Here I sit in booth 3. My coffee is hot. outside, it rains gently. A cozy scene. This diner reminds me of other diners i have been in before. The seats are the most comfortable I have experienced... and the ambiance, perfect... What exists here for me, in this diner? What might this space be sympathetic to? *someone stacks plates, making a sound* *a sip of coffee* Dan, I have been thinking recently about many things... all of them related somehow, yet putting them to paper, as here, stumps me. As I sit here drinking coffee, I see versions of you in the booth behind me, and infront of me. We don't sit together, yet, but enjoy each other's presence. What note do I wish to write here, which you may come visit in my stasis? Will it add to booth 2, or booth 4? Or will it be a new portal? Opening booth 3 as a setting for discussion? How deep does booth 3 go? What do I hold which might cause the table to drop away, the seats to slide back and the space of the booth to expand? Or what might i write which sets the table? What might I write which delivers a hot meal to the booth, a warming and comforting dish? Do i scribble on a napkin? Do i turn the menu into a story? What is around us that we might respond to? The entire universe moves without you or i. The foundational notions of physics. The weight of a physical thing propells it through space. A tree growing, perhaps, or a river, flows. Human agency, transforms. And then, over time, the world of objects and things. Of things shaped with intention--shaped in order to be somthing. They push and pull on one another. Lives are spent moving things around. Rules are written to move them. The things around us, each with their own pace, their own balance of rest and movement. I can reach and intervene. But for what purpose? What does that intervetion in the glimmering path of a material thing pursue? And how significant is the redirection? What energy exists there already, what does it say? Taylor (Pasadena, November 7, 8:25am) booth 3 feels ponderous, open, available, celestial. somehow, writing here stumps me as well. what is this space, this booth, this diner? I think we're finding this together, seeing what emerges, and what is allowed. either much time has passed, or none has, from the perspective of the reader, who might jump from booth to booth, or from note to note. thankfully, this place holds a kind of fixity: is continuously present, even if we may have changed, grown half a year older. Dan (Brooklyn, 06/04/24, 1:40am)