The Painter


Have not been as inspired to write lately. Emotionally drained, I ran out of fucks to give and transmute into words. Even just describing this creatively anorexic mood makes me shrug and gets me closer to shut down my laptop with a “Fuck it” tattooed on my forehead. Not a real tattoo, of course; I’m not some fucking idiotic rapper. Yet, I did get some new ink on my left wrist, as a homage to my life-changing time in Scandinavia (with a slight hint of hipster-wannabe vibe, I might add.)
But, while the scarcity of the Writing Muse’s visits becomes more evident in the present days, another Muse comes and fucks my brains out: the Painting Muse. Below I’ll share some of the fruit of my new passion (or, as I sometimes see it, my new procrastination strategy.) Rejoice, you cunts!

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