The thing is we can snow our little moments out into the world uncritically, but in exchange we’ll only receive the nearly inaudible hum we’ve sent out, returning like a bland echo.

Shouldn’t we measure our moments? Gauge their affective charge, release only those with measurable voltage?

Yet context is always involved, is always outside you the artist, is always a powerful determinant of experience, of affect. Context is the wild card. You can never tell what life or what kind of day someone steps up to your moment from.  

All these little moments can’t be special. The trick is recognizing and choosing the ones that are.