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Sick. Sick. Sick.
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Sick. Sick. Sick.

The fulcrum point was not Iryna Zarutska, and it wasn’t Charlie Kirk. The fulcrum point was the way that different factions of unwell people are rationalizing their acceptance of – or even satisfaction with – undeniable human tragedy: murder.
I'm so very sorry...
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I'm so very sorry...

So sorry to bother you, but it happened again, only days later. The fugue state. Up on the Gellért Hill for my morning sun today.
Sunlight and Mustard Gas
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Sunlight and Mustard Gas

I’ve been going to the park every morning, first thing, new routine. I was listening to two scientists talk about the effect sunlight has
Three Beers
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Three Beers

Alone at a beer joint in Budapest, I hatch a plan to drift through three bars, meeting lovers and ghosts along the way. Their message is clear: fuck it all, stop hiding, be seen.