Amazing how 30 years from now they will be the same, or recognizable at least. Bigger, more defined. But the form will remain. The four pools of creased skin will evaporate and then bones will push up, like buffered horns, stopping before they break the surface. Oh, they may be used to break other surfaces… faces… walls.
The smooth puffs between these pools will sink by then and reveal a lattice when the webbing is spread out taunt. Lines all over, more articulated with age.
But for now they remain soft. Folded like sand colored crabs that scurry sideways between waves. Legs jointed at intervals recalling perfect mathematical relationships. The undersides are carved, inscribed. They come out that way. With inerasable patterns, augmented by repetitious motion, by tenuous stillness, never the less a testimony to heredity, individuality. Inked and pressed to paper, they could provide traceability.
All things change with time. The most curious things are those patterns that remain recognizable, if not static. I am more interested in the territories the lines carve out. What will emerge from those spaces, and why?