Meeting Notes: Cloud Experiment
The reply to the response is self-responding: mountains get smaller and smaller. Boil down the pyramid, try to make it into a haiku. Authors, multiply! In these documents, strategic echoes like and enjoy a sense of an absence. The eighties, the nineties are bigger than ourselves. What are they for? A proliferation of golden-age myths binds us together; pockets’ vibrant interactions perfectly represent a certain kind of spirit. Rank is not the wall, that sense of lack of method.
I’m an outlier, I’m sure, like the baby. (I, myself, just me, am glue.) Processes adjust to life, but tightening rope has been dispiriting. I happily wandered to the other side and believe something has to go wrong: transparent days, clear years. Pocket lint is wiser and more fun; the word “new” is a dead white guy. It’s a little bit like Hamlet, this cluster of airplane reservations.
We’d all welcome anxiety-inducing Tuesdays at home, and more conversations around birthdays. I’m not a reliable witness — the people are all in my head. Love me (in terms of intellectual culture)! I tell horror stories about a structureless, amorphous thing, kind of like a hand. A floating tool is a cloud experiment, the ad-hoc moment of its construction another version of physics. Do the engineering, Johnny! This space is made of narrow paths tied up in knots. This is more than a smorgasbord. It is a rotating bog, a complicated airflow system, a new and terrible work.