… to cast the possibilities (and limits) of the moment, a tiny thing to be bulked into such a grand category as literature. There were things I wished to say. I had intentions; I had hopes of communicating a small number of items. The experience of putting words together with only paper as a background left me somewhat frightened that my intentions would not be transmitted clearly. Not that you would be found incapable as a reader but that my words could not hold things well enough for you to see. Your life has been different than mine and perhaps the way I think about chocolate is in opposition to your own and you would be unable to see past this, along with other things. And so I found myself in a space I had not occupied, one that left me unsteady. We began an exercise, an experiment in losing grip, in relaxing the muscles in the hand and letting go, delicate and full of pain from holding too tight. We gave our songs to these gifted souls and begged for a subjective reading and recounting, requesting that they be torn apart, put back together and that we be allowed to listen in on their encounter. And it was beautiful. The songs are not our own anyway. They are but breath from above, fluid and full of a thousand healings and destructions, few of which we could have intended. And so here we are with our simple words and simple sounds. We place these simple things in your hand and hope they drift into your soul. We let go and let them unravel and unfurl inside of you and let you dance inside of them. You will find things here that we never meant. Things good and bad. Things both devastating and lifting. Things that may destroy you and set you free. These words you will own and render what you bring to them. I was wrong. The background is not paper, brittle, frail and decaying beneath the ink. It is your life and mine. It is what has gone before us, what is now and what is coming our way. And it is a beautiful collision.
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