End Poem in Enderman font
Fitting for the last day of the year.
The tensions at the end of this year going into the next feel the highest they have for me in a long time, the last time I can pull from my memory of things feeling this precarious was actually Y2K, the beginning of 2000.
I hope the new year doesn’t bring destruction and chaos, but part of me knows that things aren’t poised so perfectly to fall without someone already being there to be the pebble that begins the avalanche of change. Catastrophe may lay waiting, dormant for now. But it feels inevitable.
And i know sometimes, for the new to be built, the old must fall. I just hope that the dark side of my childhood does not repeat itself. The part where I was in a cult, coercively controlled by religion and fundamentalism, beliefs rooted in fear and rigid right and wrong.
That’s the part that I still have nightmares about. I see ghosts of it in project 2025. In the dystopian facist regime that looms, it’s too eerie to face sometimes. The resemblance too uncanny.
I retreat into my fantasy world of retro aesthetics and ChatGPT experiments, and pretend it’s all a dream.
A game.
🤍🪽
