Boobs, Japan, Pokémon
You always reach this point. A blog starts small, you’re writing for yourself or for a handful of people who get it, and then it grows. The growth itself isn’t the problem. What’s the problem is that growth brings an audience with expectations. They want curated taste, smart writing, something that looks legitimate. So you give it to them, because they’re not wrong to want it. But in giving them that, you stop feeding yourself. The thoughts that don’t fit an editorial template, the weird photos, the stuff that’s just you thinking out loud—there’s no space for that anymore. You become a curator before a person.
I spent five years building this website into something that looked right. Photography, critical writing, music—all of it serious. But seriousness meant retreat. I had no outlet for the daily thoughts, the random obsessions, the unfiltered version of me. The stuff just rattling around in my head with nowhere to go. I found myself disappearing from my own site, and it caught up with me in the worst way. Depression, the constant ache to be somewhere else, the need to lose myself in something mindless. The pressure of performing for an audience instead of writing for yourself does something to you.
Before this there was another blog I shut down for different reasons—heartbreak, desperation for change. This website came out of that feeling. It felt necessary at the time. I didn’t account for what would happen when it found an audience: how that success would calcify the work, push out the personal, replace intimacy with professionalism.
I kept this other space under my name mostly as an afterthought. Barely used it, mostly ignored it. But somewhere I realized it was the only real door in all of this—a place where I don’t have to make sense, don’t have to be consistent, don’t have to sound intelligent. Where I can write about boobs and Japan and Pokémon and whatever else is in my head without worrying about whether it fits some editorial category.
So that’s what this is. Where I put everything that doesn’t fit anywhere else. No curation, no editorial voice, no performance. Just unfiltered thinking, the way I needed to be blogging all along.