U.O.E.N.O

i've replaced the pen with a needle. 

i cannot write because i think COVID broke my brain. 

Not the illness really but just those two years of stillness. Prior to that, i really thought i had my shit together (finally)...a job that i loved, a beautiful home (i miss so much) and the best body cuz i had been hitting the gym like an addiction.

Now...

i just can't write... i can't bring myself to write for a living anymore. It's strange and something i have never experienced before. It's no ordinary writer's block. 

Sidenote: where are the hipsters? It's like we emerged from the pandemic to find an entire subculture completely wiped out. But, i digresss...

i know that this blank page syndrome is pandemic-induced yet the lockdown remains one of the best times of my life. Could it be that i entered another dimension in my life where i am not a writer? But after relying on words for so long, i do not recognise who i am if i cannot write. 

(i am obsessed with this song, it consumes me.)

Words paid my bills, introduced me to the best of the human race, and frankly saved me from my self-saboteur teens and twenties. 

So, i am back here, forcing myself to churn out sentences, squeezing out every thought and feeling that pops into my gorgeously empty head.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

-Sylvia Plath

i pierce bodies for a living. It was not a conscious decision...nothing in my life ever is. i started out loving it.

Different anatomies, different possibilities 

Some of my work

i thought i had found my true calling. i am not so sure anymore. 

Having never really planned anything, i am at a loss when there's no flow to go along with.

Sayonara