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Historically, there has always been backlash to progress.

The best and only thing I can tell myself is that this is what that is. Big, scary backlash.

It doesn’t make anything better, really. But it means that we’re progressing. And change is scary.

Change is so scary.

A lot is going to change now. And I’m scared.

But the sun will still rise. Life goes on.

After a lot of tears, a lot of holding friends , of texting my mother, of sitting numbly, of doing work, of blasting every song I’ve ever loved, what’s left for me to do is take action.

And art is so powerful. I knew that already, but never so viscerally. It’s catharsis, it’s connection, it’s a sheet of paper and markers so anybody can write what they feel, it’s a half-cried out song, it’s a furiously typed out play, it’s a lost and confused blog post.

I’m sitting in the middle of history and I just need to DO something about it. I need to make art about it. Need to.

Burning, painful, overwhelming need to.

So much has been thrust into new meaning for me. So much of what I already knew or feared about this country has been exploded. Brought into sharp focus. Risen to the surface.

Clothes seeping up from the dirt. Dust getting wiped away. Covers being ripped off.

I would love nothing more than to go to sleep for the next however many years. But I can’t because I’m a human. I’m responsible for change.

This is backlash to progress, therefore I need to keep progressing.





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