Phantasmic, Robyn W.

I come from a long line of caretakers, those that would sit with empathy and restraint. Concoctions and elixirs emerge from generations to spring forth a balance. Hands to provide, words to encourage and nurture. These motions to cure the ones we love with a heart pulled in every possible direction. We are supposed to be strong, to lay vigilant in darkness, acutely aware of the rise and fall of a chest. A flowchart of questions and answers from light to dark, monitoring, regulating.

New systems and rituals slowly begin to fold over within themselves, creeping within your daily life. This is what it has become? Months of visual consumption, what to do, what to watch out for, and all of a sudden it was here.

How do you begin to prepare for the unknown expedition you are about to embark on? With fearful trepidation? Like some modern dark horse, I try to provide while balancing my own life on a tray. This too is important, for there is much at stake.

Existence trembles through the alarm, phantasmic.

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