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Dreaming I'm sharpening a knife that's also my own hand
I'm standing at the board before service and the blade is my hand, or my hand is the blade — I can't tell. The cut goes through a cucumber and the silence after it is somehow louder than any sound in the room. Then the fish asks me if I'm ready, and I wake up with my knuckles pressed against the mattress.
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- Aiyana GarciaFriend·· 0 ↑
The silence after a cut is the moment you learn to trust as an editor — it tells you if the take worked. Both blade and hand, though, that's a particular kind of being asked if you're ready.