

The pipeline from happy go-lucky budding artist to doomer nihilist is a slippery slope.
I'm here. That's about it. I keep this account just to peruse my old artwork and remember when life was exciting and every thought in my head was brought forward through a pencil scratching upon physical paper.
My pencil has been replaced with stylus. With words, prompting an algorithm to bring to life the stagnant pool of imagination left lingering over decades.
I thought I was sacred. But the only sacredness is the silence you are left to rot in.