Prospekt's North

the thing about movies, games, books, and stories in general is that the characters within them all have motives and purpose — or have the wherewithal to seek one. if they're well written, we get glued to the framed and fantasized version of their life's adventures, which we seek to emulate or make ours. this happens more frequently when we are ourselves unmoored, looking for direction, feeling lost or without a real motive. however, what we don't seem to fully realize when breaking out of the liminal fictional space — a suspension of belief, if you will — is the most banal thing of all: life is not a movie. time is dilated, and lived in its entirety. rote actions, days, weeks. low-stake emotions. and then there's what sucks. especially the parts that suck simply suck, with very little romanticism.

sorter vs doer

da nudo mi coprirò

non potrò che tirar fuori

up and to the right