a man was executed on the internet and i felt totally useless (or what can you to do in a civil war)
February 10th, 2026
dearest reader,
this week was a literal murder.
i wish that I could write something that was more positive but things have gotten so crazy that all i can seem to think about is the way that the government is speed running fascism and geocide. It’s a terrifying model that is treating all humans like cattle. Minneapolis is setting a historical and international precedent and i think we all need to follow it.
there have been so many conversations about what we are supposed to do. that not everyone belongs in the front line. hell i even wrote an article about it back in 2025.
i’ll place it here if you want to read it. the truth is that its not that articulate but could be a good place for you to start in regards to understanding what you role in the resistance is.
this week
was a big week for elmo. thanks to tiktok collaborating with fascism, i have decided to delete and remove all of my videos (save for one) from the account. one of the major changes to their terms of service allowed for them to have coownership of any of the content that is posted on there. Honestly this gave me the heebie-jeebies enough to remove it all. as soon as i did so i immediately got ads that were ai generated, and saw the post about the white house official using ai to change the look on a woman’s face who was being detained by ICE for “domestic terrorism” which in this case was simply protesting. which is her legal right.
my fear was that they would use my likeness, and the likeness of thousands of other creators to create propaganda that was in support of this false governement. especially since they were removing crack downs on generative ai. i just don’t think that i can allow myself to witness that occur. like cosigning the possibility was too much for me. I am of course, currently looking for an alternative way to post my materials.
i want to still share, but how can i do that without using my face.
edit: I have deleted the app. #freepalestine
small joys
this weeks small joys connect to the snow storm that has hit the east coast.
i wanted to build a snowman, but i have bronchitis
another fun thing from this week was being able to sit down and crochet a bit. it has been awhile since i have felt like i had that time to do that.
crazy how much things change.
on practice
my therapist recommended that i make small goals and use those as my anchors for dopamine. that way the bar is being moved horizontally instead of vertically.
i am resistant.
but we will see what happens.
my first small goal is to follow my weekly schedule.
gotta create consistency somewhere.
on the role the artist plays in a civil war
which is actually was has been circumnavigating around the point in my mind.
what is my role? how do i show up for a world so injured. i have limits. time, energy, ability. i can shoot, and i can run, and i can organize. but im not a good leader. (as in leading people to battle). but i am a good artist.
therein lies my issue. yes, there is a place for artists in teh revolution. in fact, we are the ones who will rebuild society when the dust clears. but it is already so hard to show up to create. it is already so difficult to allow our work to be made and to speak because society has told us that its not a real job. that its a waste of time. that it is playing.
and part of me wants to say. so what if it is play? is there not room for joy in the resistance. who cares if it seems lazy. is rest not retaliation. these conversations are still being had. i know im not alone. i’ve seen other artists also say that they feel silly creating when they should be fighting. when they should be rallying.
but isnt the beauty of that creative process the dialectics it holds. it is silly, but we need silly. there is a war going on, but we need to laugh. yes people are dying, but children still need to see art. and you words give people a place to rest. and even when bombs are falling, children need bedtime stories. arguably they need them more then. fuck, the adults need them.
there is a place for the art. your art. it can be on badges, and flags. in newspapers, and stickers. the divine inspiration another needs to pick up their weapon and rise again. the song you make is the background music to cover the bullets and destroy the barricades and keep the front line moving.
it is so necessary. even if we can’t see it. even if it seems hidden, or false.
because that’s what art is. a hidden secret language of feelings. expression given physicality, there to remind us that we are human. that we are something. that when the sun rises and sets on the battlefield that does not mean we are ending, but that we have made it to another day. only art (your art) can do that.
they say that the smalls drops in the bucket still make waves. that even the tiniest of molecules, of moments can shift the tides. and here’s the thing. i know that you are bigger than you believe you are. but while you’re still playing small, you need to remember that you are that drop. that your work no matter how insignificant or unimportant you label it was made to create that ripple, which will meet all of the other ripples formed from tiny drops until final we have a tidal wave that will cleanse and purify the evils of fascism from our lives.
you did that.
you do that.
so make the fucking art.
anyway. that’s what’s been sitting with me this week.
weekly reads
Gild— Raven Kennedy
finally finished this. i also bought the sequel and its follow up.
weekly watches
Cosmic Princess Kaguya
My Hero Academia
i made this desktop of bakugo. <3
Love through a prism
Singles Inferno
weekly listens
writing sneak peek
I was angry. I walked over to the door, my night shirt brushing my calves. I jumped up gripping the top of the door frame and pulled my bare feet up to the door. I gave a little hop, and whispered a spell of impact. The spell whirled behind me and gave me a little push on my back adding force to my collision with the door. I hated my morning routine being interrupted by strange visitors that come in through windows, or by a chair (a now broken chair) being jammed under my bedroom door. Things like that have been happening with far too much frequency lately. The persistence of signs from the universe was becoming impossible to ignore. If you asked me, or my mother, it was rude for magical destiny to just blow in and mess up your house. And this had been the 55th unusual visitation over the past three months or so.