we paint moonlight over our words. we string along letters in single file at times, and at others we let them float to wherever they wish to go. we are unbound. we listen to no voice but our own. we follow ourselves. we trust our masterpieces. we practice threading thoughts together and inking them onto blank paper. we could fill galaxies with our writing. pages and pages of dreams and heartbreak and desperation shot out into the never ending wonder that is outer space. we’re fascinated by this thing called creating. with how we can merge two paths together to make them more parallel through a few scribbles. we pull nebulas from skies in other dimensions. we give our stories spines. strong. tougher than ever before. lace them with inspiration and let it linger. we conjure ideas from nothing but a thin wisp of a conversation overheard from a few worlds away. we mix together broken syllables. we give them homes. we provide them with a shelter trapped within the pages. we defy gravity. we break the system of time. we rebel in the smallest of ways, a shift in the vortex ever so slight it almost cannot be seen. but our mark is there. it always will be. we pave the way for other deep thinkers, for other artists, for other passionate writers different but the same. our words fuel the similarly peculiar, allowing them to acquire wings of their own. we leave fingerprints on their hearts, warm like the sunshine. we explore. we grow. we live. we fly. we see things through fresh eyes. when we write. the stars sing. volcanoes crumble. doubt dies. when we write. we become the evolution.
In Ari Aster’s 2016 short film C’est La Vie, Chester Crummings, a homeless man, speaks directly and combatively to camera about his life and society at large as he wanders the streets of LA, surviving, begging for change and casually murdering people. At one point, he says: “You know what Freud says about the nature of horror? He says it’s when the home becomes unhomelike. Unheimlich.”
In Sig...
Just over a year ago, then CEO of Twitter, Jack Dorsey, sold his first tweet as an NFT for $2.9M. It wasn’t just his first tweet, of course, it was the first tweet, which as auctions go for Crypto- and NFT-heads was about as appealing as a hunk of sourdough to a famished goose. The nearly $3M sale was a welcome green flag to early advocates in the NFT space that the winds of blockchainge (sorry...
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