I find myself drained by the bone-dry rigidity of English. Worn by a lingual monoculture. I desire to curve away from the thing and to engage instead in a coy dance with signs and symbols. To be known by gesture and light and touch.

Just as one tends to the physical Earth-based architecture of a home or body or relationship, perhaps one can tend to nonphysical architectures—architectures of memory, of aspiration, of inspiration. Perhaps these are some of the many architectures occupying the Sky.

What I wanted was to be a hot mess. And to be led in hot mess ways, by a curiosity and incessant desire that was less thought and more felt. I wanted to embody something that was very, very alive—in a way that nothing predetermined by someone else would satisfy.

This becomes a very uneven, unsafe balance of power. When you possess no structure, no internal anchor, the power to be your anchor is then deferred to something or someone else—either by you readily giving it away, or by it being forcefully taken.

When two unexpected things are placed next to one another, when dissonance and clashing adds to the vocabulary rather than gets barred from it, the possible permutations become limitless.

The random, nonsensical storylines can be very amusing; but it is also surprisingly intimate, to imagine the ways one can exist inside another’s life.

I think about the web as a technology for a spider. The body transforms the technology, and the technology transforms the body—a symbiotic relationship between self and web. Self and homeland.

For a moment, I became lost in the experience of witnessing stars ripple across the lake. It was like observing a micro-scale universe, collapsing its timeline to two degrees above singularity.

There is something poetic about needing to rely on the other senses. The smell of burning. The sound of crackling. Cooking becomes a multisensory, embodied process—requiring you to be intimately aware of its nuances and inflections.

I have always been drawn to the book object as a container for art. One that is tangible, textural. It is private and intimate in creating experience for the other.

My attention has curled itself into a hole of bottomless research. Or, perhaps sideless research, in the lateral, unfocused spirals that internet scrolling can offer.