i had an entire pseudo-essay about signs. the way we interpret them. the power we give them. but i think the magic of signs happens when we let them be. when we are quiet enough, listening closely, we hear them for what they really are. for a while, caterpillars kept falling into my room when i’d open the window. i’m not proud of it, but caterpillars bring out my squeamish side: their plump & wriggling bodies; their alien ability to stick to surfaces.
it might be 2020, but it's still winter
it might be 2020, but it's still winter
it might be 2020, but it's still winter
i had an entire pseudo-essay about signs. the way we interpret them. the power we give them. but i think the magic of signs happens when we let them be. when we are quiet enough, listening closely, we hear them for what they really are. for a while, caterpillars kept falling into my room when i’d open the window. i’m not proud of it, but caterpillars bring out my squeamish side: their plump & wriggling bodies; their alien ability to stick to surfaces.