We are animated by a force that inhabits this shell, bound to it.
Sitting outside as the storm gathers, on the outer edge of it: thinking that all things have their edges good or bad, where they begin.
Like passing through the atmosphere and trying to see outside the plane, but it’s hard to make out anything below or know when we’re going to land.
So sadly defined by work, cut out like a bowl.
Mondays are best for jazz.
An odd day I didn’t get out until the end of it. Got up early and went to bed early. Both times with the birds coming on. That building arc in the morning you can’t not-hear once it starts, but… Read More ›