Dreams & Rambles

The world is made of porcelain and plastic and I seem made of rags. Not the perfect mold of heart melting aesthetics nor the detailed craft of ages past. Cookie cut lives surround me. Or so it would seem. When I look closer they look fragile and unique.

I soak up the soils of the grind, called progress. Life is a constant progression, a constant turning. It makes me wonder, was everybody cookie cut and soft? Or do we all grind like gears until we shift smooth? My rags are my works that have made me who I am today. I’m still trying to find where my gear fits. I’m still wondering what shape I’ll take. What piece am I?

Dream Moods a Dream Dictionary