A writer in the age of environmental collapse

Am reading Margaret Atwood’s “The Year of the Flood”. In some ways it’s a hopeful view of a post apocalyptic situation in that some people survive and there is at least some form of community, order and continuity.

My friend in America serves the hungry and does environmental activism. I am left feeling what can I even do?

I’m 38. I’m disabled by psychiatric medication. I write essays and poetry few want to read and besides which everything is going to be wiped out anyway!

I kind of cling to the hopes that something, some people will survive.

But how do I make myself useful In an apocalypse? Most people seem to be just carrying on with business as usual. I guess we still have to pay the bills. It’s all too painful to think about.

Maybe it’s about my thoughts, my art, even if few are reading. Keeping alive the flame of poetry and love. 755618A3-B503-40A6-8175-B0FA64BFF44E

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