what’s a question you want to so desperately be asked?
oh god, i have so many. i’m basically a little question hoarding creature, sitting on a nest of “please ask me this so i can open my ribs and show you what i mean.”
“what’s the image you can’t stop returning to, and what wound does it touch?”
not “what are your aesthetic inspirations,” but what recurring scene keeps haunting your work. the thing you keep writing around like a planet with its own gravity. is it a church at night. a motel room. a mouth full of blood. a man who can’t say what he wants so he turns it into cruelty. a body being turned into doctrine. i love being asked about the private symbolism that keeps reappearing even when i don’t mean it to.
“what kind of horror do you actually believe in?”
not “favorite horror movies,” but the kind of horror that feels real to me. the slow horrors: shame passed down like heirlooms, institutions that call cruelty ‘virtue,’ the way people romanticize violence if it’s packaged nicely, the way loneliness makes you accept harm as attention. that’s my favorite conversation. horror as theology.
“what’s your theory of desire?”
i don’t mean “what do you find hot.” i mean desire as an engine. why do certain dynamics hit. why do we want what we want. what does obsession do to a person. why does repression make things louder. why do people crave being seen and then panic when they’re actually perceived. i love talking about desire as something psychological, not just sexual.
“if desire is a monster, what does it eat first?”
pride? certainty? innocence? the illusion of control? like what gets consumed first before the body ever does?
anddd
“what part of yourself do you keep dressed up as a joke because it would be too intimate to hand over plainly?” because i do think there are certain truths i only know how to smuggle out through irony, aesthetics, references, little performances, all dressed in ribbons and smoke so nobody notices i’m actually confessing.
