I deeply miss the world before AI existed. I’m so exhausted from side eyeing videos, recoiling at tacky fonts, sepia tinted art, the messy blobs and blips of unmatched colors. It’s slowly sucking all the creative life out of the world while it physically destroys it.
The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.