Fuzzy is speaking to me right now, as I sit at my desk, caught between dreaming and typing. She says she’s still stuck in the television. She’s only a concept, unable to manifest beyond her pixelated state of being. I always wondered what it might be like to live as a Pixel Chic. Her life was so glamorised but so simple. She was being controlled by a higher force — by buttons. Wake up, eat, walk, shop, sleep. It’s now that I realise we’re all pixelated. I don’t know how to step outside of the box, but every time I walk along the pavement with my dog tugging at the lead, I’m slowly figuring out how.
264Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFpRx0uH5gy
264Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6ahQCY8YUP
Harvey was his name. He made me want to live inside of this television. He made me want to be a character, rather than a person. I thought it would be safer this way. To be a simulation. To harbour love inside of a screen and wield it the way I saw fit. That’s why I like to write about you, Dion.
264Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJWJGsoSbGp
You’re warm.
264Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQdhqGsmMsL
You’re safe.
264Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaLX877Qp4i
You’re ours.
ns18.224.63.80da2
