I worry that reality doesn’t exist, or that time is built wrong. I know the definitions aren’t right but I can’t prove anything. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m afraid of and most of the time I feel like I’m carrying around a sack full of existential guilt. I try to explain myself to people that I know so that I will know how to explain myself. It doesn’t work, I keep finding hurdles built out of the gaps in our experiences and the absence of appropriate language. I stutter before I speak and my meanings come out jittered.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.