Real

Follow your whims through the dark.

Notes for an Apocalypse (1978) by Dorothea Tanning

Sometimes I get sad because for years, I never did anything real, I never did anything fun. I moved away from my interests, I hid from my curiosity, I was trying to be like everyone. Remember the inquisitive drunk I once was, firing questions around the room, aiming questions at the moon? I almost broke …