I like to the feel the weight of objects in the space they occupy. I like to follow their campaign to the sun and back, to Jupiter and Neptune, to my cat’s lap, to assess their contrast with my mood, or my loneliness, or my ecstasy, or my failure. Sometimes, these objects inspire and permit me to reach out to you, across weathers and captures. Sometimes, these objects beg to be broken and flung away to the back of the back of the storeroom of memory, where only nostalgia can render them useful again.


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