Names are interesting. In an odd sense, they carry undue amounts of gravity but are also taken for granted on a granular level. Perhaps my interest with them comes from having a fairly irregular un-Western name myself. Tin. Names are a means of identifying and labeling something or someone — and with that label, whatever…

I’m not entirely sure what I could say about the year that hasn’t been said. That we received several decades in the span of eight months. That the year still has a fourth left. That every day is the same. That a return to normalcy seems like a lifetime away. This unyielding asshole, nadir of…