Gatekeeping the Toxic Situationship Soft-Launch Until You Slay

Wearing all black is not a symbol of mourning -- it’s about being a monk in the bohemian order. Not nihilistic, no, never that. Save me the lecture, just give me the banter! When you’re wearing black, you’re wearing everything. 

What if everyone loved each other as much as they loved Big Tech and acted upon this love? This idea, to me, rivals effective city planning policy (increase FAR, build additional floors up to where MR = MC, discount future cash flows) in its untapped potential for greatness. 

Building lore, identity capital, era of immersion, situationship: None of these words were in The Bible, but somehow they all feel so crucial for living in this day and age. 

HOT TAKE: Sometimes not getting your picture taken at the downtown event is okay <3 ! Sometimes it’s okay to have your friend send you the iCloud link to the photo album from last night's sorority date night only to see *double checks* zero pictures of yourself in a sea of hundreds of washed-out, sweaty, LED-riddled flash photos with weird aspect ratios. It’s okay to refrain from dumping all of your banalities into the digital ether, but DOUBLE HOT TAKE: it’s also okay to do all of these things. You don’t need to throw the baby out with the bathwater (unless you hate babies, and bathwater). Being a human is about inhabiting multitudes. I think “inhabiting multitudes” captures the same jouissance as a word like “situationship,”  but maybe conveys a higher moral rectitude (citation needed).

I like being an artist but not an Artist. I’m fine using my skills (not shutting the fuck up is a skill) to bring something new and beautiful into the world without labeling myself as the “Founder of a Robust, Researched-Based Arts Practice.” Like, maybe I am an architect, but before I’m an architect, I’m just a twenty-year-old Italian-American boy from a small town tragically engulfed by a sea of other Northeast Megalopolis small towns. It’s really not that special. I like that it's this way. That it’s not that special. Being an artist, or better yet just artsy, is *Paris Hilton voice* sooooo back. 

Riptides drag fools far out and forever under waves that, from the shore, look like peace and possibility, and we still don't know how eels reproduce. 

When I finally detach myself from the ephemeral specters which populate the internet and clutter my mind and my heart, it’s overrrrrrrr for you bitches.