Birds Fly Pixelated

As things fall apart, we undergo the dreamlike logic of unbecoming.

We are no longer who we were, and it’s confusing. We suffer a displacement of time, memory and feelings. Our routines, their rhythm usually so soothing; have become irregular and disruptive. Confrontation and frustration are now the norm, and we are left with loneliness, demons and traces of who we were.

Our unbecoming does not have a plausible beginning; it feels like it’s been going on forever, and maybe it has. The process (as there is no product) proceeds in distinct movements, and no one is immune to this happening – it is the price of life.