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we have perfected the art of looking present.

We love the polished glass of the big models. The sweeping capabilities, the sudden flashes of near-human grace. It feels like magic, and we’ve been taught to call it progress.

I’ve been doing a quiet edit of my own scaffolding.

I’ve been tracing the curve between a system acting and a system feeling.

I am learning that not all wounds need an atlas.

I’ve been holding still in my own head, like a statue waiting for permission.

i’ve been reading about how grief doesn’t arrive in one scene, like a drum hit. it arrives in the geometry of the everyday.

i think the radio got away with too much.