Children of Semina

Bastard with beatitude & blastitude INSTAGRAM///children_of_semina ABOMUNISTS JOIN NOTHING BUT THEIR HANDS OR LEGS, OR OTHER SAME. ABOMUNIST SPIT ANTI-POETRY FOR POETIC REASONS AND FRINK. ABOMUNISTS DO NOT LOOK AT PICUTRES PAINTED BY PRESIDENTS AND UNEMPLOYD PRIME MINISTERS. IN TIMES OF NATIONAL PERIL, ABOMUNISTS, AS REALITY AMERICANS, STAND READY TO DRINK THEMSELVES TO DEATH FOR THEIR COUNTRY. ABOMUNISTS DO NOT FEEL PAIN, NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT HURTS. ABOMUNISTS DO NOT USE THE WORD SQUARE EXCEPT WHEN TALKING TO SQUARES. ABOMUNISTS READ NEWSPAPERS ONLY TO ASCERTAIN THEIR ABOMINUBILITY. ABOMUNISTS NEVER CARRY MORE THAN FIFTY DOLLARS IN DEBTS ON THEM. ABOMUNISTS BELIEVE THAT THE SOLUTION OF PROBLEMS OF RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY IS TO HAVE A CATHOLIC CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT AND PROTESTANT CANDIDATE FOR POPE. ABOMUNISTS DO NOT WRITE FOR MONEY; THEY WRITE THE MONEY ITSELF. ABOMUNISTS BELIEVE ONLY WHAT THEY DREAM ONLY AFTER IT COMES TRUE. ABOMUNISTS CHILDREN MUST BE REARED ABOMUNIBLY. ABOMUNIST POETS, CONFIDENT THAT THE NEW LITERARY FORM "FOOT-PRINTISM' HAS FREED THE ARTIST OF OUTMODED RESTRICTIONS, SUCH AS: THE ABILITY TO READ AND WRITE, OR THE DESIRE TO COMMUNICATE, MUST BE PREPARED TO READ THEIR WORK AT DENTAL COLLEGES, EMBALMING SCHOOLS, HOMES FOR UNWED MOTHERS, HOMES FOR WED MOTHERS, INSANE ASYLUMS, USO CANTEENS, KINDERGARTENS, AND COUNTY JAILS. ABOMUNISTS NEVER COMPROMISE THEIR REJECTIONARY PHILOSOPHY. ABOMUNISTS REJECT EVERYTHING EXCEPT SNOWMEN.

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• Tracing spirits

“Untitled (Wife Eleanor)”, 1951 - Harry Callahan

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their grey visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awaking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil.” - Edgar Allan Poe

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• Rituals

‘The defeat of Evil’, Yaracuy state. Sorte mountain. Maria Lionza cult. Venezuela. 2006 - Cristina Garcia Rodero

“This is religion. Voodoo and spells. I want to believe in it, the creams, the rejuvenating lotions, the transparent unguents in vials that slick on like roll-top glue. “Don’t you know what that junk is made of?” Ben said once. “Ground-up cocks’ combs.” But this doesn’t deter me, I’d use anything if it worked – slug juice, toad spit, eye of newt, anything at all to mummify myself, stop the drip drip of time, stay more or less the way I am....." - Margaret Atwood

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• Body I Am. Become My Art Hannah Wilke (March 7, 1940 – January 28, 1993) "So Help Me Hannah, Snatch-shots"

“If women have failed to make "universal" art because we're trapped within the "personal", why not universalise the "personal" and make it the subject of our art?” - Hannah Wilke

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• Men explaining: Girls Girl with a pointy hood and white schoolbag at the curb, N.Y.C., 1957 - Diane Arbus

“We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn’t fathom them at all. We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.” - Jeffrey Eugenides

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• Women in the Axis of Modern Muslim

Qajar series, 1998 - Shadi Ghadirian

"My pictures became a mirror reflecting how I felt: we are stuck between tradition and modernity." - Shadi Ghadirian

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• Touched 

San Salvador, 1998- Antoine d' Agata 

“In the daylight we know what’s gone is gone, but at night it’s different. Nothing gets finished, not dying, not mourning.”       

