a picture-infested world
I’m living in a picture-infested world. Usually not even recognizing them as pictures.
Some pictures start as events, then quickly become morphing memories; others start as an invention, often from mixing memories.
Stories flow from pictures. Stories are critters we are less apt to recognize for their origins and nature.
We have mini-stories we carry around with us: metaphors. These swarm about us, enwrapping body, soul, and mind.
Do we see anymore? Curious, could we?
:- Doug.
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