the oldest dream
before we could think, we slept. before we could name anything, we closed our eyes and entered a field where time folded and memory built itself in silence. every mammal curls into that field. every baby drifts toward it as if called back to a place it already belongs to. even reptiles, older than milk and language, fall into their...
connecting dots
originality lives in the way fragments meet. no one can hold the same fragments you do. every mind gathers from its own weather, its own collisions of memory and chance. dots connect even when we don’t intend it. two books blur until a third story appears. one scene bleeds into another and meaning keeps changing shape. artists borrow, repeat, and...