Ana

Artist. Writer. Fallible human.

© 2026 Hubrisrose. Ana Watson. All rights reserved.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@joeroganhq Où est-ce qu’on en serait, dans ce monde, sans un peu d’humilité ? T’es toujours champion du monde. Ton ami est toujours vivant. @GeorgesStPierre

[Ana @hubrisrose]

Being off my meds was the scariest, dumbest and most confusing thing that’s ever happened to me.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@distributedkv is it painful?

[Heritage Matters🔱 @HeritageMatterz]

Scandinavian folk song played on a NyckelHarpa, origins of the string instrument dates back to the 15th century.

Folk Artist: Myrkur

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@HeritageMatterz super beautiful

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@AlexGodofsky came here for the comments

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@distributedkv The world of x?

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@StateDept Amen.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

Grok says my writing is sometimes but not always beautiful.

X as a platform to write on is a sometimes but not always beautiful place to express myself.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

Being through hell and back can come with having a serious demeanor sometimes but it doesn't mean you're miserable and lamenting over the hell you've been through all of the time. People should not be so judgemental.

@elonmusk

[Guitar Gods Unleashed @gguworld]

The bassist played with Prince. The drummer played with D'Angelo. The guitarist is one of the best young blues players alive.

Together they're Atomic Habitz, and here they are covering "Be Thankful for What You Got" at Newport Jazz, 2026.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@nanimonull @distributedkv You guys must’ve been inundated with trash in the past.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

I’m not sure, at this point, how beneficial it would be in general if I got a bunch of followers. I was just posting my story to be read.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

Sometimes I wonder if metaphor is so engrained in us we use it without thinking about it.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

XVII: The Warm Death of Stars

The weekend before all hell broke loose in Albuquerque, Crane slept under a forest sky blanketed by stars. They shined silvery and proud. There were no tents that night. Everyone including the counsellors and the children at the Zen Meditation Camp slept outside in their sleeping bags. The summer sky was perfect. The wind cooled and rested softly in the pine trees. In the morning they would meditate.

Crane would return from that weekend and find out over a couple of beers at the local brewery that her aunt, cousin and uncle had been murdered with a pick ax by a sixteen year old kid. How on earth a sixteen year old got that kind of adrenaline was a mystery to her.

She sat with her brother that night at the bar when he got the call, surrounded by friends who would eventually disappear. Most of her friends from that time period would.

The PTSD began as soon as she went home to find her father sitting in his big chair, in shock. He could barely speak.

The trailer that night in northern New Mexico the kid broke into to kill her family members would haunt her for years to come. She imagined every scene from the murder vividly. The memory of that night began to run through her blood and reshape what she knew. She couldn’t bear the violence. Time was now her enemy. When would God have enough of her pain?

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@internetarchiva She lived up to her name. Never heard from her again.

[Ana @hubrisrose]

@nathehinon_ 😂