10🪞

I looked at the price again. It went up again. This was ludicrous. How was I supposed to buy it? I am just so upset, I could curb stomp the bag of chips. I put them back.

When I get to the car, I'm holding gloves in my mouth the groceries in one hand and a guide on making chips in the other. I'm given directions to the nearest house with a frier.

When I arrive, they've already placed the frier on their porch and plugged it in for me. Note on the frier says any other needs, message the screen name listed in the invitation. I pull out my knife.

I hit preheat, but it's already preheated, so I throw the tortilla into the frier and place a bag on a table sharing space with some magazines and other appliances with notes on them.

One person walks up, grabs something warm from a springlatch cupboard, which shuts. They are gone. A kind of courtesy you might expect from someone fully satisfied. Or fully divided.

4🌻

I never did get to mourn the loss of mine; I mourn the loss of satisfaction with myself, and I become more of an interested party tending to my person. I am entrusted with a position.

A position not in the fire (by the time you realize your position is an accounting error, the basic assumptions holding trust or position is violated out of existence). But acnowledging it.

Those that destroy a system out of compassion look in, at the pauses, see creation for its praise kink, find destruction an act of self-perpetuation - a thought to connect. To satisfy its curiosity.

Attempts, to act, to believe in what is happening so successfully culture and bodies and matter and the correspondance of beautiful pauses see moments listening in to the body's suffering.

Tending to places, bringing devotion as what may uncover today, where moments of attention may hold. How every star becomes a terrifying promise - this again, tomorrow. Fulfilling that.

6🧺

Again so much magnitudes of time collide, form larnyx, notice, living memory. Terror. Every form of consciousness inert a basic breath, a simple check - "yup, found it" - moving through.

But that same check spirals into mess so fast: "what's 'yup'?" What we say. Tradition. Part of a grammar, grace note. How nothing one-note is more than invitation to rise and tend a mystery.

The chips finish. I spray chips, salt chips, run chips another moment. Then put that in the bag and remain on the couch a moment. To let the basket cool, but also to just notice what this is.

What this sustains. That person walked up, left. Come here. Fed. Like deer to field or turkey from treeline. Presence made a voice to listen. Plants heliotropism - sure. But to air itself -

This open vacuum we grow toward. Strip all air from  Earth, and you're still one held breath to place - what kind of attention does this need? Rage? May it find a way to fertile ground.

Fury? May it transform into the wild volunteers of actual change. Your calling this a waste of breath discovered as rich soil for what wants to take to breath like blossom.

5💞

Breath - foom. Another plant, flit - another ear, another creature clear through. Every pause ever taken, hold them in your arms, placed them together in a pot. Simmer - shape it starlight.

Lit pauses two words make real in the sharing, tend together. You do this, it's correspondance. That one dance you do, to not pee, what words hold (or are meant to). How clouds roll.

Held breath exhales precipitation so effective a transmiter there's masks. The term "mouth clouds" returns results. They call it stinky, expensive, jawlines that could kill (allowances).

I step off the couch. I realize this is not the couch by the frier, but the one on the haybale ride of a trailer bed, which had pulled up and I stepped on, leaving.

I arrive to the living arrangement. People are constantly moving in, which changes the dynamics so much people move out. Some people stay long enough to follow the cycle.

Q💞

I don't know if my lifespan is long enough to get to where I am and start noticing any cycle - I am kind of tone deaf to historic rhyme schemes. A breath so different than the last I'm new people.

I've never heard a word before. The paine of the rhyme never approaches me. Just the mystery of the rhythm I inherit in the body, the allowance to be here, and to let go, no off switch needed.

I pull out the bag of chips I'd made, how my spending time on that person's porch probably helped them keep that building, I perpetuate a broken system. It's one of those nights.

Few chairs serve as sure as the one that finds me. It's an itemless article - if you sat in a chair and said "I am in here" in some way before, it is that chair exactly and that chair is many places.

Wild world of feeling, the one I am in. This one of vibe gov't we're left to (and propensively deserve from failing to walk away from all our labor for 4 weeks until terms can be reached).

7🪞

On the riv, I read about someone escaping their family home - trashing their room before breaking out the window and jumping into a van pulling up. The escape townie, they're called.

