schuelermine@anselmschueler@ieji.de
One thing I hate; the shining sun on a bright summer day. The harsh light brings the world into focus… The wind rustling—I feel a physicality of it all, the sheer roughness of it all. Light burns my eyes, I am alone hearing sand crunching beneath my feet. Turtles on the beach and ants on the rock struggling like clockwork. I feel like I am in an, …, a grain in mountains of sand that make up history, and that will only matter to its surroundings; I feel a chill of reality climbing up my spine.
schuelermine@anselmschueler@ieji.de
Summer feels so fake. I don’t see the world
it’s not what it’s like usually. Why are we in a movie