As an entire world stares down a long and confusing struggle, I have a hard time summoning any empathy for the shit that Abel Tesfaye is talking about.
With our world and imagination changing, it makes me wonder if the art space will enter a time of nostalgia to cope with the growing uncertainty or a new form of literature that grapples with the minute aspects of the current crisis. As Dave Winer posits,
Future porn will be people talking without masks in public places.