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Arachtober 28th. A juvenile Araneus diadematus with a beautiful pristine web, all set up for the night.
The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.
-Pablo Picasso-
The human world runs on a whole set of tacit agreements that things are not what they are.
Like this myth of solidity. Nothing is solid. We're all just collections of molecules in motion.
Oh, sure, some of those molecules are packed really tightly. Like the ones in steel. And yes, as per those tacit agreements, we perceive one another... and everything around us... as a disparate collection of unique individuals.
We're not. We're all just clumps of molecules, floating around in a vast soupy stew, shedding bits of ourselves along the way... ingesting bits of others... setting off various chemical reactions and swimming in the consequences.
Or... as the case may be... drowning in them. Suffocating... as the lumps break down and the broth becomes, day by day, more and more homogenous.