I am supposed to write something. I’ve been avoiding it. I ate a hand-full of nuts, then a hand-full of raisins, then went back for more nuts. Soon there will be no more nuts, or raisins. I walked in circles around my house. I picked 5 fleas off the cat’s belly. I have fallen into a hundred little holes on the internet, or just one big one that’s incredibly deep, and crawled back up – eyes itching, shoulders aching, mind twitching. The chair repels my ass. I want to do everything, anything, all things… except this thing.

The only antidote to the slow doom of not writing, is writing. I don’t know the cause of that doom, but it goes with the writing like my shadow accompanies my self.

They came together, and they go together.


Antid Oto – italian for antidote – was one of Leon Trotsky‘s earliest pen names. I also love the Malay word for it: penawar. A few months ago, I started taking regular walks and making drawings afterwards as a way to deal with worry, procrastination, hopelessness, writer’s block, internet rage, and digital distraction. I’ll post a series of them here, one every other day, for as long as I keep making them.