Flow is not always a gentle, politely bubbly stream that caresses glassy stones and bounces tender flowers in its clear waters.
Sometimes flow is frothing waves, crashing onto splintered sand, forcing submission, before retreating to gather more strength for its next assault.
Sometimes flow is frothing waves, crashing onto splintered sand, forcing submission, before retreating to gather more strength for its next assault.
Flow isn't always clear waters.
Sometimes flow is waste spilled out into the water that ripples outwards, painting it smelly and bubbly and slimy.
Sometimes flow is waste spilled out into the water that ripples outwards, painting it smelly and bubbly and slimy.
Sometimes flow is velocity.
But flow can also be careless.
But flow can also be careless.
Flow can be fun.
Flow can be frightening.
Flow can be frightening.
Flow is often exhausting.
There is never stillness.
Never.
There is never stillness.
Never.
unroll @threadreaderapp
