you love the most regular parts of your favorite person, normalcy in running to your favorite place,

to remember them well

disoriented by their absence when they are gone, the mysterious parts of death.

Because it happens a lot

Because it’s blocked

Because we gotta keep going

Missed calls and you make it a point to say “I love you,” apologize, make shit good

we obliviously walk into lasts without knowing

Best we can do is let tendencies grow from those lasts

Why can’t we maintain togetherness without death?

R.I.P. 

Cuca, Gucci, Mush, P, Catalina, Hunter, Rocky, Leo 

Once a month for the last four months, about a week or two prior to post date we start a conversation sounding like one of us gave the other random adjectives and feelings for a Mad Lib. Especially now, we wish we knew what the perfect thing to give was; calculated relevancy has never been a strong suit, we can never seem to know what we are even making until we start moving, and we only really know how to move a specific way. Making art feels stupid when the world is going to shit and half of us are frantically applying for relief funds using the language to express love for a craft but really just trying to pay rent. When we choose it, the practice brings us back to the better parts of ourselves, alleviating the tension maybe for just a few of the big uncertainties of right now. It’s comical the way every month has presented itself to us. We really wouldn’t be able to “play”/make these deadlines, which is why we wanted to focus on the moving parts more than the finale.