Currently I find myself exploring a sponge of bodily emotion, reaction or something. 

I become my own observer. Due to felt of lack feeling or connectedness to myself I am left to watch over, feeling my way through a weight of experience. When I visualise this matter it is pink and yellow – part clown, part fat cut away from the body.

In my mind’s eye it exists in the place where I currently exercise, an insignificant fraction of what was carried out before yet significant enough to make this observation resonate or wobble.

I draw strings from this sponge in the hope that it was not all wasted experience, but also maybe that I get to know ‘feeling’ or response? Or knowing? 

Like Pinnochio’s dreams of becoming a real boy, I too dream these of strings experience will connect to a real body. 

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