The world is only ever one move away from reaching total distance.
I was being built with milk before I could hold myself up in the water.
The water that can be cupped in the hands is about the size of the beach.
Desire is a multiplicity whose real size can only be met being-carried-out.
I am here to dry where the rain can no longer fall.
Things fall through us: routine to an inevitable paranoia.
Songs to be made like clouds going one way across.
Nowhere in the world is the world that large.
Whatever the weather, a way out of the temperatures cannot be forecast.
I have previously suggested that my mistake was speaking for a second after a first time. Now, I want to be of the opinion that a-multiple-that-is could only ever be uncovered – and so recovered – if tried multiple times.
The way forward is how I worry about the way back.
People are as pretty as the unicorn that such beauty causes to sink.
My time-wasting is just a side-effect.
I am still trying to make ground in the way the world turns.
But what should be assumed of a world that, in self-made preferences, would spiral off by an entirely different gravitational compulsion? A bigger star, and it is already gone. (And how similar are we, the people, to such a phenomenon?)
There is always something that was “left to do”. Forgotten for the for-getting, perhaps.
Perhaps in attraction the only question is: how much are you willing to compromise; how deeply into another field are you willing to spiral?
Things certainly have to improve their best version.
I have a preference for things that do not stay the same. Just as I also have a preference that, more often than not, does not stay the same.
The way to wake up to things that happen is to fall asleep well.
Question: will we ever be able to lift as much as we fall?
It is time to dry.
A beach State 