who goes there, traveler?

I'm a little lost when it comes to my presence on the internet. I don't know what I'm curating, if I am curating. The two things that really appeal to me on the internet are 1) archiving audio/visual material, and 2) the possibility of people being more able to understand me via my online presence. But this second thing is a bit of a fluke. My self as it's expressed online is a 2D performance way removed from who I am in real life. That disconnect is unsettling and is probably the reason why I have no socials but Instagram, which I delete regularly. But I always redownload it. It makes me wonder, why am I here then? to continue searching for things to document? Is it the safety of interacting with people from a distance that appeals to me? [...] I think maybe I just want to escape to a white place somewhere far away. I want to go to the void. The internet, being virtual, is the closest thing. And it appears to me that uncommon ground is just as searchworthy as common ground. Surfing the web --> washing up on far shores. [void]

let's all go down to the creek sometime

I have an instagram collection called psyclone, and I reference it more than any other of my digital archives. I have a lot of visual materials saved on other platforms, like my google drives, but this collection, my most recent, is my personal favorite right now. In the past I've used Youtube playlists to collect video but i'm realizing that instagram allows me to find more obscure short-form stuff. Short-form is so beautiful. A short-form video is like a poem, as opposed to long-form content whose parallel might be closer to an epic or prose. I love video so much. I really think videos are dreams somehow. Below is an example of something i'd save to psyclone, it's from the account @digicamvids.

I did too much today and it's good but it feels like these steps forward amount to pounding blows all over my skull. I wish I didn't get migraines every time I win. I make an achievement and than immediately go into fight or flight, like my body's trying to paralyze itself so that what is mine stays put. The higher I move, the more stationary I feel myself to be but at least that kind of thinking is more helpful than harmful

Maybe I don't have muses, or even one muse, maybe my mind is all filled with images and sounds from TV and songs I've heard all jumbled together and none of it makes a cohesive picture and only serves to make me nostalgic when I encounter certain smells. No learning or happiness comes out of it