Media, poetry, articles, art, videos and random nuggets that tickle me.


once i walked through a damp old forest, 
the base of me made buoyant by thousands of years of pine needles, 
busy turning into each other, 
much slower than my life. 
so we are propped by what we cannot see… 
where matter bows to time, 
risk isn’t that risky. 
there’s inertia on the trail of earth—
it leads out of pixelated worlds into wide open spaces. 
everything is there, 
the permission to care.