late-summer-evening a barrage of things, things soaking. don't get too full of it. all there is is a series of sunsets and gorgeous parks and friends. sometimes you run into beings at a store, all serendipitous, where you exchange the words that really needed to be said at that point. post-meeting, post-meeting, where you feel the flex of your muscles and your feet pushing against pedals, not so much for the desire to reach a destination, nor for some sort of fetishized metric, but for the joy of movement itself; movement != approaching a destination, movement != performance, etc. movement and wandering in a city and all these things as the pinnacle of desire formulated inwards and turned into seeking, finding, attempting, etc.

in the midst of this all I am just biking home, whistling as I inhale this air, whistling as I exhale this air, and it is just me with a helmet and some pieces of material and a whole lot of labor supporting my body, moving through spaces and fields that are all labor, all work, all the congealed mind-time brain-time muscle-time funneled into physical form, and in the midst of it I am truly really starting to even-more-viscerally comprehend how immense this project of living appears to be, again.