Is there something fundamentally evil about artists? Is seeking the limelight somehow a symptom of a broken psyche?
Will every artist I love wind up betraying me in this way?
And what does it say about me, that the ones with whom I resonate so deeply wind up being monsters?
Do I gravitate to people like Gaiman or Wheadon because they're good writers, or is there something horrid in who I am that sees a kindred sort on the other side of the keyboard.
=> More informations about this toot | View the thread | More toots from Longwing@wandering.shop
text/geminiThis content has been proxied by September (3851b).