Prost

There's this sense that my work has consumed me. I pull shifts of 24 or 36 hours, resting for only a blip of time, having isolated myself from the noise of 'extra' people. Yet, I lack depth and exclusive intimacy. Any contact with my current environment feels shallow and performative, paralyzing me in a kind of stasis where I exist only as a digital bot for others.

I’ve lost the ability to live with 'reckless abandon.' I’m just waiting for a miracle - a stranger from the outside. Geography and language are irrelevant. Among the billions on this earth, I know there are those 10% who are profound, countercultural, and fiercely aware of their own authenticity