Some days are like this. It’s strenuous to scribble words into sentences. We write them anyway.
Maybe art is an external attempt to touch our deepest secrets, the secrets that we don’t even know are there.
This is an attempt to get back to the dangerous ideas, and maybe that’s a dangerous idea in itself. I hope that it is.
When you look for things to be grateful for, you find them, often in the most unexpected places and in the strangest of forms…