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untitled scar tissue


Last week, I found

’s Tinier Desk newsletter where she shares art in progress. She makes music and releases snippets to her readers. Like this song where she sings beautifully about springtime. I LOVE this idea of unveiling the creative process.

Plus, I’ve been looking for ways to give my written album an audio dimension. I considered audio snippets, today, but I woke up on the bullish side of bed and decided to just jump into video. Inspired by her, I’m sharing a written piece I’m working on.

There’s something so beautiful and endearing about seeing a promising unfinished work. I’ve argued this before—as our technology and AI continue to advance, we will yearn for the unmistakably human. We will treasure the uneven grooves and the jagged edges that feel reassuring.

I’ve considered video for the longest time but I’ve made all the excuses. Oh, my videos HAVE to be funny. The lighting has to be perfect. Editing is a pain, who wants to do that?? Hearing my own voice sounds awkward. I ended up creating this unassailable monster. Perfectionism is a dangerous drug.

These days, making videos is so much easier. Substack offers tools to make AI-generated clips. CapCut makes it easy to edit. So yeah, I really have no excuse.

Today’s piece is a response to this prompt by the wonderful Rachel Jepsen. She asks us to write about a time we were sick or injured focusing on the physical embodiment of that feeling. With this spirit of embracing the unfinished, I’ve decided to share this piece in writing and video form. For those who prefer to read along or revisit the words, I’ve included the text beneath as well.

untitled scar tissue

I lived with a stranger for most of 2024. I don't mean a roommate or someone who paid rent. This friend—my lousy left ankle—signed me up for a turbulent trip I never wanted. 

Our toxic relationship lasted longer than my first romance. Six bloody months of wishing and waiting, stretching and strengthening, pulling and pushing, and never quite knowing, if the pain would subside. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. 

It was the worst kind of pain, too. Whenever I thought I was healing, my ankle made sure I couldn't leave. Like a forlorn lover unwilling to let go. I'd get these tiny niggles and prickly feelings that kept me guessing. Five days without pain, then a random stabbing nudge while taking the trash out. The thrash of knowing and not-knowing hurt more than full fractures. Trust me, I've done both. 

When you break a bone, there is no grey area. The terms and conditions of your predicament are carved into your cast. You're broken. You literally can't play footy anymore. But that on-again-off-again fella? That guy fractures the trust you have in your own flesh. Am I healthy enough to go hiking? I feel good. I've crushed PT for four weeks. I can do it. Wait wait . . . ooooh ouch, why does it hurt when I tie my laces?

In that purgatory between healed and hampered, every day becomes a toss-up. Will my limp ligaments let me live this day? Or would they rather remind me how broken I am?

Let me know in the comments if you enjoy this kind of stuff. Want more behind-the-scenes content? More video? More audio? Do you like the narrated content or would you rather the words stand on their own?

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First time here? Check out these tracks from my written album:

Wandering the Grey
Wandering the Grey
Tobi Ogunnaike