Writing, recording, playing

When you start getting the weird sensations you know you're on the right track. They're not always entirely pleasant. It's like FOMO but you know you're not missing out on anything. You've just pulled in your anchor and you're adrift, letting the visual snow of stars be your guide while creeping winds and currents from uninhabited worlds power your sails. You turned off your phone and have shunned all media, social or otherwise. You play piano for hours, free and without pressure, and the arpeggiated chords start to take weird mountainous shapes tinted in oddly maroon colours. In your waking mind everything possesses possibility like light shining through closed eyelids.

The itch to reconnect, to distract, to watch pornography, browse Youtube or send someone a GIF of a dancing dog comes and goes. That's an old world where nothing happens. You're never happy there but you always seek it. With itchy fingers and unfocused thoughts you seek what you don't want, baffled by your lack of self ownership. Always on edge, but with the illusion that more media will cushion the fall, even carry you away on its hot air balloon of empty narratives.

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