And somewhere, in the bent light at that other edge of your named arc, you look toward the camera lens as the breeze traces your freckled face and you smile. The split second shutter-click a prelude to polyrhythmic projection. You cannot imagine the things you will…

I grew up in a family that valued work.  Idle hands were not so much the devil’s workshop (as may well have been true for my more distant ancestors on both sides of my immediate family) but were simply unimaginable. Why would you choose to be lazy when there was…