It feels so cliché to abandon art and writing for no reason other than the tropes we tell ourselves—life, work, "adulting".....sure, there are very real things that happened over the years that required my time and attention, things that felt so insurmountable that the idea of mustering up any energy for creative work felt either impossible, or distracting. But wasn't writing precisely what always helped me the most? Did i not write my way through so many things, and felt better for it?

So i made a substack exactly 5 years ago, and would write things and never share them. And to this day, the public-facing page of the newsletter is completely blank. Any time i tried to publish the first piece, i would stop myself. Something about the whole thing felt too serious, too contrived, too...cringey? In the sense of, who do i think i am, that i need to share any of my thoughts with the world?

And yet when i look back at all the cringey things i used to share on here, i didn't feel the kind of embarrassment that i feel now, that preemptive defensiveness that ultimately results in my silence. Of course, sometimes i wish i hadn't been so active on here—i have over 16k posts that i should honestly just wipe out in one swoop...but some kind of force is preventing me from doing that too. I don't want to wax poetic, but i think that "force" is the small kernel of hope inside of me that tells me that i must return to writing. I feel like it is the only way out of an otherwise entirely unfulfilling existence (to be perfectly honest...lol)

It makes me think of opening a bottle with a stubborn cork, where half of it breaks off and falls back into the bottle, and you keep picking at the top half while flaking off pieces of cork that make a scattered mess, while the bottle it still sealed shut...and you keep trying, and it's annoying, frustrating, and kind of embarrassing, and it's enough to want to toss the whole thing out and not even bother...but no, it has to happen. The stopper must finally come loose, and even if it's a mess, i need to pour it out.

idk this stream of consciousness feels stupid but the point is: i DO plan on returning in some capacity...whether it is here on tumblr, or substack, or whatever. This precise tumblr account feels way too bogged down by a history i'm not entirely sure i want to carry. But i'll figure it out.

i've found myself thinking more and more about tumblr lately. I made this blog 15 years ago, and it was such an integral part of my life in ways that i wouldn't fully understand until way later. Now, with the boom of Substack, i'm realizing that part of its appeal is that it is kind of what tumblr always was—only polished with a writerly sheen that is supposed to make it seem...classy i guess?

in any case, so much of the joylessness that's accumulated over the years since i abandoned tumblr were subconsciously due to the abandonment itself—i didn't have the same outlet to pour out the parts of my brain that need to come out. The art, the writing, the ruminations, all of it.

hi is anyone alive lol

after literally years, i’ve decided to finally move my photo work to Instagram!!! please follow me there: @metin.fejzula