Glory

I'm so fucking tired. I need rest. I need a slow feast with friends. I need to not be occupied by bullshit. Our hope is to return. One needs to be well rested to ponder. Otherwise you just slide on the surface. One more week. Our hope is to return. Freedom, the stopping of history. Raised fist, a victorious feeling. I write this on a toilet.

Listing my TBR! Italicised books I own. Last updated - 26 July 2023. Current total - 88.

Czytaj dalej

journal entry from the road, 1AM 13.08.2023, Istria, Croatia.

Inspired by Keren Cytter’s „White Diaries” I’m launching an irregular series of journal entries from the road (I am on the road pretty much the whole time, since last June). May these entries contribute to my monography or at least to my graduation movie.

I’m in amok. For the most of the day I’ve been in amok. I’ve been calling my friends frantically, talking with them about my next, September journey. Planning things isn’t as exciting as it used to be. Today I’ve committed a faux pas. I gave in to my inner greedy goblin. My friend Joffroy told me that he’s got a spot for a vintage near Lyon. I, blinded by vision of being 1800 euros richer enthusiastically signed up, even tho I’ve dropped out of it almost a month ago. Five minutes before that I’ve been bitching to my parents that I feel like I’m being fucked over by my friends, cause I try to make everyone feel good and combine their busy calendars with my urge to go to Latvia to see art and drop acid and whatever else do nomadic art students do when they don’t attend universities. As soon as I announced my decision to leave for a vintage in France, to my Latvian crew they got angry, rightfully. I lacked empathy for my koibito, since we wouldn’t see each other for over 4 months and I didn’t even tell them in a separate call or message bout that. They told me they felt very sad. They were right, it was too sudden, but I was in amok, just today W420’s aunt told us she wouldn’t be hosting us in Berlin, which derailed our summer plans for 7th or 8th time. I took the occasion as it happened, but than I reflected on it realized I could’ve done it more smoothly. I apologized, we sent each others some music we found, it’s better now. Mediatized communication sucks ass. Tomorrow I’m gonna text my koibito I got kicked out anyway since I can’t work for the whole duration of the vintage (that’s 100% true). We’re gonna go to Riga. My parents told Riga is cheap and cool. I don’t have a joint like Cytter does in her diaries, but maybe for the better? It would hurt my lungs and I would get stoned too much, I have weak tolerance. I’m currently living in something that resembles a very luxurious refugee camp, with almost no POC, only rich, white german kids. Imagine 2000 people in tents and vans, crowded, laying almost on another with pitches among those little 5 meter pines. All the way from the mountain to the sea. My dog is getting mad over people walking near the tent. Swimming has cleared my mind. Deep blue of sea depths does its job. I need to sit down and write down some of my research notes for my new movie. I’m gonna build a dirty video mixer. Hopefully with my koibito, we’re gonna play something together. Soon I’m gonna write an analysis about “Parable of the Sower” by Octavia Butler and “Diamond Age” by Neal Stephenson with their implications for further research and my upcoming movie. The landscape is very cowboy here. It’s dry, cut in half with a big road. It’s very sharp and high resolution, like a photo taken on a quality color film. With colors so bright it deceives you at first, that it wasn’t taken on a Texaco station in 1985. This is a landscape Rango wanted to die in.

"Don't let the little fuckers generation gap you" ~ William Gibson, "Neuromancer"

8 May 2013

there is no going back, run with the railroad

Bra Cam wearable interactive art installation (sousveillance art) that reverses the ‘male gaze’ of surveillance by resituating a pair of surveillance cameras as two wearable wireless webcams. | 2001

Thinking more about Mech dysphoria today.

Stepping out of your cockpit and stumbling because you don't have the right number of legs.

Blinking your eyes out of sync because you don't have the right number anymore, don't have access to on board cameras the way you're supposed to.

Struggling to grab and pick things up because you have the wrong number of fingers.

Failing to recognize your face in the mirror without layers of armor plating over it.

Feeling like a brain pulled from its body and forced to function independently.

If I can add to this, I have been working on this theme quite recently, and actually made a movie around it (not only). Reclamation of the diaspora, but a nomadic diaspora. A widespread community of dancers, forging future with movement (through borders and choreography). Ofc a lot of personal stuff too. Watch it, support your trans yid sister. English subtitles are there.

as a Jew I find the antisemitic trope of the Wandering Jew endlessly fascinating and there’s a version of it that lives rent free in my head that I can’t get out

because yes, we have been cursed—not by G-d, but by man; not for anything we’ve done, but for libel against us—and the curse antisemites have forced on us is that we must wander forever. we don’t get a home, here or there. we aren’t allowed to put down roots in diaspora, but we aren’t allowed to return either; regardless of which we do, the nations try to drive us out and impose their sentence on us: you must wander some more

there is a deconstructed version of the Wandering Jew that I want to reclaim, not as a testament to our sin but as a witness to the nations’, how they’ve treated the wanderer in their midst. on some level, a witness to how the nations treat all wanderers: Jew, Roma, bedouin. but ultimately, a testament to the libel & persecution we as Jews have endured & persevere through

this Wandering Jew is a weary old immortal forced to wander by hatred that goes before him through the nations, who has seen those nations come and go, empires rise and fall, and bears witness to our plight through every one, waiting for injustice to be righted so he can finally rest

"Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow" ~ Joanna Newsom