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#WritingPrompt: how platforms shape writing and storytelling
How It Breathes
Some sort of poetry-hybrid(?) that just kind of… happened.
Watch the words move
from one place to another
— changed but not changed.
Picked up
rearranged
And this is how art lives. How it breathes. Passing from one form to the next in this eternal dance of synapses and star stuff.
Adaptations and discussions and reimaginings and formatting and interpretations and referrals and oxygen applied to language through the filter of hands, brains, voices… mine, yours, those who came before, those who will come after… all, none.
It becomes something bigger than itself, something that is forever morphing, growing, transcending the confines that once it was given —a life unlike any other.
All and nothing — a life that was never born and can never die
And oh, how it dances.
(— Don’t you love that dance?
You do it so well)
It passes like an inorganic progeny, raised by all and created by none. This dancing fabric of breathing art. The patterns of the universe — captured breath-pulse of the potentiality of particles.
And maybe I’ve talked about it before. Waxed rhapsodic beneath waning moons of concentration and attention spans long snipped short —
So maybe I’ve spoken before
of the way the words twist and the magic forms
of the love and the life and the power in
giving form to the unformable
fathom to the unfathomable
So what if I’ve said it before?
This time’s different
given new form, reborn,
with features from its ancestors stored onboard,
and ready to be picked up, put down, and morphed again
We let it flow. A living breeze.
…I have no excuses, and no explanations.
