I write dead animals:

I write strongly worded notes, essays, and poems about philosophy, politics, culture, desire, alienation, beauty, and despair.

This is an about section, so you want me to tell you what I’m about. Without subtlety, I’m going to indulge both of us and tell you.

This publication is called “the dead birds in my thoughts and feelings”, as like a cat bringing you a dead animal, my writing is an unappreciated and imperfect gift.

At the same time, dumping this information at your doorstep is also how I show love, stranger on the internet.

Art is a communicative act, but the author is also dead… So, what better symbol of this tension than a dead bird, the rotting corpse of a once singing messenger?

I write strongly worded notes and articles, but my feelings are ambivalent. Like a Frenchman, I desire so strongly, but the object of my desire is desire itself.

On my Substack, I share the melancholy of intellectualised vulnerability, in the hopes that you, the reader, might feel something.

Thank you for indulging. In explaining myself, I could rest from the work of keeping an idea alive.

I don’t want to make art, I just want to share my pain.

Emotional Disclaimer:

Maybe it’s oversharing, trauma-dumping, or other embarrassments…

But… your feelings are whispering to you,

labouring like roots, carrying water to unseen violets.

Don’t go blindly, lest you miss your interior’s own fever of light.