Some of the places she swam through were just mud. Swimming was a glorified description, it was closer to crawling.
She didn't mind; most of her days were clinically clean, made up of glass and metal (steel brushed, smoothed and polished) and zero-friction grounding cloths. Lint and dust collected on the screens and had to be wiped off periodically, such a fine layer of dust. White dust. particles.
Sometimes, she LONGED to dive into nature. To feel the irregularities in the soil, to watch animals and insects go about their merry way, eating and being eaten.
She used to be afraid of deep water, where she wasn't able to touch the bottom. But one day, she swam in water that was over her head, and she managed to stay grounded to the surface. After that reorientation, she was fine. It no longer mattered if the bottom was 7 feet away, or 70. What mattered was the distance to the surface.
She had a fetish for temperature. She was sensitive to it, there were certainly extremes she liked and didn't like. She had burned her hand trapped inside of a fire once. (EDIE SEDGEWICK), by touching a door knob whose metal conductivity had told her there was a fire on the other side. She didn't open the door, and thus her life was probably saved. Ever since, she paid attention to temperature. Bedcovers, doctor's fingers, etc.
The mud she got herself into was the connecting part of 2 bodies of water. A river flowing into a side pool. She had to corss it and didn't mind getting messy. In fact, she liked it, and stayed extra long and played, like a dog, like a child, like a bird.
And then she got washed off in the rest of her travels.
But the sensation of the mud clung to her long after she had been clean. Like wearing a suit that stayed with your own movements, nothing that slipped away across your skin, like clothes. Cold, and slippery.
She didn't mind; most of her days were clinically clean, made up of glass and metal (steel brushed, smoothed and polished) and zero-friction grounding cloths. Lint and dust collected on the screens and had to be wiped off periodically, such a fine layer of dust. White dust. particles.
Sometimes, she LONGED to dive into nature. To feel the irregularities in the soil, to watch animals and insects go about their merry way, eating and being eaten.
She used to be afraid of deep water, where she wasn't able to touch the bottom. But one day, she swam in water that was over her head, and she managed to stay grounded to the surface. After that reorientation, she was fine. It no longer mattered if the bottom was 7 feet away, or 70. What mattered was the distance to the surface.
She had a fetish for temperature. She was sensitive to it, there were certainly extremes she liked and didn't like. She had burned her hand trapped inside of a fire once. (EDIE SEDGEWICK), by touching a door knob whose metal conductivity had told her there was a fire on the other side. She didn't open the door, and thus her life was probably saved. Ever since, she paid attention to temperature. Bedcovers, doctor's fingers, etc.
The mud she got herself into was the connecting part of 2 bodies of water. A river flowing into a side pool. She had to corss it and didn't mind getting messy. In fact, she liked it, and stayed extra long and played, like a dog, like a child, like a bird.
And then she got washed off in the rest of her travels.
But the sensation of the mud clung to her long after she had been clean. Like wearing a suit that stayed with your own movements, nothing that slipped away across your skin, like clothes. Cold, and slippery.
