sometimes i forget that i live in a world of contexts. i feel as though I'm living in some sweet tasting intoxicant smoke bubble that no one can see into, and I certainly choose not to see out of. i forget that the world operates in contexts, in pasts and presents and futures and i want to deny it all but it all just comes back to me like bathing in a pool of liquid photographs that keep their shape no matter how much you slosh around, no matter how joyful or violent the underwater horseplay. im playing chicken with myself in a surrealist pool of destiny where my senses erotically mingle with my memories, where my laughter is both muffled and amplified in its ability to shoot through the water medium. i am not drowning. nor floating. but im certainly not aware of anything happening outside of this space. Jacquelyn: life operates in contexts, contexts are complicated, complications are confusing. i dont really know if it matters at the moment. not if the very essential things feel right. right? i like how things are both comfortable and safe and volatile and free. but amidst all this choosing to not think about it, to not take things to seriously, to remove myself from this external context that complicates things like a victorian corset, hot but hard, right but restricting, controlling but willingly?
despite it all, i cant stop pondering the both subtle and drastic differences between me and we. in the mere flip side of a letter a lost world turned upside down or a world centered but always on the move? and what is the nature of this movement?