Written by Kristoffer Ehrnström Lundqvist Bey

An etheric intent proceeds the wholeness. A proto-world formulated in iridescent forests and seas. Love must be the first word; love that begins every evolutionary movement. The letters are lining up; trees sprawling undoubtedly out of winter like words to a blank page. The birds blossoming towards truth. Beauty condensed to an adjective. Curiosity like a progressive verb. Something is causing me. My knees my ears. A pen is writing me like a post in a predictive journal. All that is written becomes the world, all roads allude to meaning.


All matter is feminine you say. That's why the river doesn't fall into pieces. That's why the sentences bend around the restrictions of sight, quietly around the corner of every perceptual river valley. If I could love you more you say, the forest would have tumbled into water, the trees lined up on their utter decorum and struck root underneath the edge of the surface; transforming the inner of all rivers to nourishment and forsaken photosynthesis as an outdated system. If I could have loved you more you say, the heavens would have inverted and the moon taken circuit around your torso, collecting all the greens like an infant accumulates the potential in its parent's attention. If I could have loved you more you say, I would never have loved you the way I do now. If I could have seen past every curve of the valley I never would have been here, now, in the middle of my lyrics, in the space between mass and the fading body of light. If I could have loved you more, you say, you would have stopped being you and drifted into us.


The narrative of nature drives the story forward independently; characters dissolved; only scenes are lucid, repetitions. Patterns we inherit from actions of forefathers; all these choices that walk through me, the bodywork of thought. My perceptual empathy inherited. The mind is soft on the ripples of blood. What the confusion tells of my participation of presence. I mirror my estate as love over will is the only law. My steps desire tenderness, my heels along the face of Amma Creator.


Every motion is a social contract you say. That's why nature is perfect in her imperfection. That's why every tree is aware of the conditions even before branches, bark and flowering drops are concentrated into cell level and emitted by wind in drifts of thin birch seeds. That is why the stone is under your custody every time you kick it from its rest.