Welcome to the last year of this textual/visual diary. Exploring words, spaces and aesthetics. 

THESE DAYS

THESE DAYS

There is a feeling inside of me that makes it hard to get up in the morning. It creeps into my bones, and makes them heavy and all I want is to lay down for hours and hours. But soon those hours accumulate into days, and days into weeks, and weeks into months. Next thing I know it's a year and life is a vision that is unbearably blurry. It makes my insides ache and swell. Still I sit, paralysed, immobile, afraid that I'll still be half dead.

DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

DEATH OF THE AUTHOR

25 Minutes

25 Minutes