This bout of COVID is more like โCorona Lightโ compared to previous years, but Iโm still spending most of it in bed. Stay safe out there.
Any conversation
a constant, existential pull
so old I couldn't tell you the end
or draw its shape
between kind acceptance
and striving, struggling, writhing, climbing
learning, growing, discontent
"do you feel this way, too, at endless war with longing itself?"
but the birds and trees and ants and wind
in their own marvelous design
don't reply
there's no fundamental physical limit that prevents silicon from developing taste and judgement, but language is a lossy compression of reality.
taste comes from experience, from the shadowy mass of episodic memory, which swirls and convects at the boundary of consciousness. the ideas recombine into new ones in the nuclear reactor of the hippocampus.
but no matter how imbued with meaning and expertise is a handmade wardrobe we still get our shit from ikea
