Was it sudden.
It felt sudden, the change was sudden, as it was to soon to be realized.
Was moist. Tingle sensation, can’t never be ignored. There is an accepting feel of hold. It beds you. The friction is receiving. It comes in variation of textures, can’t describe at whole. It changes.
Is defined, the now feels to clear and dry. Flat, horizontal, opaque. In contact, the opposition was more felt. Laying against or on-top. The pulling of gravity becomes more prominent. Now nothing absorbs, it resists, yet maintain.
The soil makes me rooted. Belonged, in constant adaptation. Nurture the given. The concrete directs. Emphasizes the horizontal, and ones standing. Somehow the discomfort forces a constant movement and a readjustment that can’t be found. A linear growth.
I was a branch, in to be or come to thousands of possible leaves. This grounding, nothing grows, but rather moves on, in direction of a different axis. It goes left or
right, not under or above possibilities. The nature of the grounding of, maps everything we move and perceive.
I was 7 when we moved to Jakarta. Roads were in direction and paved. Getting anywhere was faster. Everything was organized, the map was given. In direction, are at ease in pre-navigation. Everything was known and at phase.
I missed being bare. The moist changing soil. It was definitely slower, as direction are unknown, within multiplicity’s of growth. Like branches and roots at constant growth, knowing nowhere to be found. I missed the falling twigs and trees at the very random places felt between my toes, at the edge of my heels. The staining of dirt of the from.
The roads shows, wheels and maps for me in direction, expectancy to move. Streets are named, where a places addresses specificity of a location, belonging to a certain entity. Limiting the imaginary nowhere or somewhere to become.
I want to go nowhere. There is no longer a nowhere, if everything has been addressed.
Theres is no between within a road and off-road, a paved grounding versus a earthen soil, there is no half and half. Or maybe there is?.
The in between are these noticing. The noticing are the betweens. The change. The remembering, of what it used to be and the now
I may have mentioned to often, perhaps. There only can be in-between, if there is an opposition. A comparison? A change? a difference, a space. A space of change. More than one thing. A sense of time. A recognition or noticing of something.
‘Between’ articulates a divided world that is already carved at the joints. It is a bridge, a hinge, a connection, an attraction of opposites, a link in a chain, a double-headed arrow that points at once to this and that.
‘In-between’, by contrast, is a movement of generation and dissolution in a world of becoming where things are not yet given – such that they might then be joined up – but on the way to being given. It is an interstitial differentiation, a fission/ fusion reaction, a winding and unwinding, inhalation and exhalation, flowing one way in a direction orthogonal to the double arrow of between but with no final destination. Between has two terminals, in-between has none. Any movement in the between, like the undergoing that is framed in doing or the growing framed in making, is merely from here to there, from an initial to a final state. In the in-between, however, movement is the primary and ongoing condition. Where between is liminal, in-between is arterial; where between is intermediate, in-between is midstream. And the in-between is the realm of the life of lines.