You like receiving messages. You're writing three texts at the same time. Who will read you? I can't get Alice Notley out of my head. (the necessity to be in dialogue with established artists before you? to situate yourself in a discourse can be helpful for people to understand what you are aiming at. not everyone is from new york.) Oh you love making yourself so needed, so flat and necessary, my god, who taught you to weave these thin strings? On the other side of the bridge the water seems much more normal. You laugh at yourself, there is other things you're good at. People will forget, they will move on, there is nothing essential about it. But also, you care. And somehow everything lands like an offense or laziness? No, it's more like, confusion, and you're not confused. You know very well what you want and you want this, you're so close to it but it's not yours. What are you rewriting? (thank you for this photo of Boroughs) Are you further than I thought? Sadness. I need to talk to someone else anyhow. I'm no longer sure how much to share. I can't see that I'm important to you, we differ. Trained to take up space, take up more time and energy. Bigger and taller. More coffee, more pastries. The return is blank. Squishy seats, falling in and out, waking up to a black and white photograph of something very familiar. It's inside time over here. Immediately something grabs your throat. You want to wake up again. You realise you hate your agenda. How to use it differently? On the bus you wondered about the relation between limits and responsibilities. Does the latter imply the former? Or the other way around? Or both? Thinking feels hard. Clarity is gone. Sandy eyes, nap nap nap.