12.11.22

Remember the grammar of the feet. Everything has language even though we only remember the one with words. Syntax of the everyday. My feet complained every block of the walk home. They said the city was lonely, to which I said I know. They said your shoes are shit, to which I said I know. They said you never touch us, it's like you forget we are here, to which I said I'm sorry. I use you and I forget you. That's why I never remember how I got anywhere. Why am I here? This old child's question, which lingers at the core of each of us, like a seed we were told to not water. I forgot myself slowly walking through the city. Whereas the ocean is made of memory. Memory, which isn't history. Memory is older than any story we can tell ourselves or each other. History - language, Water - sublimation, dissolution, fear, and sudden laughter for no reason. There I go again. Forgetting my feet. 

Once we made a video of just our feet dancing next to each other's.
Do you remember that? 

This morning I practice just the basics. I flex each toe. Then the whole foot. I point my feet this way and then that way. This means hello. This means we are afraid. This means haha. This means we are walking on a very small ledge outside and we must be careful. This means keep walking. Faster. I don't really know what this means. 

This means stop. Stop.