these accounts are junctures, vertices, cruïlles, and dialeted accidents from another plane, one that was and continually becomes, again and again.
these are but a curious wander where the body was witness, archive, and the lens followed, precipitated and eager, as a mere caress and pucture of the suspenseful now, dissipating the effortless action of welcoming all things,
and opening a portal towards passion, or obsession in disguise, an entryway to the relentless yearn of trying to trace, ever so slightly, the relational, the sensible, the gasping, only to uncover that it’s been elevated, yet gain, to that which remains, to our luck, ungraspable.