The cloud chamber of consciousness.

It’s not rhizomes… More like a tracery of lines in a cloud chamber, from every direction –if directions, existed–at points of conjunction, like ganglions… unconscious memory collective and individual meet and merge.

this is what I feel when I walk down the street. A part a great network that does not exclude the birds and insects, the trees..at first I wrote “newwork’… and it is, because what is new emerges, is created, in the convergences, bodily convergences. It is with our bodies we speak.

My unconscious speaks to me out of bird song and leaves rustling across the walk, out of the presence of everyone I pass–humans, unlike the trees and birds… clothed, masked, our naked reality, our naked truth, our embodied truth, hidden… almost always hidden dressed up in everything but what we are.