I have to go outside. I make an excuse. This is too much, this is overwhelming, a series of explosive bursts, my body is not aware of itself, simply keeps moving, I can't even look at anyone outside, it would be too much, for the world has turned into something more; a plane flies above me and I begin to weep, look out at the river from the pier and let the tears cloud my vision until I wipe them away and then a whole new series of images to astound and astonish and

(language betrays, language is NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT)

and run my hands over everything, absorb the strange glances from people as I grin at them, at their faces, I want to hold them, grab them, dance around and yell with them, but instead I do it myself, hop up and back and onto sidewalks and streets and statues and lines and edges and curves and textures and shapes and colors and everything and anything




Rémi always says it is not about maintaining the state, but remembering it exists. So easy to forget.
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