Stuck and yet moving, at the same time. As if you were one of those inflatable stickmen that car dealerships like to use to drive in business; your feet are firmly planted, yet you’re thrashing about wildly from the ankles up. Your sense of self.
Like a Chinese nesting doll, each layer reveals the next, bodies hidden deep inside one another. They come as an interlocking, interdependent set of vessels that only function in relation to one another. Each body is another chance for revelation, another vessel of promise. Your sense of self.
A stranger in your own skin. A visitor, staying briefly, always at a distance; watching the film from outside the theater. Your sense of self.
Moving through life at an astonishing clip, you can’t help but notice the passage of time. For all the tacks and Trade winds, you still don’t win that battle. Time marches on and you flail about like a fish out of water. Your sense of self.