I live for the mystery. There's an indirect nature to creating an image rather than defining an idea. Sometimes ideas are bigger than words.
Truthfully, I think we all make webs...or dots that need to be connected. Maybe those connection wires are simply made of different conductors in our own unique heads. Mine are made of why and how . Maybe yours are made of who and what . Or where and when . There are no shelves in my head, and what-should-be-linear timelines look more like vast tree branches continually growing and splitting, growing and splitting.
I make theories because they're simply what my brain’s made of. Like we were all set down in preschool and given craft materials and i was given pipe cleaners and those little soft puff-balls. And maybe Jonathan was given popsickle sticks and glue and Cassie was given glitter and play-dough. We all put thing together differently.
It's good we’re all in the same preschool class...so we can all play together and Cassie can show us the beauty that can be built from glitter and playdough and Jonathan will teach us the solidity of straight lines and square edges. I guess I might be able to even teach the other kids something about infinitely rearangeable configurations and soft, undefined borders.
Maybe I make theories because I'm unwilling to choose a favorite...or because I'm determined to remain open to whatever's around the next corner. I don't have a preferred medium or subject or color. Infinity's too big to limit ourselves in that way.
