I spent a good amount of last week with a high fever. I had some thoughts. I can't dress them up, because I'm not sure what they should wear.
We are in a time where connectivity with one another is apparently high, but these mediums might be running roughshod over ourselves, or at least we suspect as much.
Hearing a voice that might be patient, I also feel the vibrations of sands moving under my feet. My listening typically incorprates the anticipation of my next move, and the dishonest building of context with materials that I have just picked up.
This noise we hear might be the hum of progress, the Symphony of the Meta, but it could also be a bearing gone bad. As always, it is likely a bit of All the Above.
There's some sort of useful neoclassicism laying around here, but we haven't uncovered it yet. Take this for what you will, but you probably can't wash your own impatience out of it. When you can, I think we will be there.