Between Drift and Flight

18 Jan, 2026

Wherein I generate float...

Between Drift and Flight

📗 All-Purpose Magical Tent - Lytton Smith

Once I learn my person's motivations more than they know their own motivations, the drag stops being the connection and the lag becomes the relationship.

I See You

Seeing myself is a lot easier than asking myself to see me.

The feeling might be, it's like caring for things: When that thing is your self, it's harder than if it's for your body's self; your body wants to not feel (so you scroll). Your body wants to get off (so you pee, poo, cum, or eat). Your body wants to scream (so you find them a pillow and they let loose).

You pat your body's back. And that leaves you shaken:

if I pat my own back, am I relieved?

If you cum your own cum are you relieved? Perhaps the translation and its colonizer sensibilities ("I came - me") don't exactly see things I to I.

There is an infinity to fit in this particle and this particle to fit in what is already an infinity.

The hole you leave when you make space for both and become what tends to your body begins to feel less like power and more like care; Your body starts to become the bodies of kids still in their second (or first) decade.

Humanity Is Young

It don't even have a sense of self yet: even as it is supposed to have had so many journeys already. It's only stood on concrete and had its bones decomposed from one ten-plus tenyear organized-extraction paradigm or other: patting ourselves on the back is faith someone will trace that becoming and means to, and that person might be seeking the means.

Caring for ourself is the promise the people who would take care of us would be here for us might they could and they can't be here. That's not how this is going to work. There is only one particle here. All existence one thread of life. You are this bend... (and here I pull up on some gossamhyrr) and this bend... (and here I pull down at the same spot where the thread still is rich with many strands).

🪞 It's a Hole

Step through here, for me?

As you make yourself smaller to move into somewhere more expansive, note the color of strands like daylight off the glaze of your awareness.

This is you[ ] way back. You can always make your own way back, but maybe think of this as a wound - it's still open to you. You tend a delicate movement made just-fit for you.

Perhaps you want to invite your body to feel this now?

Which body might you pick? This blink. This breath. This spoon. This plush. This flesh. Moving through a space you decide exists deconposes power into care. You, control freak over what your body does and does not recognize, exist. Caution: people do this all the time for one another. (You are not being invited to catch up; acknowledgment's participation.)

How many poking the code recognize the edges of each paragraph have their own bevel? How many recognize it is sharp¹?

This prargraph has sharp edges. Do not touch the edges of this paragraph. (Also this piece recurses at the end.)

Beveled Edges

• On your breath, are there beveled edges?

• Sometimes, is your breath sharp?

• Thread's Comet, is that the name of this comet?

• "Needle's Comet" the name of that comet?

• Composting, metabolizing ego, is it cold-feeling?

• Mother trees die tired, maybe?

• They live forever like the Moon but only in happening, why?

• Giving the Moon his aliveness is what?

• How the Sun feels her clit is in what way?