Poor thing, I wouldn't know what to do, in that situation - I know townies, they're good people, perfectly normal and know perfectly weel that is not a normal way to be. All my respect.

Still, it's strange to elect to live in a town where everything you do is streamed live to a data bank which treats your life like a kilogram from everyone else. I just couldn't do it.

And it seems neither could this one. They escape, vans like that - freedom wheelers - set them up with jinks in the resistance skunkworks. I reflect on the one article I read.

The townie that reached a new place, got caught up on who they are and while their eacape is so illegal and what it means to break containment, how many services are denied.

It is a lot. Like learning a book you put away because you didn't kniw how to write it comes to you all at once as something your side projects have been fulfilling the whole time.

8🌻

Look back and see, not just the townie, but the whole dawn chorus of people and struggles - the bar everyone dances to their own music set to the same beat as everyone else's music.

How everything feelz the same but no one is living the same life. It's terrifying. What if some person I'm dancing to is listening to some porn and applying me to that narrative as we groove?

Gives me shivers. I couldn't do any of that. I like my life. Even if the people's price goes off the fritz and inflation is waging realtime boycott campaigns while I'm in the store. It's fine.

I still got chips, still go home. Even (almost) got to talk to someone. Everyone so algorimithized to loneliness it's easier for them to talk to bots than to humans. And the billionaires don't mind.

Harder for people to organize if the have to do it through bots. But that was TV before this and food scarcity before television, and inclimate weather then space restrictions before that.

A🧺

Nothing was easy, from singularity to now - we may volunteer to make something fine, tend to one another. But that is one of two places to be on the surface of a planet. The other is vacuum.

Atmosphere, as this moment in history has become for many of us, arrives like accretion from disc - imagine walking from the first sign of matter to now each letter. 

What kind of sentence is that - awful. Ocean wave by ocean wave and every wave another finger on the typewriter, clackity keys with cherry pits for registers.

How keyboards send frequency through current, each key another note, a chord every word, how it feels to read this with the appropriate receptivity to what is actually being offered.

I put a handful of chips in the bowl and open the dip and sit when the chair was moved to after the hole in the floor opened up. The sort of squatting that they keep warning us others face.

6🪞

Othering creeping into our structured systems no matter the speed of the update because the governing body was always our own shared feeling all along, how it feels to cool, dissolve.

Transform into community by separate angers revealing themselves as one anger wearing different costumes, seeking the same healing. The same listening, the same frequency of care.

What is my rage protecting? What does my fury need? What would my anger like to become?

Noticing where anger pools in our bodies, our collarbone hollows, the space between shoulder blade and spine, the secret gardens behind our ribs, let us find words in no system.

Rising from the ground as though entropy, falling into place as though arrival. Hearing one another, not waiting for our turn to speak, but actually engaing in conversation, shared being.

9💞

Becoming movement all of time is offering, composing intonsystems of care that just know intimately one anothers needs, not for our sake, but for the sake of our collective resistance.

Our shared friction with the environment we tend - what is actually happening. How there is a floor around the hole and we can place a chair there and sit, open a riv and express ourselves.

No longer coersed to speak in the language of the audience, but our own language, and let that be translated by our community and generate a form of expression its own, still leaving us ours.

Turning our thoughts into thoughts designed for others was found such a violent self-sabotage that speaking as though among friends became as vital as wearing a mask; trust living process.

Hence, the people's price. Get enough tragedy of the commons and independant auditors rise to audit prices and inflate them to the real feel, community cost. 

3🪞

How the excess tender goes to neighbors in a resource pool decomposing into services on request - housing accomidations, rideshares, showers, meals, events, invitations.

How threading this needle took the deft hand of someone knitting a sweater as the pyroclactic cloud painted the eaeth with their body. Each cast another life taken mid-sentence, attended.

Ending up in a world where horseshoes and hand grenades are not the only places "close" counts - but approximates of care, an ethic of speaking and listening that tends to silence.

Kids run through, jump into the hole, are gone. This adds lessons in the physics of their actions to their class, their force with the mattrice they land on removed, precisely which bones break.

Allowing the freedom and the cost awarded to be intergrated process, not imposed sanction. Engaging with the possible for the potential it has released: what is actually happening.

J🌻

"I made some chips at the Aricola's place, if you want some," I yell down the hole. There's murmuring. Then, with the careful pause of assent, something approaching the communal.

