I have hundreds of these things. Thousands maybe. Who cares.

cheap index cards are my favourite art paper

Aside from regular printer paper these are all I draw on because that’s what I like and what other goddamn reason is there for anything really

My brain overflows and cramps, stuttering out the fury and sadness, and at the end there’s only these miserable little portraits of suffering or the deepest sort of nothing I could never explain and you would never understand.

Furiously creating these

They will never stop. I could wallpaper the world with my insanity and no-one would thank me for this, the kindling of a soon forgotten apocalypse.

There’s so many because I am the conduit of a wasted existence.

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