Flügel Der Freiheit 🪽

Creativity is a muscle - something inherently exercise-able. That’s what I’ve been taught, anyway.

Sometimes I worry that my imagination has rusted away, atrophied, disintegrated. But then I have the most interesting dream, and it tells me not to worry.

All is not lost.

My everyday life demands more and more of my attention these days. My window of opportunity for living in daydream ether becomes smaller and smaller by the week, it seems. A part of my brain is panicking, saying I don’t have enough time - I feel like that’s part lie.

But complacency has its damage. Its toll.

And it’s hard not to listen to that part-alarm, part-siren in my head, when for so long all I wanted to do was create.

I’d be a fool to ignore it, even if it’s just an anxious attempt to keep that part of me alive and well.

Because I do care about the little lost artist. She is me, after all.

I think I’m gonna try to write something. It won’t be good. And that’s half the point. Right?

me, begging, tears in my eyes: please. please just tell me what the book is about. the plot. please

a book annotation on the cover, unfazed: A Subversive Masterpiece. A Deep And Touching Story. The New York Times Bestseller. Go Fuck Yourself

journeys end in...

Kaz Brekker meets death on the road to Ketterdam. 

They keep in touch.

Read on Ao3

“whatever the fuck these two characters had going on” is a vastly underrated character dynamic

“It’s just a TV show” maybe to you. I absorbed it into my soul though.

For every trick you’ve seen, I know a thousand more

me and the mutuals discussing themes and motifs

햇빛을 쬐고 숨 쉬어 봐도

쉽지는 않네요

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