Photo by Steve Johnson (Unsplash)

Sitting down to write was the most awful thing in the world.

The stereotype stains. The starving artist, the drifter, the idealistic student, a youth pitied. (The look! ) (The stare!)

My mate dragged me into watching Limitless, a film where the slovenly writer only achieves success through an omnipotent, mind-altering drug. The look, the stare. As curt as I hoped they’d be, my mate turned to me with those eyes saying, “God, it’s you,”. It was that face, in the dark with only the screen doing its shape justice; the knowingness in their eye, the unkemptness of my shirt…

Photo by Isi Parente on Unsplash

I did not choose to associate songs with a picturesque lifestyle based on their jangle or old age. But thinking back a little more, I very much did.

It is a rainy Thursday, and what better to do but scroll through Pinterest while the riff to Boys Don’t Cry perfumes the room. I’m dressed up in “seventies attempts forties” — the kind of long skirts, wide lapels, and free hair achieved with minimal effort. Conversely, my makeup mimics the fox-eye trend popular right now. I am several dates condensed into one person, several points in history simulated, butchered and bastardised…


19, writer, a fan of the video essayist style, culture analyst, visual learner.

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