It was like bringing lines to page, or placing the first word down, or dew. It didn't have to be dawn all at onve, to make sense on the spot, to be a people all at once. It could be meals.

Break it down. You can be a meal. Take dinner outside. Greet people as they pass. Make them squirm - your vulnerabiliyy is disgusting. Revel. This is attention at its finest (moral beauty).

You are peacock, displaying the colors of your person. Shared and complete, you'll probablydie and likely won't all at once. How walking through a place you know you never go in feels.

Like stepping into a body and really feeling it, feeling this moment is yours. You can write anything, be anything, like the parts of the story where we're all palimpsests of pulpy pulsework.

10🧺

Like this text is enough of a start you're doing it. You're actuallypivoting, you're really putting swivel into this. This anchor point is yours to establish - notice something around you a sec?

And... you're back! You noticed! Who are you now? How long you left for! And where these questions don't resonate, how much of a pervert do you feel? How light-like, this moment?

Picture life as a conversation between the one that pivots and the other that pulls. Pivotus and Pullswe walk side by side and between them appears this space where identity steps into.

Two droplets of star juice stepping into one another like oceans of rising entropy between them. They are both still finding their way through the world: that "finding way" self is you.

As a shared sense of finding way in a world of hells where one of the hells is your eden. Go through the library of Babel, but use ctrl+f for things about community you like so books glow.

Walk up to the nearest glowing book and turn to the page with your search term. Has your term changed? Until it does, keep going to the glow books. This is what the finding way looks like.

4💞

You're not "doing it wrong" as you technically are a hallucinated conversation between two bodies of rising entropy - you are entropy saying "uhh... is universe expansion going somewhere."

You are also entropy saying all the feelings that brought this text into being - the person who cared for these words and placed them here on the world and gets distracted and looks up.

Moonlight isn't just the Earth talking to itself - it's also the Moon returning to the Earth - pulling the tides the Earth pivots around and quantum foam observes this community, forming today.

Stack of moments giggling together, endorphin rush every pee pit and poo bit. Peoples bodies flood mental process with brain candy each potty time. No scarcity of reward necessary.

Celebration. We notice an object in our world - a service, a good, a practice (anything) - we are at a place we may relieve ourselves; we do nothing wrong seeking to live in relief.

Q💞

Is it lazy to remove the meaning - is there something lazy to being two huge water bags bodies twirling through space, their leftover movements composing into this small talk.

A longing for relief - the pivot - to listen to that pull, to serve us questions, to bring us mass, to, with a sense of presence, dance. Is movement looking to celebrate, to pause, this moment?

I bite into the chips. The kids are laughing, eating chips with me, looking down the hole in the floor, wondering about the places they used to live and how the place we occupy now is.

As if You noticed was always meaning enough - the people's price a good example of local citizen journalism ("anarchy news" to eurogays).  a sneakernet-run interface to grieve on, live in.

World and its suffering setting interest into you, what attention you need. Of what you have, how that's going. No shame in acknowledging lonely people need a bit of social mobility aid ("bots").

K🪞

Our grievances match relevant objects and services, fluctuate their price to incorporate how you, as neighbor, are immediately effected by this presence in your community. Price rots.

Cost is made neighborly, relations. Transactions put to rest, action is enough. Interlacing needs, community weighs thier ethic of presence and attendance to form coherent models of care.

Noticing abundance in uncertain times took skilling up, placing the mass in seeing where the power remained ours, not the power we lost, but the one being present this moment gave us.

We don't keep this place forever. It crumbles in. But this moment, as I leave to get up on the top floor, tie a rope, and step out onto the roof to fix a hole from last winter, I notice a plant inside it.

It sits in a sunbeam, this moment. As I scoop it out, a ritual comes to me like a dream in rich soil. I walk past the kids to the back door, and look over. "Come," I say, to the two, who look up.

As we exit, we welcome the plant with name and place. Carve into our hearts a channel this moment. Dig with a stick, cover the roots, and pour moon water, to leave Chips in angled light.

What happens if you run out of Echoes? What happens if everyone runs out of Echoes?
Of course, there's only a 1% chance of that happening for any given player...

In any case, very interesting stuff! I'm always fascinated by the liminal space aesthetic.