I want to be a bag. A basket with a large opening to allow your expansion. A basket with holes to allow your spores fall out along the way and grow back, to allow affection pass through. I want to be a pocket with holes to get rid of all the coins.

I saw you weaving. Would you weave with me? We would weave with love and angry other ways of doing and thinking.

I would be a bag to hold worlds without heroes like those from
a bag woven with new stories. Then I would introduce myself as a heroine, because no story could begin without me. I would offend all heroes by telling them that they would be nothing without me, that they would die of thirst within a few hours, that they would lose all their things along the way, that they would not be able to carry their weapons.

I am not a hunter, I am not hard as granite. I am rather soft, a bag that takes the form of a mass that has no shape except that of its container.
No one would dare to leave without me because I was here from the beginning.
I would be container where I could grow worlds like Octavia Butttler's. Give me water. I would be bag if that way I could gather forever with you, to become-with you.
I would like to be a place. A place where we could expand us, reach every corner. A forgotten angle from where we could protrude, overflow and drip.

Listen to the whispers coming out of the earth, to the sound of thoughts in a state of fermentation, intuit its consequences: theories can change the state of matter.

“Theorizing, a form of experimenting, is about being in Touch. What keeps theories alive and lively is being responsible and responsive to the world’s patterns and murmurings. Doing theory requires being opening to the world’s aliveness, allowing oneself to be lured by curiosity, surprise, and wonder. [..] Theories are living and breathing reconfiguring’s of the world”.