It’s hard for me to write about anything real these days. I’ve been split between writing a fiction book and writing reviews for new music and movies for chickenshit change to survive. Between that time, it’s been nearly impossible to write shit that portends to the actual world. Part of the issue: there is no “real” life anymore; everything is artifice and masks and “online personas” and adjectives and products-as-descriptors, there is nothing substantial and nobody really goes outside anymore because covid still lingers like a spectre over us.
Maybe it’s Worthless
Maybe it’s Worthless
It’s hard for me to write about anything real these days. I’ve been split between writing a fiction book and writing reviews for new music and movies for chickenshit change to survive. Between that time, it’s been nearly impossible to write shit that portends to the actual world. Part of the issue: there is no “real” life anymore; everything is artifice and masks and “online personas” and adjectives and products-as-descriptors, there is nothing substantial and nobody really goes outside anymore because covid still lingers like a spectre over us.