The mind is a collection of surfaces, and we must learn to read the signs written upon them—to distinguish between the scratches of accident and the marks of intention.
We see, but we do not see: we use our eyes, but our gaze is glancing, frivolously considering its object. We see the signs, but not their meanings. We are not blinded, but we have blinders.
At four feet eight, she is small for her age, but manages to occupy space laterally. She moves with a noodle elasticity, and is prone to breaking into dance moves while going about her business: a full-body wave from wrist to wrist, an entire sequence from a Katseye music video.
The main thing I thought about was that the airport was like a cathedral of anxiety. When you land, you're so happy to be alive. And then you go into high anxiety over whether or not your luggage is in the room.
1mo ago
The poet only asks to get his head into the world, but the world always strikes back and prevents him from seeing anything.
The main thing I thought about was that the airport was like a cathedral of anxiety. When you land, you're so happy to be alive. And then you go into high anxiety over whether or not your luggage is in the room. You're always in that kind of state.
We are not who we say we are. We are how we move through the world. This is something I notice more and more when reporting. The truth usually lies in the small, in-between, seemingly ordinary moments.
2mo ago
The task is not so much to see what no one has yet seen, but to think what nobody has yet thought about that which everybody sees.
3mo ago
Underscored — save the words that stop you in your tracks.
