dormant lay the histories that did the current shapings. Yet bam, the creamy thread laden gift dissipates from mind with abruptness, disrupted by dead histories emergent audible leakings. they move. i edit, cull down, delete. pulled out of a sense of presence within a conversational context, this moment now falls backwards splintering on the edge of yesterday's horizon. just a short hyperdigested excerpt not soo negative but still a dredging. Muck, mucking the morning. a few more words, then a push to set aside. it doesn't stir emotion, just creates a muckiness to the here. the gentle meal herd now down to two, part back to each studio, not from push or muck, but simple geolocational natural divide. i am left with my own whys. Why did i muck the moment? i understand that there are two lived histories that muck into my mouth. these muckings, tribal and residue of faulty cohort reflections, cause harm no matter how abbreviated. the gift dissipates.
i am unequipped to befriend only the here, the now, in a seemingly nakedless contextless masked present. how do I unlearn nakedness?
i do/don't understand this unequippedness. i stand aside from myself; i watch. the facilitated studio -- i laugh, connect, coordinate, collaborate, bond, inspire, love, am home. the colleagues -- well...undisclosed mixed thoughts. the neighbors -- I live in the woods. the alone -- i laugh, play and pout. i meander.
i am not even dirty yet.