I don’t known if I have anything to contribute, does that matter anyway? We’re flickers of experience, entering into these ripples surrounding us, I am an echo of these echoes, a cacophony of my surroundings, making small iterations from the everyness of these events, momentarily consuming new sensations, like the sponge, accumulating this everyness to make sense, your own sense, a self, it’s perplexing, and stimulating, feeling these flickers; rippling time in various currents, feeling a moment, of static, colliding, and colliding through the static(s), gaining momentum, becoming static-less. Realising and releasing, an action or act, to follow the self. Then, again, I cycle around to question what am I contributing, but does that matter anyway?

INTENT 2‘22
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