Today I witnessed a reflection of Gavin and a reflecting Gavin. I am still unsettled by what she expressed when she walked silently across the cold floor.
Still more unsettling, the stifling gymnastics of competitive high-school percussion ensembles I sat through, stinging my eyes and ears--an overhead projection.
How can we possibly know what to do now when the past is so fraught with hazy half truths and the future is so awkwardly unknowable?
Sensible words become poetry. Random gestures become dance. Noise becomes music.
Not once, but again and again.
This is not desire anymore, it's need.
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