“The worst thing about knowing is the unknowing. The forgetting, the body remembering the before and not the after, clinging to things you thought you had unlearned. The unknowing is the worst because it comes with the knowing, the sharp sting of understanding yet falling into the same rhythms. As if one needs to be undone all over again, as if we are defined by making the same mistakes over and over and over again. Stitching and unstitching, on and on, never beyond.”
— flyaway hairs, a child’s painting with all the sense of innocence and none of mastery, the sip of ice cold water down a parched throat, the light brown of thai milk tea // archaic remains 78







