Monday, May 27, 1912

Laid my mother to (permanent) rest a night ago
Gazed along her coffin
etching it into my retinas

University begins in a few months time
Labor and strife will ease my conscious
for if not…

Thursday, Aug. 08, 1912

Oxytocin.

Prof. G— enlightened us of this freshly unearthed hormone
Indicative of affection and pleasure
What else is known of this substance?
Extraction possible?
Questions a many raced
but I remained silent,
not to betray the intensity of my intrigue to those misclassified as peers

How could they sit in silence
dumb faces divulging an offensive lack of inquiry
I thought required for the discovery of such a phenomena

Near-infinite possibilities
Must attend Prof. G— office hours next Tuesday
Hardly will I manage to wait till then.

Saturday, Aug. 10, 1912

3 months since the death of my mother.

I fear for my mind—
Sometimes I see her:
always watching
but never guiding

Too many eyes follow me–
Far too many to count
No voices
A voice is many things
A voice is reassurance.

Tuesday, Aug. 13, 1912

Dutiful progress.

Prof. G— has told me all he knows
or at least claims to know
(follow up later)

If able to construct a mock-brain with
simulated secretion
A formula is plausible–
unquestionably probable in due time
and with proper method

Will begin experimentation at my earliest convenience…

Friday, Aug. 16, 1912

A concoction of love.

Nights of rigorous trial and error
have left me my life’s greatest triumph

Glowing vial
shining yellow iridescent
My void
longs in sentiment
and aches for compensation

I have been endlessly told
love is a feeling
love is a morning kiss
love is a friend’s embrace
love is jest
love is sacrifice
love is torture

love is not a mother’s approval
but her acceptance
Not a memory
but her presence

My body accepted the foreign substance
with open arms
Already I feel warm(er)
Tingles march methodically up my back
Traversing the spine
till halting upon my neck

Love is euphoria!

Sunday, Aug. 18, 1912

Unable to sleep.

36 hours
and brain is whirring;
head is a machine
overheating + overworked

What was at first a tingle
has morphed into strain
My skin is tight
as if someone were standing behind me
pulling it taut

Thoughts of my mother–
once my only shred of consolation
Make my stomach flip
and toss upon itself,
like a worm
caught unsuspecting
by the angry sun

At least soured love
still holds semblance
to its origin!

Whatever courses through my veins
is unnatural
Synthetic
Uncanny–

It is inhuman
yet it becomes me.