I let music guide my mood, and I wish I could tell you what the shadow felt like, what the grand fear of my ancestors felt like, what it feels like to have your heart and mind explode.
But the music I want to hear steers me clear.
At times I question my own humanity. Not in the sense of morality, not like I don’t know right from wrong. I know murder, I know thievery, I know greed. They are not my fears.
I’m not afraid I’m evil.
And that may not be a fear we think we know we have. But I feel ok.
And I feel Aleppo.
When words fail to move us what is left?
Full immersive 3D High Res footage to make us feel? To Jolt humanity back unto our desensitized selves?
Is that the long term goal we’re racing towards? A century so caught up in the self
we’ll need the robots to forcefeed us back our own sense of empathy?
Her sketching is very different than mine.
She’s so much more a graphic designer.
I’m very light and airy sketches.
There’s really not much form when I get started.
It’s a few tries before I start to feel satisfied.
; I know her better than anyone else
and she knows me too.
Is that love tho’, boo?
I don’t tend to feel human
because I don’t tend to feel I’ve felt those human milestones.
What was it like
breaking up with your first love?
What was it like to leave for college?
What’s it like having a kid?
I took my father to the Rothko.
Because when you’ve lost your job and need a place to think,
where do you hope someone will take you?
I took my dad to the Rothko,
and read the Psalms beside him.
I wanted to argue something,
because I value a good fight;
I wanted to argue something
like don’e fear for me.
I’ll be ok.
I can die aight.
& I hope I can teach my niece as well
to forgive you
for what you’ve done
to this planet.
— – – – – – – – -8< – – – – – – – – — – – — – – – – – – –
I hope you understand
I’d face hell for someone else.
I hope you get it.
It’s not about me.
Like, I hope you an understand,
I’m not worried about God’s love.
I’m worried others can sense they feel it too.
I hope they find comfort
even in their hatreds.
I hope they can sleep at night.
& how can I do that father?
Oh hey Zues on high;
how can I let someone believe in their god
if I’ve got my own to proclaim first?
How could they believe I mean it?
How could they ever think I’d really love them
if I don’t think they’d see my heaven?
Would you see it?
Would your husband see yours?
Would my father see any of ours?
I miss her
but I made her a promise
I’d give her space.
I said to her,
-I promise I’ll try to understand.
-“Huh! What do you still not understand after all these years?”
So I promised her space instead.
au revoir mein cherie.
hast / til / vou / s