Dear Zonk,

I met some old and very close friends today and marvelled at how far we’ve all travelled in so many different ways. One of us works with a celebrity sometimes, one’s grappling with the politics of bringing clean water to villages, one is a curator looking for her next gig, and one writes for a living.

And I realised that not all of us are making a fuckton of money. None of us are sure of where we’re going, and if we are then of whether we’ll actually end up there. And I realised that that is okay. There is a world outside of this small bubble that I’m living in where nobody cares about the next app release and it’s big and it’s foreign to me and it’s all wonderful.

There’s all sorts of people out there and I already know many of them. I just need to get out and meet them more. It’s healthy. And in my case, probably necessary.

Love always,

PS. Sorry for being incoherent.
PPS. I’m moving Bleak to Tumblr now. As we speak :)



Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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