It feels as if everything is falling apart.
People are tearing books. Works of cultural value may be lost or hidden as I write these words, never to be retrieved again, at least not on our own terms.
I feel it's so hard to concentrate. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to fully write my main ideas, my beliefs, my predictions. If I do, I don't know if they'll serve any purpose, but I do know that they're infinitely more useful than the slop and garbage that is flooding the world right now.
We can't escape, because it's also pervading the outer world. Printed generated flyers, friends telling you about a reel, a story they saw, politicians reading speeches in the narrow grammar of a model. It's not possible to just lock yourself up in a bunker or lay on the grass in the park.
Words, images, film, they are all my haven. I do pretend it's before:2020 sometimes. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't take the time to escape to the past, in a way. It's so strange to think that the conservatives are enjoying the present, while those of us who care about the future can only rest and recharge in the past. We see no future, sometimes.