feel bad, can't breathe, can't really think or do anything
it's like i'm forgetting to breathe
it's like i have to remind myself to breathe
thinking about it makes it worse
i don't even know if i should be writing
because thinking is part of the problem
and writing is a form of thinking
but i am told that it's a kind of therapy
so we are kind of fucked in this regard aren't we?
if we were to think in images, the first thing
i can think of is the color blue, mostly because
i just finished watching season one of "love death
and robots". the last episode, the season finale,
is called "zima blue" and [spoilers] it's about
an individual who seems to want to paint the universe blue.
maggie nelson already explored blue ad nauseam, so
i don't feel the need to explore that theme here. what
i do need to do is *survive*, and art is a survivial
mechanism, right? it's a way for us to enchant our brains
into the next day.
the problem is the distribution of writing. the internet
is okay for sharing information, but it lacks the holiness,
the sanctity of reading a book. with a book, you are alone,
you can let your guard down and share secrets. twitter is not
for secrets. tiktok is not for secrets.
where am i supposed to put all of my quiet feeligns? do i
hide them in indie sites, secret minimalist bloggos? are.na
comes to mind as a good place to plant these things, or hosting
your own site if you have the resources to do that. by resources
i mean the know-how to make a secret little mini site,
the way rives does it at shopliftwindchimes.com.
yes, that might be the way to do it, to carve your own little
secret space somewhere and drop off those secrets for someone
to find them, the same way folks find secrets when they browse
their local secondhand bookstore.