Woke up. Feeling rough. Went back to bed.
followed yet another “whiteness” blog
*placeholder for another sophomoric aphorism I haven’t thought of yet.
This was the life you missed, working.
Most things look like something else, and most people like it that way.
Seeing yourself through other’s eyes—not a good look for you.
No certainty, except in stupidity.
So much gravitas, I can’t get out of bed.
Art so rigorous, it has rigor mortis.
With age he became less ego-driven, but not by choice.
Weeping: singing for sad people.
Make a grid small enough and everything lands on it.
The moment before or after the decisive one.
Even if tumblr has done nothing more than decouple art from the context necessary to “understand” it, that’s enough for me.
A deeply moving Antlers song about the sadness of throwing away some used coffee grounds.