My Hijacked Weeks (TBA:11)

cloudy sunday just before seven is quiet.

epically quiet

Post-festival depression?

During the festival, I’m consumed and don’t have time to properly be. I sleep too little, drink too much, nub excessive smokes and feel robbed of my direction. My aptitudes swept away by a world running beneath my feet.

Sitting in a quiet room with two weeks’ artifacts: newsprints, programs, disorder and a laser machine.

I knew this before going in.

Bookending a thought Noelle opened with: a festival should leave you broken. That’ll be my way of saying spiritual.

The profanity of my habits and routines unbuttons during TBA.

I never know how to get back, but somehow it happens.

Photos from the top

©All Rights Reserved PICA PRESS CORE

Gia Goodrich 1,2,6

Wayne Bund 3,4,5,7

Originally published through PICA’s PRESS CORE

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