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Reckless/reckmore
I’m done with all this mad winter weather--time to move to comfy ol Mercury right up against the sun—who’s with me?! Flew home over snow-encapsulated continent. Turbulence, thoughts of death (what else is new?), boredom, ennui, fierce recalcitrance, numb collateral. Continued fantasies of being stabbed. Steady stream of form rejection notices. Reckless/reckmore (as in, “time to get reckmore”).
What am I? I am an organism that is aware of being carried through time.
Many of the yoga asanas are named after animals. There’s this amazing element of animal mimicry encoded into the practice. Which is something that I find incredibly archaic, and which I imagine our remote ancestors did as children in the wild, as part of their becoming human: mimic the Others that they witnessed in the surround.
