Wherein words have tasting notes.
Wherein we find the boring-yet-apt descriptors of our own development.
Wherein we are reminded not to turn this whole thing into a ‘goal’.
Wherein we discover the virtues of having a nemesis.
Wherein we ignore good and well intended advice.
Wherein we instead quest for ‘enjoyable usefulness’.
Wherein we are informed by information.
Wherein we all become what we pretend to be.
Wherein we sense into our own unfurling.
Wherein we explore the notion of ‘contextual momentum’.
Wherein we find/fabricate auspiciousness.
Wherein we embrace modest experimentation.