I’m a sucker for the healing power you can mine in bleak hopelessness. There’s something that happens in the depressed arts where it can wash over you, resonating in harmony with your own sadness, and soothe it away for a while.
I’m a sucker for the healing power you can mine in bleak hopelessness. There’s something that happens in the depressed arts where it can wash over you, resonating in harmony with your own sadness, and soothe it away for a while.
“We have all lived in the hive. The walls bending from a thousand, scavenged paintings, every one in dissonance with the others. Rooms cluttered with chairs and cheap, expensive rugs. On one of the mattresses my blood, under the sheets. Hotbodied nights. A landscape of my blood painting mistake after mistake until the word is meaningless. Until the act is.”
Alyssa Morhardt-Goldstein | Nympholepsy