leo kalyan

every time i write a song i think… would this make sense if a gay vampire sang it?

there’s a special kind of grief in trying to explain your favourite bollywood song to someone who doesn’t get it.

LA has ten million actors, writers, directors… & somehow so little theatre. the whole city said “we believe in the craft… but only if there’s a drone shot”

some of these men are so demonic i can hear latin chanting when they text me.

if Sade doesn't do a tiny desk soon, i'm staging a one-person hunger strike.

so much modern music is emotionally flatlined, i think they removed the soul to make the file size smaller. it's just a vibey algorithm now. where's the cracked note? the weird harmony? the humanity?

tell me queerness is 'un-traditional' and my entire history just laughs. shiva was gender-nonconforming. sufi poets thirst-posted for god. punjabi saints said the soul is genderless. we've been here. you're just late to the lecture.

my 5 year plan: mute the world, move to an island, grow tomatoes & never speak english again.
my 1 year reality: forgot to water the tomatoes.

being a creative is mostly just: explaining the same idea to 5 different people until one of them says “ohhh i get it”

i didn’t choose this life. i just looked too good to live a normal one.

every south asian household is a sitcom nobody asked to be cast in

it’s wild that electricity exists. like… we tamed lightning & then used it to charge a toothbrush.

me making an absolute banger and then realizing it’s just a long-winded way of saying “i want him”

my only design flaw is the absence of fangs.

sometimes zooming out is the most spiritual thing u can do. did i just therapize myself? hate that for me

i’m not hard to read. i’m just written in cursive.

i reached inner peace then misplaced it

indian aunties colonized our nervous systems before the british even arrived.

privacy is the last luxury we have.

nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come. not even your ex.

my pronouns are i told u so.

get the shoes baby. always get the shoes.

the recipe is simple: childish wonder inside, forensic editing outside. that’s how u make art that still breathes.

u think i’m gonna argue with u? no babe, i’m gonna outfit-change & become folklore

children are born soft. no god, no homophobia, no shame. all of that is taught.

what u think i said ≠ what i said.

if u can’t handle me at my tired u don’t deserve me at my cinematic

my inner child needs a nap and a revolution

desi parents will call u 20 times and when u finally pick up they just say “hmm, ok”.

people worry more about their reflection than their reflection of character.