05 21 18
Small ideas amaze me. The single cell that does not pitch or paint or praise, but lulls, perfecting it’s homeostate. Existing on the pendulum from stardust to sensibility, untaught, untamed—nimbly executing a galactic program. All powerful and powerless. Reactionary and replicating; mitosis in epiphany. It is their function to initiate. Spiraling ideas in spindles. Outward and inward. Controlled and truculent. Little things. Little forms. Suspicions. Callings. Convictions. Simple grains of awe and being. A portrait of god in pointillism.