You want answers? Cute
What you will get is the raw, unfiltered reality that you have been avoiding.
Boredom made me an artist
You know how I became an artist? Boredom. Pure boredom. I would sit there, nothing to do, staring at the sky. Clouds. Just clouds. And after five minutes they start to move funny. Ten minutes, they look like animals. Fifteen minutes, and suddenly I have invented a tragic love story between a hippo and a slice of bread floating above my head.
That’s boredom. It hijacks my brain and forces me to play. And when the sky runs out of hippos, I put them on paper. I draw the hallucinations of boredom.
THE ASTROLOGICAL CHAOS
You ever look up at the night sky and feel small? Billions of stars, galaxies on fire, black holes swallowing everything. And what do we do with this infinite horror show? We connect a few dots and say: “Ah yes, that’s me, I’m emotional because I’m a Cancer.”
The magic of humans, Instead of screaming into the void, we draw constellations, invent signs, and give the universe our worst habits. Suddenly, eternity has a personality chart.
FORTUNE COOKIE
I must admit it, I love fortune cookies. Not for the taste. The taste is cardboard with sugar sprinkles. I love them because of what happens in my head the second I crack one open. Suddenly, this little strip of paper becomes a sacred text. I can stare at life itself and feel nothing, but give me a cookie that says “Adventure is coming” and I am like ‘finally, my prophecy has arrived.’ That’s the trick. The cookie doesn’t know me. It never did. It is not fortune, it is projection. It is my boredom, my hunger, my need for a sign, all wrapped in a biscuit. But I play along, because it’s fun. Because it’s easier to pretend the universe has a plan than admit it doesn’t. And maybe that’s why I love them. Not for the wisdom. For the joke. The cookie doesn’t predict my future, it just exposes how desperate I am to find one.
