Memories of a dilapidated wire

It’s absolutely local a sense.
Again no past no future just the moment and this moment together creates resonance that shakes the local grass and the flower buds resonating lights of pain color smell.
These are just topological excitation of space.
Simply that.
Absolutely continuous and differentiable to the origin.
Marks of the sun confuse us.
We want to rip it off.
But like the grass it will create resonance one day.
And like the lizard tail it will drop off without letting anybody know of its secret un-presence.
Beautiful moments of pain dandruff hair and all those things.

We are simply fussing up things.
Fussing over this that.
We are not simply cooperating with each other.
At least visibly.
She says:

There was a moment, a single moment, early March of this year when I knew life had to consist of moments that made you feel infinite. It could be books or people (a rare breed of people) or food or places or time spent staring at the sky becoming one with the sea but that was the purpose of life – or at least a part of it – in this world that neither of us can ‘save’, in this madcap race from nowhere to nowhere that everyone wants you to participate in but you’re using every last iota of your self-belief to stay away from it. I cling to that moment when it gets too much, that moment – the one time when it’s quiet both inside and out.

to be continued
now and then
keep an eye/nose/ear

Scribble: Just throw it. That’s all we can do.

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