New paths extend before us and we look forth believing that the ground has been tread - these new paths have been tread, they seem so familiar because we revisit them often, we mark the ground often because we go back on ourselves, we try to make sense of the path without ever fully committing to it. And so, yet again without commitment we wander around again.
Familiarity again but there is a distance. The familiar manifests as the lower end of the sonic spectrum and throbs across this distance and ensnares its captive listener. Memory jacks and its workings remind one of origins - we are trapped with the past and in this we are reminded of this distance, it is everything we know but it is no longer relevant to where we need to go.
Presently differing, separation demarcating the slowly manifesting sovereignty of the individual actively participating in the displacement of the individual in seeking the unknown. There is no proper body, only ever the reconstruction of parts into an amalgam, “there is no “proper body,” just a reconstruction[...]corpus is never properly me”, and yet it is only me, but me is inescapable, indeterminable. ‘Me’ never properly existed, so ‘I’ could never be myself.
A breath of fresh air yet strangely familiar. Everything new is familiar. Even if there is no obvious source or origin, everything extends and reflexes itself, otherworldly like a cloud, oppressive like a wave, and just as clouds dissipate and break, waves recede.