Oomph Soup
2024~
NOT ACHIEVEMENT
NOT LEGACY
Nature means everything, and nothing
The contract is for the ideas of openings and birth, not to raise any one of them.
I have walked through forests that made me want to kneel down and ask the mud, why beauty, why grotesque. Why show up just to disappear. Why wrap the most fragile thing in a perfection it never asked for. You graft a branch and suddenly nature blooms in confusion. But ask a person to carry a paradox for more than an hour, forget days, and the floor starts to shift. We panic, demand control, scream freedom, crumble like a pastry on a summer window ledge.
Mind is a human construct. So are bodies. The wave thinks it is the ocean. That without it, the sea would be characterless. But a thousand waves come and go, never the same, never exhausted, never remembered. The giant soup of ocean spins them out like thread from the first breath of time to the last.
And that, that potential, is the real story. The story before stories. The breath before breath. The form before form. I long for that raw condition, life not yet life. Potential makes things sacred. Not achievement. Not legacy.
‘Oomph Soup’ is not about shaping something. The energy of this series is devoted to the idea of shapelessness at the moment. Not because of any rejection, but because it is limitless, now. It contains the summation of all shapes, and no shape is special or distinct enough to become the crown jewel of all shapes. And that, that is the point.
The music is still arrested in the instrument, and the instrument is arrested in the woods. The woods have no intentions of preferring any social kind of music.
Becoming. That is the first mother. And maybe the last.
By the way, did you notice. I just killed the potential of this write by writing it. And that is the pity of agency. In praising potential, in trying to harvest it, I butchered the very gist of feeling, of potential. The soup is spilled. And maybe that is good. Because there will be more and more soup. And nothing ever really came out of the spilled one. All I can hope is that the next soup, too, is treated with the same carelessness.
That is my promise.
Oomph Soup
2024~
NOT ACHIEVEMENT
NOT LEGACY
Nature means everything, and nothing
The contract is for the ideas of openings and birth, not to raise any one of them.
I have walked through forests that made me want to kneel down and ask the mud, why beauty, why grotesque. Why show up just to disappear. Why wrap the most fragile thing in a perfection it never asked for. You graft a branch and suddenly nature blooms in confusion. But ask a person to carry a paradox for more than an hour, forget days, and the floor starts to shift. We panic, demand control, scream freedom, crumble like a pastry on a summer window ledge.
Mind is a human construct. So are bodies. The wave thinks it is the ocean. That without it, the sea would be characterless. But a thousand waves come and go, never the same, never exhausted, never remembered. The giant soup of ocean spins them out like thread from the first breath of time to the last.
And that, that potential, is the real story. The story before stories. The breath before breath. The form before form. I long for that raw condition, life not yet life. Potential makes things sacred. Not achievement. Not legacy.
‘Oomph Soup’ is not about shaping something. The energy of this series is devoted to the idea of shapelessness at the moment. Not because of any rejection, but because it is limitless, now. It contains the summation of all shapes, and no shape is special or distinct enough to become the crown jewel of all shapes. And that, that is the point.
The music is still arrested in the instrument, and the instrument is arrested in the woods. The woods have no intentions of preferring any social kind of music.
Becoming. That is the first mother. And maybe the last.
By the way, did you notice. I just killed the potential of this write by writing it. And that is the pity of agency. In praising potential, in trying to harvest it, I butchered the very gist of feeling, of potential. The soup is spilled. And maybe that is good. Because there will be more and more soup. And nothing ever really came out of the spilled one. All I can hope is that the next soup, too, is treated with the same carelessness.
That is my promise.