My response is Pavlovian. I salivate at the sight of cheap t-shirts.
I've been watching videos that tell me I'm in charge of my own destiny, each one surrounded by a targeted advert based on my search history. What do you see of me? What do you see in me?
If I take myself down to the woods in my new coat and nobody sees me, am I still trendy? I stumble, with swagger pretending that I'm neither ageing or becoming boring.
I've been documenting details been listening to seashells. Alone on the edge of the clifftops, I kick rocks and watch them fall down. The imprint on the sand seems significant, somehow. Exist in the now. This is the now. Be kind to yourself, fragility is fine. It's OK not to be OK, and to find that phrase patronising. I blame communication, mate. The only time I hear from you is a downward thumb on YouTube. I love you, I love you.
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love cheap clothes.