it baffles me: how little we know about everything.
how multidimensional living is, and how limited our communication.
how amazingly beautiful it is that you & i can find similarity, in a vector in multidimensional loneliness.
how limited we are in motion.
how limited we’ve always been with expression. and yet, on the contrary, how multidimensional the experience of an expression can make us feel.
how much there is to know; how much has been created.
the great minds before our time who’ve laid out the abstraction — and how we sit on a pile of collective brilliancy.
how we’re bones and flesh and liquids and skin.
and yet a small mush of pink can keep us perpetually wandering.
how strange it is that people fixate on things, and the depths they take it too.
how genius is shaped; even amidst perpetual torment.
how people bounce back after unimaginable loss;
how they keep going;
chasing this stupid inconsequential thing that means the world to them.
our collective life pursuits,
no bigger than a single atom,
on a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam.
not knowing any better than the one asking for advice,
yet giving it confidently nonetheless.
it also working for the other in miraculous ways.
god, what a beautiful shitshow.