I met 2 people in my 1 year at arts college who claimed they couldn’t make abstract images in their heads. In art school. Last year. Where some directors used to escape reality by making out-there and original worlds/stories/characters, the same old fucks and their doughy cartoon apprentices have now “changed the game” by crossing their arms, pursing their lips, and refusing to write about anything happening outside their bedroom and TV. They have to tell you if they’re about to do something “a little weird,” either bc theyre laughably insecure abt it (for an artist) or there really is some force behind the scenes talking them into this.

I had college professors like that, too. They rejected what they called “genre fiction” but wanted infinite bleak and edgy “people cussing and smoking cigarettes while name brands of actual products are categorically listed by the narrator while the characters wallow in loathing” totally-not-a-genre-fiction and saw it as the pinnacle of literature and the only valid story. :grillman: