Sometimes I Used To Think About The Person I Was Going To Marry. That Was Before. That Was Before I Met

Sometimes I used to think about the person I was going to marry. That was before. That was before I met him.

Before I met him, I used to think it was an idea. This idea that there’s a person out there who will shake you so you’ll want to spend forever with them. Forever is a really long time with one other person (significant other that is), and I remember I always thought, I may meet them someday.

And I did think I met them at one point. But that was different because I just thought, “yeah, I could be with you for a while”, but it wasn’t until I met him that I realized. It exists.

And the weird thing is, I knew when I met him. But I didn’t really know because it was complicated, and I didn’t get to be with him for a while. But when we were together finally, it came so quickly, how much I knew. It’s like, this idea of what love should look like, isn’t an idea. It’s the soul of another person.

I knew, when I met him, forever would never be long enough. And that’s a really insane thing to know about yourself, and another person.

-Excerpts from my stupid brain, #2, Him, 2024

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

It feels like every day I’m getting closer and closer to translating the pieces of my brain into a fully formed picture. I want you to see it. I want you all to see it.

-Excerpts from my stupid brain, lost and found, 2024

William Vanderson. Platform at Blackfriars Southern Railway station covered in thick white frost. London. 1946

Dreamt that I could talk to ghosts.

Someone came to me in my dream and was speaking to me about myself. I didn’t recognize the voice. She then said “I’m your Grandma” and I immediately somehow knew it was my mom’s mom; she had bipolar type I. Also, my Grandma on my mom’s side was always “Nana”. She explained how I was strong and lovable, that my significant other is a good person, and that my mom spread generational trauma.

My Nana apologize to me, she said it was her fault in some ways. My Nana then explain that I needed to cut ties for my sake.

My Nana explained that I would break the trauma, but to do so I must extricate myself from my family. She apologized again, and told me for my future, for my happiness, it would need to be done.

My Nana left, and told me she loved me, and that she wanted to watch me grow up. She had died when I was very young.

Before she left and I woke up, she said, “I wanted to see you change the world”.

-Excerpts from my stupid brain, you’ll change the world, 2024

the artist's job is to communicate the noncommunicable

one of my teachers told me that but i had forgotten. like anything i've forgotten only to find again somewhere unexpected, it made me think. mostly about how perfectionism affects how i make art and. something clicked for the first time.?

there's no perfection. i cannot and will not reach perfection, my work will never be perfect and so i'm asking myself like. what's the point right? what's the point

but- hear me out for a minute okay- what if the point is to make it anyway? to look at perfection, to know it is impossible to achieve and to make it anyway? to attempt to communicate something that happened only once and will never happen again?

that's the point, i think. to try. that's the point.