A rediscovered garage on a city street sent me spiralling into questions of agency and sentience. Does a building act? Can a doorway want to return? Somewhere between “mashed potato and fuck you”, I found a reminder that words shape how we meet the living world — and sometimes, how the world meets us back.

There is no distance. Not between us, not between our past and future selves, not between the living world and the spirits that shape it. Floods, mycelium, and city corners all reveal the same thing: connection isn’t made, it’s recognized. What looks like empty space is already alive with relationship.

Pacific gull circling the city at sunset Yesterday, I watched a Pacific Gull circle the taller buildings of the CBD ('central business...