The piece you hold before you began as a proposal to fulfill thesis requirements at a place hereby referred to as Art School, a b******t joke like Columbus Day. If you are a young person with talent on the final approach to your college years and you are reading these words, strongly consider the school to which you are applying and, with your true aspirations presumably understood, ask yourself if it’s worth it, punk. Art School is an implosion of inspiration. Regardless, references to unfinished work and the like should be read in that context, and for what it’s worth, it got me here. Instead of the proposed visual atlas of my psychology, I wrote. I met with my advisors halfway through the semester to review my efforts so far; instead, we discovered with mutual surprise that I hadn’t done anything but write, which is where my attention probably should have been to begin with.
So I am here now, again and still, tending to this last unturned stone. I hope it was worthwhile.
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catalog of grievances
raw truths beautifully written