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Kokoro no nazo sugato awase. Ukiyo-e woodblock print, about 1830’s, Japan, by artist Keisai Eisen.

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Hey did you know there's a tell all book about the behind the scenes of Meta and the author is forbidden from promoting it?

The good news is however that it's already published and can't be stifled and whoever didn't sign the NDA can promote it as much as they want.

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god I could be so wealthy if I had no ethics. that's so fucking frustrating. I'm living paycheck to paycheck because I'm not grifting vulnerable idiots on TikTok. I feel like I have the ability to very easily scam people. I could make a killing with AI. but god. I have morals and ethics and so I get to be poor as shit. I hate this fucking world

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''Eyes of the Soul'', 1919

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𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟷𝟼, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

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Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Ian Beck

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Hildebrandt brothers, 1981

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Cease upon the midnight, Sebastian B (@tabacstar_)

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Window wings, fragile panes Shield me from the dark Warm me with your spark

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So it was a mess and it did lack style.. so what

A lot of what I wrote a few months ago was a messy free-write, but I got a lot of what was in my head OUT, so I still consider that very important. I thought I had style the whole time. Interesting. That's all I'll say to that. "We were both fighting our own battles with ourselves so hard" I am fighting my own battle with myself AGAIN...right NOW. And maybe in a week it might seem different. And maybe in a year, I hope it will seem different.

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Being There

"You had to be there"

True. You're not there unless you're there. And now that you aren't there you spend your days thinking what you'd do differently if you were. "...But you can't truly say what you'd do unless you were in fact there again, could you?" The demon said "Back in that seat, you'd no doubt fidget, thinking of a thousand elsewheres." DID you want to be there... always itching and clawing and poking and fiddling? Most places are worse. You'd handed over years to worse. You saw people grow old in worse places and thanked whichever lucky star allowed you to escape. Because it was luck.

Government was a place you could actually not hand your entire soul over, not drink company kool aid, clock in, clock out, trade your 8 hours for the money that gave you space: self sufficiency and freedom from abuse. You saw things at that job that made you thank that star: Three generations crammed into one crumbling house. The son, the daughter, the stepdad with a criminal record. They sent you to untangle that mess. Each had a different story. Didn't matter. Still fiddled. Still poked. Distracted by the color of the afternoon sun on asbestos shingles, the smell of petrichor, the slide of syllables against each other in a southern Delaware drawl. You noticed it. "Artists are sensitive to that sort of thing"

Yeah, but they create. You just get to be sensitive. How fun is that?! Beyond distraction, there were names forgot, phone digits jumbled... Thankfully you caught your mistakes before anyone noticed...most of the time. "You are one of those creatures not built for this world. You will not last long. They do not make places for you." the demon said. One day, there was time for spring cleaning of things that fiddled and poked. So now You search for a new there. Even if you do not truly know how I'll behave until you are... there.

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Cover for Diablo Manor by Dorothy Daniels

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A sky with a thousand suns.

Die Welt in hundert Jahren. 1910.

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