These days, my idea gets filtered through audience, economy and, worse, reality.
That last one is a killer because I’ve arrived at a point where I sometimes don’t even realise it’s there. And the only reason I still know it’s there is because something inside me feels caged. I can’t imagine huge, unreasonable things anymore.
I wrote recently that life is so fucking uncomfortable right now.
It’s partly that. Economic pressure is making the reality filter massacre all hope. Imagination has given itself the miserable task of figuring out my life. Leaving the fun stuff untouched and unloved. This can’t be the solution.
I am learning plenty. But the reality filter kicks in and it makes it all feel dumb. So I try to make the format carry it all. And it feels even worse. So I don’t share. So I don’t connect. So I don’t relieve the pressure. The spiral spirals.