(no subject)
Nov. 29th, 2008 05:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
proximoceptionWe are all artists already.
There was more of me once than there is now.
They were right to not stress moments. Their rules and categories existed only for moments, for herding them, shoring them up for feeling in darkness. Moments were at the center, all they did was for moments only, but it was bad taste speaking of them. Because they knew they could not be pursued. We lack this skill. We bounce about within limits. Find where the moments come and pen us in where we're sure to bounce into them sometimes.
They were wrong not to stress moments. The fences were broken, had human-sized incompletenesses. We wandered in momentless darkness, no compass, no map. Worse, we found hives of great sweetness in hedges, in holes.
There was more of me once than there is now.
They were right to not stress moments. Their rules and categories existed only for moments, for herding them, shoring them up for feeling in darkness. Moments were at the center, all they did was for moments only, but it was bad taste speaking of them. Because they knew they could not be pursued. We lack this skill. We bounce about within limits. Find where the moments come and pen us in where we're sure to bounce into them sometimes.
They were wrong not to stress moments. The fences were broken, had human-sized incompletenesses. We wandered in momentless darkness, no compass, no map. Worse, we found hives of great sweetness in hedges, in holes.
