A post that @onemonthtwocameras made about finding inspiration in the everyday when every day feels exactly the same, and a conversation with my acupuncturist, who is low-key morphing into my talk therapist, conspired to spring this idea into my head. A simple trick for extracting a new perspective from the mundane.
Ever since we moved to this neighborhood, we traded chaos for calm and lost a little bit of stimulation along the way. I also haven’t really felt like stepping very far out of our bubble unless absolutely necessary, and that’s meant a little bit of mental stagnation.
That’s the catch-22 of protective shells: they keep the dangers out, but they also restrict your movement. I’m still trying to figure out a trick for that.
This guy showed up in my neighborhood recently. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a homeowner display their whimsy through a mural like this on the side of their property. But this is the first time I’ve seen one crop up after I’ve heard some less than savory associations with the artist; the kind of stories you’ll only hear about in DMs or on Reddit.
I’m not here to circulate more stories, but I do want to share the question I had when I heard them: why hadn’t I heard them before? I mean, these things are everywhere, and they were explicitly pointed out to me very early on after moving here, with that characteristic sort of pride that comes with participating in and owning a piece of local lore. That’s a weird feeling to have in 2025. And yet, it seems like that’s exactly the strange “parapolitical” world we’ve been living in our whole lives. There’s not just a “dark web” out there. There’s a whole “dark world.”
And the whisper networks will tell you you’ve been out of the loop, and the conspiracists will laugh at your naiveté, and eventually, the apocalypse unveils nothing more than a new normal: a new darkness that scatters when you switch on the light, but you’ll now know is always-already there. Grow up. This is real life. Make a meme about it, or something.
So that’s what I think of when I see these guys around town now, whether the stories I’ve heard are true or not. They’re allegorical. These are the archetypes of our new consensus reality.
Someone asked me if I was going to a concert tonight and I said I wasn’t in the mood for concerts much these days. They’d noticed. I didn’t have an explanation. I’ve just lost the desire.
It’s a funny question to receive the same day I was utterly mortified when procuring a used lens from a concert photographer who’s pretty well-known in the scene but completely goofing up the specs like a total noob. I’d already paid half the price for the wrong kind of lens, completely wasting this person’s time when I went to pick it up. They were, of course, extremely gracious, but the earth swallowing me up would have been even more merciful, tbh.
We talked about that at my acupuncture session. The intensity of my shame coming from the persistence of my insecurity. But sometimes imposture isn’t just a syndrome. Here’s a fun little game I burn money to play like some spoiled hipster. There’s a legitimate professional parting ways with their tools to make ends meet. It made me sick to my stomach.
But somehow, I managed to pull my head out of my ass long enough to try and make good out of an awkward situation. And now I want more of that. I want more of whatever it is that transmutes shame.
“Transmute shame into what?”
That’s what she asked me after I shared what had happened just before our session.
“Well. As cheesy as it sounds… into love.”
That’s what I’d want to find more of when I get out of my own way.