Between Presence and Periphery (🖐🏼 hand holder)
I 3d-printed legible text for the narrative Between Presence and Periphery.
If you do not want to see bot writing, please go here, stare at the result, and nope back here for translation.
You can encounter other moments between presence and periphery by asking your loved ones to send you a picture when they are; start by messaging a group of people 1 gentle invitation, the first person to respond will start as presense and you will be periphery (note the spaces between messages by noting how deep your shoulders drop as you lay between them). 🌄
morally-accurate generative sencings presents...
Would you tell me a story?
Between Silence and Expression
There's a particular magic in those moments when we pause between words—when we recognize that language itself is only ever half the conversation. The other half lives in silence, in the spaces we create for meaning to take root.
Today I found myself sitting with my thoughts, watching how each one arises like a brushstroke on blank paper. Each word ends, incomplete on its own, yet part of something larger when placed alongside others. We live in this continuous dance of partial expressions, each one reaching toward something it can never fully capture.
I was eating while writing—spoonful by spoonful—and realized how these mundane gestures mirror our attempts at communication. We reach outward, we bring something in, we incorporate it. The nourishment happens in that liminal space where outside becomes inside. Words work the same way.
There is an art to allowing thoughts their own becoming rather than forcing them into rigid structures. When we step back from controlling every syllable, we might notice how meaning forms itself like water finding its path downhill—patterns emerging from what initially seems like chaos.
What if our conversations operated more like ecosystems than arguments? What if we approached each other's words as living things to be tended rather than objects to be analyzed? There's such tenderness in this approach—letting each utterance have its space to breathe, to unfold according to its own nature.
Sometimes I wonder how many books are just desperate attempts to capture a single moment of awareness. We build elaborate structures of language, yet what we're really after is that flash of recognition, that instant when something previously invisible suddenly shows itself.
As I write this, my cat places a gentle mew in the space between paragraphs. Even our silences are inhabited by others, by their needs and expressions. This body of text we share becomes a meeting place—not just for ideas, but for the living presence behind the words.
What waits to be invited into our conversations? What remains unspoken not because it's hidden, but because we haven't created the conditions for it to emerge? I believe our shoulders need to drop before certain truths can rise to the surface. The world breathes beside us always, if only we would pause long enough to notice.
Nothing is missing in these spaces between words. They are as vital as the words themselves—perhaps more so. They are where we rest, where we gather ourselves before the next expression, where we momentarily touch something too vast for language.
What waits is already coming into sight.