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0.01: desert dreaming

“Night poured over the desert. It came suddenly, in purple. In the clear air, the stars drilled down out of the sky, reminding any thoughtful watcher that it is in the deserts and high places that religions are generated. When men see nothing but bottomless infinity over their heads they have always had a driving and desperate urge to find someone to put in the way.” ― Terry Pratchett , Jingo


Home is where the sun is blinding, where sand clings to the soles of my feet, and where hot air wraps itself around my eyelids. Thank the universe for air conditioning and indoor living, right???

(Visual representation of me in the summer. Heat Stroke is REAL!)

I don't spend enough time in open desert. Desert X, a reoccurring art exhibition spanning across the entire Coachella Valley brought me back face to face with it. There is something so alien, yet incredibly familiar about walking in sand. It feels like it stretches out forever, like every step warps time just a little bit. It's kind of isolating. Kind of soul bearing.

And I guess that's what the open desert symbolizes to me. It's confronting the pieces of your soul that have always been alone, always buried beneath your bones, eroded by flesh and blood but never really gone.

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