Night in cloud. With sounds of water surrounding, an evolution from gerimis (drizzle) to soft patter to steady downfall, with drips following waterworks around the house, (in which, fish respirate) small splashing pours, shifting flows through ducts, now slowing into more percussive plonks and plinks and poinks, tinkles and trickles, like this jungle is designed by frogs. A nestled-in rainforest of fractal-shaped puddles arrayed through heartleafs and stems reverberating. This is a very rich ambient sound, and I wonder about sleep, or disturbed dreams, lost connectivity, (unexpected, of course), and mental compulsions related to that. How this was probably written late last night relative to when it will be sent. Just so, a blog inelegantly measures motion. As trial and failure at learning nothing. So imagine this, but yesterday, and we found ourselves watching old videos of Mikhail Baryshnikov dancing the Nutcracker. My mother used to speak somewhat breathlessly of him, his body, (in translucent stocking), and its parts, so visibly distinct. Me, then, in tight-pulled bun, (tears), and pale pink tutu. Today, a grainy image of a man leaping (if we could be parts of that, composed) into a momentary stillness.
