Friday January 6, 2017
I'm at the southernmost point of Africa, being my southernmost self. Jagged slabs of rock slice the sky so thin I can see right through it. Other worlds become visible, but we don't need them because our rocks are smothered in breathing stars. A few dead jellyfish are here to remind us what blue is with their defeated tentacles, but blue is no longer the color I thought it was. The landscape is unfamiliar but I let my body read it and they seem to have a secret code of their own, one of windy gestures, sandy steps and cloudy breaths.
P. P. P.
Ahora: retomo el pie forzado original de este archivo digital - documentar mi práctica diaria de movimiento en la orilla en 100 palabras