fourteen months later.

okai... without poetry and dramatics? i have done nothing but invisible somethings. once i felt your eyes watching me, i was unable to move. this was supposed to be free expression-- instead i was trapped by my inhibition.

my art feels like vomit put on display; why do people want to look at my vomit? the only thing i understand is meaninglessness; can that produce something meaningful? what has connection to my mind that isn't just a repetition based off the wave of similar drones in every visible direction...?

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soon i would like to play with vectors full of propaganda and disinformation (ideas for you to steal and spread like lies). later i will throw in some cuteness.

(i had to rewrite this).

x