hope that is seen, is not hope.

…stack, stack, stacking. getting mine through persistence of vision and heavy lifting. repetition, re-doubling, rhythm as rhyme. stereo sight, dual flight, embodied allusion.

when is a line not a path, an organ more than a space, ceremonial rites not territorial rights? a local global south carried along web waves, flowing streams, diverting waters from oceans of canon.

…told me taking pictures was imprisoning souls, that to pack without unpacking, boy ain’t no better than collecting trophies, encasing pixels, no harmony in sight, in a theater of invisibility.

always thought there was a difference between making and goddamning, ‘cept when macking is no more than pimping, connecting homies who pass around bodies of work for those who can pay.