momentum and momentous realizations
i realize that i am best at work when alone with myself, my thoughts, music, and space. i think a lot physically (mentally) and in terms of space/movement when on my own and traveling, traveling, traveling forward. momentum propels me. "things that remind me of other things" - the title to a new piece?
movement and relationships. there are so many places where i remember, viscerally and visually, the walks i have taken. walks in philadelphia, trying to find new corners but always ending in familiar places. thinking i've gone somewhere i've never been only to be met with a familiar visage. walks along the river ribble, heavy-hearted and heavy-armed, full of groceries for one. a special trip. walking around peachtree in atlanta, owning your territory. in the cascades, all up & down, literally and figuratively amongst the firs. in new york, alone and lost amongst streets in an unfamiliar neighborhood...here, always: retrace your steps, back to the studio, back to the body. getting lost in the forward momentum, propelled by the beat and one's own headstrong impulses. this doesn't hurt my foot, of course not. only a few blocks more, it costs too much to take public transit. we tell ourselves stories in order to live.
this is where i am at.
this is MY life. this is not a charade. i am not treading water until my life comes along. this is it. this is me.
how strange it is to be anything at all.
how strange it is to be anywhere at all.
how strange it is to be anyone at all.
movement and relationships. there are so many places where i remember, viscerally and visually, the walks i have taken. walks in philadelphia, trying to find new corners but always ending in familiar places. thinking i've gone somewhere i've never been only to be met with a familiar visage. walks along the river ribble, heavy-hearted and heavy-armed, full of groceries for one. a special trip. walking around peachtree in atlanta, owning your territory. in the cascades, all up & down, literally and figuratively amongst the firs. in new york, alone and lost amongst streets in an unfamiliar neighborhood...here, always: retrace your steps, back to the studio, back to the body. getting lost in the forward momentum, propelled by the beat and one's own headstrong impulses. this doesn't hurt my foot, of course not. only a few blocks more, it costs too much to take public transit. we tell ourselves stories in order to live.
this is where i am at.
this is MY life. this is not a charade. i am not treading water until my life comes along. this is it. this is me.
how strange it is to be anything at all.
how strange it is to be anywhere at all.
how strange it is to be anyone at all.