Sensing the day, shaking out the sound and pinning it down to colour. These visions circle and sprint from the corners of my eyes into the center. Every vibration swallows my chest and creates a sensation that peels back my skin and sits quietly behind my eyes. I am overwhelmed with each piece that calls my attention, every curled wing of thought that bends my senses. It’s like falling upwards into the pitch of a stranger, into the lyrical honey that spills from lips that burr and blunder over words. Each story unravels linear and the landscape pulls me in, covers me in tingles, and includes me in the process. It’s not possible to be separate. I am woven into the environment, piled on, described in sequence, envisioned unintentionally. The blocks are useful when I need to focus and I am successful in dampening the affect but temporarily. My ears are receptors, transformers, pouring light and colour into everything. Even closed, underwater, it finds me. I am living in a painted world, invisible shapes from sound, waves that lap at my feet, caress my skin with a story line that is rarely my own. Even the sound of the keyboard dances in my mind, soft clicks polishing space.