Book I’m not gonna read, sketch I’m not gonna draw

Something happens when I head to the east.
Way more interested in soaking in the air, sounds, and sights; the honking of the cars, the hustling and bustling of people, random music, everything. Sitting on the rooftop watching people walk.

Two years ago I went into a spell of whatever the f it was when I came back from Asia. Something happened and cracked open my misery. I had zero interest in drawing for over a year and haven’t read a book since then (I hate reading anyway).

I doubt things will change this time around. It’s much better to sit there and look at that lively world than to look at a piece of paper. I just want to move there forever, but they say happiness is a state of mind, wherever you are. Screw that sh! What a bunch of lie; happiness is a lively place with warm weather.
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Playful primates

Is this our definition of work? Not using hands… to grab things. To hold and to throw. To pick and to rub together with our fingers. To climb a tree, to use legs to clench and to use the upper body to lead through a branch. To swing from it and to land using our arms as a cushion against the ground. To walk boundless without any walls. To live in a spell of peace with sprinkles of territorial quarrels and battles. We now create walls to repel it, but fly over them anyway… and have wars. Massive humans. Massive wars.

What if it wasn’t today; the mid point? What if it was the high point before we thrived and replicated and made so many of us and endangered everything else? That high point where we had more freedom to be just us. Walking, climbing, breathing, foraging, living, dreaming,
playful primates.

 

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