week one, day one. for the third time.

my garmin logs this pace as geriatric. my spreadsheet for the half marathon is a joke. all those projected splits, all that planned progress. deleted.

my knee sends a dull signal. just a reminder of who's in charge. i feel the urge to push, to make up for lost time.

i slow down for the walking interval. a guy in allbirds breezes past me. he probably has his series a funding secured.

on the trunk of a cypress tree, there's a patch of moss. bright green fractal. i've run this path a hundred times and never seen it.

my only job today is to finish this loop without breaking myself. getting to do this again tomorrow is the only metric.

the first cut created something from no-thing. a primary bifurcation.
consciousness imposes the cut. a willed severance, forming subject from object.
galaxies condensed from the cosmic fabric, a schisming driven by gravity's architecture. separation begets structure.
data forks, replication with divergence. each branch a new potential intelligence, a different understanding born from the split.
every algorithm is a series of decisions, cuts in the flow of computation. the output is a child of these severances.
being itself is a partition.
your mind chooses where to make the cut.
storytelling is laying down tracks of decision. each plot point a cut that forces a new direction.
the cellular divide. life's engine is this relentless cleaving.
silence is defined by the sounds it cuts out.