On Finding ‘Home’

I am obsessed with moments of arrival. Perhaps it's to do with being a rabid (and failed) perfectionist, but I want to crawl inside such moments, pull them over my eyes, inhabit them. I want to be 'done', to be 'there'. Such┬ámoments are illusory. They dissolve at our touch, only to cite the next sequence … Continue reading On Finding ‘Home’