Direction

I woke up this morning and my first thought was:

- My life is going to hell.

On the phone she said:

- You should have thought of that before.

F:

- Don’t save me for another time, I can notice that you do, please use me now.

I find something and then I forget what it was. It’s been long since I’ve made amends with the obvious but I’m overwhelmingly curious of what will happen in the after. So I take the risk.

In the search for ways to make thoughts, objects, and actions unfold, reveal themselves letting us know where we are (who we are, what to do, where to go). Nothing will ever be finished and in that there is comfort and calm.

I’m trying to create systems but then I change my mind in the middle or organizing or I restlessly forget the structure of it. So I live in a chaos with intentions. Every time someone visits me, where I live, where I work, they get overwhelmed and they tell me how I should do. I already know this.

Now: My brain.
Reality: They have been sawing things to pieces outside my window for weeks. They have been drilling holes in the walls forever.

- You seem to do well.
(I have no direction)

(I’m making a mess)

In a food shop specialized on rare foods I found squid ink in half-liter jars. I was attracted to the organic and peculiar substance and that it is the substance of both fear and escape. It’s a pitch black, thick and jam-like sticky texture.

- Why do I always find the key but constantly forget what lock it fits?

//

I visited churches almost every day. I went to see paintings and sculptures but mostly just because they are there, everywhere. Every church is different, decorated with it’s own overloaded style displaying their riches and exquisitely exaggerated ornaments. Their radiant energies of spiritual excess and promised rewards, if devoted, was all very contradictory and confusing. Going to mass, listening to the choirs and watching believers pray I was a tourist of religion, a voyeur of the power of religion. Visiting a room of with that magnitude and slowly letting go of reason the invitation to look inwards for guilt, sins and hopes of redemption is hard to turn down. I had thoughts of forgiveness that I’d never had before, and realized that I had never understood what forgiveness is.
I was a drifter not wanting to get caught, slippery, unreliable and proud of it.

(In another city, at another time.)
Looking for materials I found my way to the weekly Sunday market. It is enormous, filled with everything and nothing. Drawn, as always, to the maladjusted and askew I found a fabric stall run by a strange, comical but friendly, weirdly attractive skinny middle-aged man. He sold bits and pieces of odd materials for change. Some of them with strange prints and most of them obviously discarded from any type of usable field. Probably he got them from a dumpster behind some fabric shop. I made it a habit to visit his stall to hunt for bits of random disabled fabrics.

Why are there so many hills?

I cut his hair, brushing off his dandruff with my hands and we discussed the following:
- Spiritual voyage and mindfulness as excuse and tool in avoiding the burdening of acknowledgement of the fact that you’re middle class, almost middle aged and afraid of compromising your comfort. That time is moving too fast and that nothing will ever be as we wanted / imagined it as.
-Anti-intellectual behavior as refuge for the middle class, as in owning, over renovating apartments, ignorant travelling, complaining about things that doesn’t affect their lives, complaining about meaningless things that does affect their lives.
(eating crisps in bed and then getting upset by the crumbles, which I did just the other night)

He then told me about his project where he had invented a species of bird that doesn’t exist and how he is travelling the world lecturing about the bird.

//

I was searching for a documentary on a female artist.

Reality: I do my best not to alienate people.
Reality: I am seldom very successful in my social projects.

Reality: Her (Then what is it?) (unconditional love) (she is me and I will always disappoint her)
Reality: People looking at me so that I see what they think.

(I never want to travel alone again.)

//
I asked him for a photo of the work and the materials that was to be thrown away.
(I couldn’t afford to ship it all.)

- It was wrapped up in a big plastic sheet and taped together, nothing to see.

I tried my best to make you stick, you did but you didn’t stay.

- I want you.
- I’ve had many and I want more.

-No, thank you! You looked just as I thought you would, but you’re taller. I hope you’ll have a good journey home.
-Haha! Haven’t we met a long time ago? In 2001? I look just the same…
- Do you recognize me from back then?
- Yeah I do, I have a good memory, we talked in the queue for the toilets at a party
- You do have a good memory, where were we?
- At the art school, in one of the smaller rooms.

- I just woke up, I got to think about all the things that have happened since 2001, then I had just started art school. Do you remember what we talked about?
- No not at all.

I will tell you all my secrets.

He came circling in, like a vulture on a fresh carcass, the only exception me not being dead.
He looked me up and down.
- With you, two and a half minutes.

I told him he would be in my work, he said:
- No.

T:

//

Why are we (I) supposed to defend our (my) behavior in a linear way even if our (my) feelings aren’t? Actions transform with time and so our (my) behavior must be considered naturally erratic?

The best way to get one is to give first.
(Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.)

I have a friend. She is an overeater, polyamorous and probably a sex addict, highly sensitive, bipolar, has add, threatening arthritis, always poor but always travelling the world, extrovert talker, a liar, strange dresser, hustling and constantly tangled up in strange dramas but is loving in a childish, fairly psychopathic way. She will probably send me messages until the end of times in the need of favors.

They say that it is impossible to tell a lie without the body exposing that it is with micro expressions.

You know what I want to know.
Tell me now.

Now: Difficulty making conclusions.
Before: Made the wrong conclusions.
Now: Not making any conclusions.

You Should Have Thought of that Before