Its coming back to me. I wont forget the times Jerome and I stood out in our small highway, chatting about new shows coming up, bits of tea between artists or friends of friends around us, kanye, whats been catching our eye or whats been annoying us, sometimes with a bowl of ice in my hand, clinging onto these shared feelings and joint thought not wanting to retreat back into our rooms for the sake of our conversation. I won’t forget the times we chop it up standing never in our door frames, but out in the kitchen or living room, sharing bits of knowledge and jokes, its so special how much itches the both of us, knowing how much different also calls to us and gets our attentions. This is my brother. This is my business partner. This is Living Skin for life, and the distain or fear of intimacy he holds, or maybe I blame upon him, I now love and declare such a beautiful part of our push and pull as friends and thought partners. I don’t know when the next friend such as him will come into my life. I don’t know when I’ll be as vulnerable and ready to move as when I was when I met him. I won’t forget this exact distinct moment, of remembering working on the lunchables experience in my brooklyn apartment / loft, working with sound and imagery, and specifically the image of jerome covering his own eyes, facing slightly towards the door but also to where the projector was shot, me standing in the kitchen, might have even been recording him. But this moment, taking turns blindfolded, exercising design, working through experiences and movements that we could share with others. This is but a small love letter to our bond, our strange, strange bond. Lots more to be said. But as many things seem to be between us, may be better unsaid.

Its coming back, talking also to Nate. A friend close in proximity to my more telling days in Boston. Not the most formative, but telling of my true natural, which I may have ignored in certain years or times in the bulk of those Boston days. Reminiscing walking down mass ave in the evening, the craziness of having lived with George and Teti. Working with hannah as a social media team. Name dropping symphony folk we may have forgotten about. Diving back into certain current landscapes in fashion, arts, music, culture.

Its coming back, sitting at a lecture of basketball’s influence on certain answers to political life, its meanings. Seeing CBC, or seeing Herb and Lu, hearing again of their comings into what CBC is now, their relations with the club, helping me relive mine. Of why I joined, felt called to enlist in the first place, of what relations and parallels I saw in myself in them, and what eventually left us to deviate. Having the opportunity to honestly challenge my own budding, passionate beliefs about the conflict of competition vs community, while hoping to potentially agree to disagree. More said in previous note. I tagged the instagram story, herb and lu, as I genuinely saw the night as a reflection of them, more than a reflection of the state of CBC. Strange, as I still equate the dna and heartbeat of CBC as herb and lu, though these touching, serious thoughts and explanations of what CBC now is, feels ingenuine to my current understanding of it. Whats special is that in this talk, in sitting through extra bits of history of who lu and herb are, how they grew up, it was almost as if i met them again for the first time, seeing their vision in fresh light, their opening into cbc, as new and understandable again as it once was, from a virgin mind. This retreat and reintroduction to, possibly the best and most critical parts of it, truly affected me. i remember being activated, responding truly wholeheartedly to conversation, offerings, shared moments, ideas from friends, with clarity and personal stake, a feelins vacant for what has felt for so long. This very, very small re-awakening, hard to not acknowledge or celebrate, happened sitting in the mid-right 3-seat section of NYU Film Cantor Hall.

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These words, a setting for recollection and appreciation for a slow reclaiming of my own heart. Let it flow naturally and undecidedly. This feeling of flow, what I have been so desperately missing, and has now been called out in the darkness of night, a place I believed would no longer birth new wanted thought in my life. Let no mistake be made, the hunger and focus for passion, one defined by a slight upwards, squinted gaze, slightly pursed lips and overbite; I understand the gaze of the people will both never be as deep and piercing as mine, while also will be and potentially more than mine, I let these acknowledgements flow. Sit thankful for them. Do not push it anymore. Preserve flow. Preserve chi.