hilarious to appreciate the fashion styling of a spiritual avatar, but there it is,
along with memories of how union square was a needle park and the last place i
remember noting sneakers hanging from high-tension wires was in z's old nabe in south beach.
how fascinating when one can part the veils and see each moment as perfect,
regardless of specifics.
for whatever reason her colors and her brightness against the snowpeaks puts me in
mind of the synaesthesia that turns her into audible frequencies, much like the
shifts of harmonics that create the environment (interior and exterior, blurring further that there might be a difference) when inside lamonte young's DREAMHOUSE,
that merely turning one's head or sitting or standing positions one's perceptions
at a different place within a static/ever-changing solid...
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