This was 6 years, 6 months ago

this is the part of this web-thing where I don't necessarily write about everything that is super crucial to my being, right now, but instead obliquely reference to different parts of my being (phenotypical expression, here) that happens as a result

so, an interlude:

whoa! this energy! the world is crackling. remember remember remember. there are always places to go to, people to meet, things to experience:

from January 13, 2013, in hong kong:

If there's anything to be learned it's that the world is big --

-- but no really, seriously, it is very very big; it is more vast and more varied than you could ever imagine it to be; and you will grow to 'understand' it soon but will travel again one day and will realize, once more again, that it pushes beyond the edges of your understanding. If there's anything to be learned it's that it is easy to fall back into myopic positions of complacency, worrying, competition, self-comparison, where the real challenge is in the long run, with one's own being. That this is all but momentary, but what is as concrete as concrete can be are the small nonverbal material things: the gesture of an old woman wiping a table, a glass of tea being poured, the involuntary outward sigh after the first bite of food, the contorted wince when pain strikes a body, the elongation of time when one is sick or hurt, the slippage and transience of memory, and all the other things that find their origin in the body and grow outwards from it. And if you ever forget these things, or stop viscerally understanding that the world is big, then you need to travel (alone) again, and rediscover and remember and remember.

The world is immense and people live in it = there is always, always, another way. In other words: there is never "no alternative". To say so is to fully be enmeshed in the immediacy, vitality, delimiting, constraining, blinding moment of the local present and present only.


sitting at a fountain at columbus circle I show an acquaintance my sketchbook and diagrams, small little enzyme-like things slotting into each other. how is knowledge acquired? how do you do things? how do you change, as a person?

today at a cafe uptown the thought pops into my head: the phenomenon of wanting to change is a little bit like pressing against the outer boundaries of yourself, making yourself continually uncomfortable, a continual scratch. what a strange impulse. who does that? and why? why this continuous othering of a being, why this continuous circling around other desires, like planets orbiting suns, playing out kepler's laws in action. what makes this happen?

in the end - it's all people; new people, wondrous people and wondering people, people for whom the world becomes large. people in the shape of books, that remind you that the world is immense; people online. people who work on projects, projects, projects. people driven by strange fantastic internal mechanisms; people who are different from you, and will be so different; people with whom you have incredibly candid conversations with, having only met them once before; people who you have only met recently, yet feel like you've known them for years and will know them for decades, neatly sliding into a part of your world that you didn't realize was there.

in this realm, there is always space.

some strange utopia originates from excitement and a sense of freedom. here's to ongoing projects and a sense of gorgeousness understood by stepping back.