…and smize. Digital painting of my model friend whom I met at summer camp.


Art as Escapism


I can hear the protests from my window. There are protests everyday. And whenever I open my mouth a little glob of despair comes tumbling out.

Things are scary. Reality feels fictitious, joke-like, like aliens are creating some sad holographic reality where everything’s gone wrong. (What a disorienting liberal echo chamber)

Social progress works in waves. Humanity trying to move away from humanity. Lift up humanity, these are the recesses of humanity. I try to inject a little bit of optimism in my paper: maybe we’re rolling back but, overall, moving forward. Right? That’s how waves work, right? I don’t know.

I still don’t feel like writing. I’ll have to flesh things out and be rational and empowered but I feel like neither.

November 2016