OTHER WRITING
What To Do When You’re Bored
Modern humans should hardly feel bored.
Our schedules are always full, and so many things are waiting for us to do. But not for me; I will put everything off until the end.
So when I procrastinate, I always feel like there is nothing to do. It’s not possible to spend that time on “important things that should be done (and in the end, there are no such things),” nor is it possible to spend it comfortably on pastimes such as playing games, going out to dinner with friends, or even cleaning or anything else that will get a noticeable result.
The best-case scenario is that I do many things, but when it’s over, I don’t remember anything but the gibberish of a paper full of graphics, which is a record of my mood.
If the written note leaves inspiration, then the scribble imprints the emotion, just like Pavlov’s tuning fork, reawakening the feeling archived in it the moment you see it next time and consolidating it every time you flip through it.
From the available records, I’ve been in a bad mood all along.
Good.
These things make up the film of hypnotic theater shown in my head before bed, allowing me to fall asleep with hate and have a lovely dream.
Manifesto
I’m the one who is currently alive, and maybe someday, at the same time will be the one who is actively alive, but not today. I’m not saying I want to die. I’m just not vibrant enough.
I believe I will never in my life create work that I will be satisfied with the next day, and that distresses me. No, I’m pretending; I am satisfied with it.
I’m the winner of the brief period of enthusiasm contest. When I declare out loud that I love something, it means that tomorrow that something will be worthless to me. When I declare out loud that I hate something, it means that I must have secretly loved it for countless late nights.
My art is the fungus in the humid forest, the one that grows on the roots of trees and has a probability of dying when exposed to sunlight. The good thing is that it has learned to emit a little fluorescence in dark places that the camera can’t catch. Sorry, I made a mistake; it’s not my art; it’s my personality.
I hope tomorrow doesn’t get any better. If my tomorrow doesn’t get better, hopefully, my cat’s tomorrow will. After all, it’s not like he’s done anything wrong, and neither do I.
The most important thing is the deep sea fish. The reason I forget, I just think of them often, but not the way they look after they are forced to come to the surface of the sea.
I like to draw dead things. The drawings themselves are not alive, but those things that are dead, even in the drawings, are the most interesting. I’ve done countless drawings, but the best picture in my album is still a dead pigeon that I happened to take in the winter in New York. It died beautifully. I say all this not to say that I want to die; I just don’t live a vibrant life.
Art is not magnificent, or rather, in my mind, it is not a great means or tool to convince others or to change society. Art is a recorder, like the symbols carved on stone by ancient humans, proving that I have been here before.
The sun is poisonous, and I am afraid of such people (refer to the third here).
A POEM
Watch me making “Savior for Western science”
which is
Chicken Nugget
CONTAINS FLASHING IMAGES
ther’re free, for the Rest of Us!
Who needs a hello
Write.
Life is life itself
What do you want
50 years of a creepy, curious, or criminal past.
I may add more.
What happened? Sliverstar
Is it Worth Running in the Rain?
putting yourself up for sale
thank you for all your
Error
hello
is a graveyard of billions.
But at least now we know.
What if?
A third fish appeared from the dark silent waters
gazes at the
World’s largest gravesite collection.
Ther’re free,
BURY ME
for the Rest of Us!
