Endless possibilities are.
Racing past each blank moment. Each idea waving wildly to entice. + most, in turn, being loudly thwarted. Each then retreats, lowering itself into the pit of ideas that lie-in-wait, until someones comes along to animate.
For the moment, i am off deadline. Exhaustion creeps in when i sit. It's then i feel everything is happening in the next room. There is a fuzzy wall between my energy + the thing that is happening in front of me. Things are happening in front on me. i simply step into it. i am reminded of Nijinsky saying — when asked why his grand jete looks like levitation — I simply step up and stand in the air.
i don’t really remember if i’ve ever believed in the notion that we are all in the same boat. Perhaps in the same slip stream. Mostly, i am alone paddling, constantly going back for a second look at my dreaded conversation remorse, avoiding the unpredictable waterfall or spinning around + around just for fun.
The magicians silk is draped over the prize; covering what we think we know. But when revealed we are sorry we ever tried.
Art is the sensuous expression of ideas. Hegel said something close.
