I climbed into a time capsule. Inside: three thought-scraps — where Trick & Care comes from, what it is right now, and where it might still want to go.
It did not start as a framework. Frameworks have corners. This started as a suspicious feeling in a room full of people nodding.
The trick came from Dada. The care came from watching what happens when you leave someone alone in the disruption — the particular silence after a good shove. At some point the two impulses had a rendezvous in me. I was not consulted.
Mid-becoming. The curiosity box grew legs and started walking into rooms before I arrived. It is turning into a posture — something that runs even when no urge is tempting.
In a conversation. In the sentence that stops before it explains too much. In the moment I notice I am standing beside the situation, mildly delighted, holding nothing.
The transition is on the way. It has not asked for a timeline.
Imagine a world where Trick & Care needs no explanation. Where cracking without harming is a basic life skill, like parallel parking. Where care is not read as weakness and tricks are not read as manipulation.
Not a forecast. A direction. The yolk has nowhere to be. But someone younger is already humming.