Lately, I have found
it difficult to live inside my skin. Identity confusion doesn’t even begin to cover
the frustration of my navigation through the world.
shell hosts many fractures of a spirit. I hoped they would merge into a
However, some things
are just not meant to be...
I often imagine
myself passing away at night as I fall asleep, being born again in the morning
as I wake up. This is the only way that my spirit feels at ease, tolerable to
be hosted inside of my shell.
serves as a funeral for bits and pieces of me that aren’t doing
repetitive, labor-intensive, and time-consuming processes give me the freedom
to compose. The inefficient transformation of effort names a compulsion to
repeat, the recursivity of an action. Time flows yet freezes in place, creating
order and chaos. An unanswered promise.