could it be, could it be. could it be that I could spend two weeks in a place and not write anything here about travel, about anything like that, and could snap my fingers and be back in new york as if nothing happened?
how could this be?
visceral sensations I can rattle off, a little bit. the distinctive smell of bathrooms, the color of polished concrete aggregate, reminds me of my father's school, and growing up while wandering its halls. some atmosphere of work.
I can't explain further. I am immensely tired.
trust in one's processes. follow your patterns. improvise. play and play. critical hesitation only leads to paralysis.
the ability to look at something and tease it apart is only necessary afterwards, in a kind of self-reflexive ('oh, look where we arrived!'). use criticality for joy, not criticism.
I am excited and happy and yearning for the future.