my mom tells me that maturity is not about the acquisition of taste and that it’s about softening one’s (my) resistance to time. it’s 5:12 PST. i should go to sleep.

Whenever I hang out with « artists » I always check how the air feels on my cheeks. Is it stifling from the suffocating density of ambition(s) rendered shapeless? Or is it warm from the bodies? I usually end up overstaying regardless- perhaps out of inertia, perhaps out of lon...