Purveyors of Fine Art
You were once the unsuspecting doorway to my better life, an unobstructed threshold across which barriers of social and economic consideration became somehow less meaningful, allowing me a whispered moment to be better than I was, alone. And I wanted so desperately to live out my whole life in that one moment, buffered and insulated …
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It is a struggle to find inspiration in a world without touch. It is even more difficult to face the isolation of a life without love. It makes the echoing emptiness just that much more claustrophobic, the passing hours that much more hollow and depressing. The abandonment presses in hard and it festers here, polluting …
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It’s scary out there right now. The whole world feels like it’s collapsing, crumbling away all the modern necessities that make our day-to-day comfortably bearable. Chaos and misinformation are running rampant, spreading faster than the very illness that started the whole damn thing in the first place. Fear grips the streets, and the shopping lines, …
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House. Land. Property. Ownership. The ubiquitous american dream. Hunter went all the way to Las Vegas to find it, up on that little hill, with the right kind of eyes. My parents’ generation fought first to fuck it all up, then later to passively-aggressively nurse it all back to health. My generation lost it, though we had precious little claim on it from the beginning.
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