As I perused over a blog that was accidentally revealed to me this morning, I began to pursue further a thought that has haunted me since I became intellectually awaken to ponder what it means to be someone, to desire to be someone. This need for individuality that presses us deeply, however briefly at times, confronts us daily. Every day, we chase after choices not only in being, but to be. Then, hat is the connection between the self and space that escapes the eyes, that is profoundly muted for the eyes, even the quickest and sharpest, to apprehend. Space. What’s its function, its role in creating and fashioning who we wake up to be each morning, as well as sleep ourselves into. What’s the becoming of self in space ?
It bewilders me how much of and in us, in complex and banal ways, seek and seize definition in space.
Realism 