"Resentment is the most precious flower
of poverty. Yeah."
Carson McCullers, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter" (1940)


birthed, becomes bloated and ungainly.
That's when (if I am paying any attention at all), I stop. I sweep up. I evoke repairs.
I let the air out of the balloon.
I risk making mistakes. I
I wear an aluminum foil hat and avail myself to the
unknown.
That is what I am going through right now. In eliminating the barriers that are the corral separating out the herd of who I am from the herd of what I do, I have constructed some free-ranging Golem. I have fashioned a simulacrum of my self. The hands molding the image are mine. The clay is the stuff of my inheritance, held together by the spit of my essential self.
You are there.And
we are connected at the intersection of effort and dream. Whirled without end.
Amen/Yeah.
“He saw that all the struggles of life were incessant, laborious, painful, that nothing was done quickly, without labor, that it had to undergo a thousand fondlings, revisings, moldings, addings, removings, graftings, tearings, correctings, smoothings, rebuildings, reconsiderings, nailings, tackings, chippings, hammerings, hoistings, connectings—all the poor fumbling uncertain incompletions of human endeavor. they went on forever and were forever incomplete, far from perfect, refined, or smooth, full of terrible memories of failure and fears of failure, yet, in the way of things, somehow noble, complete, and shining in the end…” Jack Kerouac: The Town and the City, (1950)
While comprehending both the conveniences and pitfalls of a Cause and Effect existence, here at empathinc. we prefer to live in a Call and Response Universe. This series is an exploration of that space.
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