how do we tell these stories.

i was born in chaos. borne into chaos. i had a dream that i was never sure was a dream of being held in my mother’s arms as a car spun out of control in las vegas.

tell me when the tales become yours.

the concept of history as we grow, the weight of it, what we let matter and what we don’t. what we tell people. there are these stories, you see, and these stories when they’re told properly, they make us. the draw the physical shape in the air of who we are, they show the core that cannot otherwise be seen.

does anything ever get erased.

we spend hours, days, years drilling down to the barest essence, that which is essential, what it means to be. a millenia of study on what might be contained within us, and this is the discipline i undertook, and i remember never feeling more full. everything i ever wanted to know, i thought i was the only one, and there were so many more who asked the same questions.

relief lies within solidarity and connection. or does it.

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