When you want to die you can be so creative because you don’t give a fuck.
You don’t care enough to let people force you to hold back the truth because that’s what we as humans do.
We call it courtesy, but really when you ignore everything about our current socio-political climate, it’s murder and oppression.
An artist doesn’t hold back the truth because we say:
“Hello! I love the fantasy!
I live it!”
” I love the fantasy because I live in that fantasy. Pretending every day that I don’t want to put that pretty hypnotizing dagger to my wrist because the reality is the reality. I am still here because, in that darkness, I can still see tiny glimpses of the good in the world and what could be if we face the cold hard stuff.
Face that shit that is sticky and heavy with the weight of an imploding world and learn to really love each other.
Love each other because we see each other. We are not (color)blind. We do not ignore. We see and we still love.
Because that is humanity. That is what makes us human.
That is what the artist brings. That is what we create, spin with our words and colors.
This is the web I weave because when I go out it will be with a creative bang of …
fuck being so wrapped up in my ignorance.