Hey you.
Yes you.
I can see you sitting there doom scrolling through the news, wondering how much closer we are to the singularity where AI finally decides we’re more trouble than we’re worth.
Then we wake up and we’re being chased out into the streets by T-800 from The Terminator
The world’s going to hell in a handbasket.
And everything feels fake.
Plastic smiles. Filtered photos. Corporate emails, you name it.
But you and I? We’re hanging on by a thread.
We’re still;
Messy. Raw. Bruised. Beautiful.
But now is the best time to stop pretending. No more of that Pinterest perfect version of ourselves when, if you look outside and online. The world is literally on fire.
Be the chaos.
Embrace your kinks.
Yes. Those kinks…
The ones you’re too scared to share because, God forbid, someone judges you.
(they’re too busy hiding their own skeletons to care)
Speak your fears. Air out your frustrations. Hate politics? Good. Hate bacon that’s not crispy enough to double as shrapnel? Even better.
This is the time to be you. Fully, unapologetically, authentically you. People are crawling through the rubble of this dumpster fire of a world looking for something real…
They want blood. They want guts. They want to feel.
So, write about what keeps you up at night. Talk about that weird hobby you have (you know, the one involving miniature models or competitive cheese rolling or whatever)
Share the things that piss you off…
Like how “self-care” has become just another capitalist scam, or how the word “moist” makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
I love the word moist though. Watching people’s faces squish up when they hear it is just 10/10 entertainment lol.
Bleed on the page. Cry on it. Scream into it. Then hit send.
And sure, maybe the bots are taking over. Maybe everything really is going to shit.
Like a few emails ago. C’est la vie…
Now go do some cool shit and be you.
(RIP my thumbs. Typing an email while lying on the bed and hoping I don’t drop my phone on my face is about the most exciting thing I’m doing tonight, besides listening to “Storm Amy” rip through my back garden)
Stephen Walker.