they say it was the cat that drove her over the edge and let her to drown her children in the bathtub. at least I'm not that woman. No one ever heard of a dissertation being slowly dissolved in soapy water and the shameful student whore spending the rest of her days behind bars chewing on glue to keep her lips full.

The Monster
I am the monster. You are the monster, we are all monsters here.

The Nymphomaniac
My dissertation is really dirty. You'd think that'd somehow make it less fear provoking to write, but no. 

A DREAM OF BEAUTY - E. F. BENSON AND THE HOMO SOCIAL IDEAL
nothing cheers me up like thinking of sad, sexually frustrated gay artists. Forever stuck in the 'just kiss' zone and never getting to the good parts that have penis in them.

ALGERNON BLACKWOOD'S WILD LOVE
This story is about an orgy and how it's somehow intensely morally superior to just cheating with your husband's cousin.

TORN MINDS AND LONELY BODIES  – MCKENNA'S PAN AFTER THE WAR.. 101
World War I is always a winner, really, the only thing that beats it is World War II. Combine with more orgies for sure success.

CONCLUSION
as a good friend said, it'll all be over at some point. Please don't see through me, I swear this made sense in my head.

Aftermath: Echo's Ever Singing Limbs
I'm not going to have space for this chapter, but I really like it, so I keep it in till I have to delete it. Much like most of the other parts of this dissertation and like guys, who believe in friend zones, think they work.

Bonus goat. Everything is really about goats, I've learned. Trust me, I'm an expert.

"'Now you are anointed with the Night,’ she cried. ’No one will know you. You are forgotten of the world. Kiss me!'"

- Algernon Blackwood, "The Touch of Pan," 1917.

The nightmares, the nightmares are coming. Trying to stay sane and stick together, doing pretty well, but the nightmares won't let me. And I dream that I took out my tongue, but now I can't put it back in, all my words are thmph thoundph and thipherph, and I'm standing there with half a tongue, ripped apart so you can see the white circles of broken taste buds and for some reason, is that part of a touth? and I can't say anything at all, I didn't think it was that serious, I just needed it for something else for a moment and now there isn't any way back.

Midsommervanvid

It is a matter of indifference to me if these fancies seem extravagant. They had passed through my brain two nights before; they came back when the professor asked me to describe my own sensations at a time when certain of our companions, by 'visitation' or possession,' by 'autosuggestion' or 'contagious hysteria' were changing their identity.

- Stephen McKenna, The Oldest God, 1926.

øjne der farer vild og trækker blikket ud,

den eneste måde at besejre det er at dyrke det, at give efter, hele mit liv er en øvelse i at give efter. Besættelsen er også hellig, den er mere end og en frisættelse, løben med vinden, tal til mig, overdøv stream of consciousness med brusen, jeg vil sætte mit sind på en bakketop og give det til guderne. 

ny fiktionsform

første og eneste samtale mellem fremmede på okcupid:

Paranoia

Jeg er klart ikke så lykkelig som jeg burde være. Jeg er fuld af hemmeligheder, som ingen må se for at de ikke skal blive mere virkelige. Mine venner er blevet til skygger med stramme, falske smil. Jeg anlægger agnostisk tilgang til ømhed.

Kraftanstrengelse

Vader gennem mudder - har ikke helt styr på hvilken vej jeg skal, men man er nødt til at fortsætte fremad - gider ikke - vælter omkring, sætter mig spontant på køkkengulve fordi mine ben ikke kan bære mig mere, taber ting ud af mine hænder som jeg troede, jeg holdt, kryber ind i søvnen for at finde ikke-eksistens og flere kræfter, er sart og drikker ikke ret meget kaffe, men lever på koffeinpiller og saftevand og syrligt slik, spiller høj musik på min også meget langsomme, træge computer for at vække mig selv nok til at kunne læse poesi eller e-mails og måske føle nogle af de ting, jeg ved jeg alligevel kommer til at føle helt vildt meget når jeg har fundet tør jord et sted - nikker - nikker - det skal nok gå, gå - kun sådan cirka 1½ - 4 måneder mere og så resten af livet. No biggy.

Jeg skal lige tage at være voksen og:
ringe til lægen
andre ting, jeg ikke kan tage stilling til