you’re made to feel that you need attention on the internet to have selfworth. then you’re made to feel petty and superficial for seeking that kind of attention. then you’re made to feel empty for having these base desires. they say go outside and meet real people. none of us are real online. we flip open the laptop and the moment our fingertips touch the keyboard we cease to exist. you’re made to feel you should make music for its own sake. you’re made to feel that all you’re allowed is pleasure in the process. you’re made to feel that it’s foolish to believe you can find an audience who will care about what you do. you disconnect to regain some humanity in the world. you sit on things and look at buildings. you touch flowers and walk up dirt paths. that’s living they say. on the internet you can only choose between being one of two things: a follower or follower-dependent. it’s how you mean something. it’s how there’s inequity of love in the world, all flowing up.
˙ʎɐp pooƃ ɐ uo sıɥʇ əʞıl sʞlɐʇ ʎləʇıuıɟəp ouƃuıssıɯ 'ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ noʎ (probably)