I choose to scrawl and paint and ink-scratch for the sake of everyone else.
I like the little hole I live in. It’s peaceful in here, cozy even.
I’ve been told I’m missing out on the world. I need to watch the news and talk about social issues.
You read about them enough, why don’t you ever have anything to say?
I’ve got plenty. But I also have a lot of anger and rage.
I’m irrational and make decisions swiftly, taking action in sometimes negative ways. I can work on that. But for now, I choose to separate myself from these things that ignite said passionate rage.
Like, for example, if I accompanied my friend’s wife to protest Richard Spencer at the University of Florida. I would be one of the many leaving in handcuffs.
I don’t bottle my emotions, no. I write them. I paint them. I scratch them into paper with the tip of my Tombow pen until the lines bleed and fray and stain several pages beneath them. I breathe in deep, feel it for a moment, then let the high, candy-coated in peace ease over me.
I am calm.
I choose to stay away from cable television for the sake of my mental and physical health.
I choose to scrawl and paint and ink-scratch paper for the sake of everyone else’s.