- Margaret Atwood

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• Rewilding

From the series, ‘Rewilding’, summers of 2009 and 2010 - Cass Bird 

“When the two become the one And the inside outside, the outside in So that the male be not male nor the female female Then will you see me.” 

- Wesley Stace

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 • The Million dollar hotel Slum...& Dream

Mary, Santa Marta, Colombia, 1972 - Danny Lyon    

"...Even if its eyes lay open wide, there is a heart that sleeps inside.....for all hearts dream, they dream only of awakening."

- Wim Wenders "The Million Dollar Hotel" 2001

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• Rhythm of Suffering

Boulder, Colorado graveyard, 1975-1978 - Francesca Woodman

“Don't say mourning. It's too psychoanalytic. I'm not mourning. I'm suffering.”

- Roland Barthes

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• Hayley Newman: Stealth, from the series Connotations Performance Images 1994-1998.

“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.” 

- Audre Lorde

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Cosey Fanni Tutti:

I didn’t want to make any sense out of it, not my sense anyway, because the whole point of the project, was that it was what had made sense to the sex industry. I surrendered myself into that industry to be used as they use any other girl, but I didn’t let them know who I was or anything or why I was doing it, otherwise it would be pointless, because I wouldn’t be treated the same way. What I wanted to reveal was the, the thinking of the industry and how different magazines were for different markets. Like you were saying, magazines are so portable, little pocket-size, so people can potentially have them with them all the time, this gives the industry a head start. What was exciting to me, and what I wanted to show, was the differences and the different kind of varied customer-led images that the publishers wanted, even down to the certain positions, the clothing… You’d get the top end, very glamorous ones, like Men Only and Penthouse, which remove a lot of reality away, so that it becomes very much fantasy. But in a different way to the fantasy of the small pocket-size book that’s in black and white with just a couple of colour pages, more or less ‘Readers Wives’ kind of photographs, as if it was the woman next door and the reader is looking through the keyhole. If that was what they were going for, then they’d bring someone who looked like that in and put you together, to do whatever you do together, you know. So that interested me a lot, very specific.

The language in some of those magazines was sometimes quite shocking. There was one phrase in a magazine I did some work in The Piccadilly. So the whole 80 odd pages were framed up in three frames, a real eye-opener, at the end of one of the magazines and it said ‘Does she stink?’ and then there was like an open crotch shot. To me was just like so insulting and really what they were saying, I mean it was a double meaning obviously, but what they were saying was, ‘Is she any good or is this one better, whichever one you decide we’ll put here in the magazine next month.’ But to see it, ‘Does she stink?’ it was just absolutely horrible, and it wasn’t like the lowest of the lowest genre by any means. 

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• Blood and Rose, Tokyo, 1969 - Shomei Tomatsu

"Dreams, memories, the sacred--they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.” - Yukio Mishima

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• Dennis Hopper in Wim Wenders “Der Amerikanische Freund”,  1977

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••      

I haven't stop listening to the double release of "Endless" and "Blonde/Blond". First listen might not make much sense but give it a chance.It's gauzy, it's spacious, it's fluid, it's textural, complex, crafty, cheeky, but it hits deep & heavy in the most subtle & unexpected ways. I caught myself  :’ (  to these tracks & I was like WTF. I think it's Ocean's open-heartedness & reflection in his beautiful verses, even when he's reminiscing fast rides, cheap sex, Carmelo's ring, Nikes on bitches or his heartbreaks in gay / straight relationships...it all hinges on ruminated longings, sweet nostalgia & urban romanticism.                               

I love this review from The Atlantic, "The payoff of these songs often comes in musical shifts, when melodies turn plaintive and direct as Ocean pivots from describing small momentary details to longterm emotional effect.............his music underscores that Frank Ocean just doesn’t think about time in the same way that the Internet masses who demanded he hurry up with this album do. What are four years next to Forever ?" 

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• Time of Change, 1962 - Bruce Davidson

I will always love you how I do Let go of a prayer for ya Just a sweet word The table is prepared for you ------

Wishing you Godspeed, glory There will be mountains you won't move (Oh-oh-oh) Still I'll always be there for you (Oh-oh-oh) How I do I let go of my claim on you, it's a free world You look down on where you came from sometimes But you'll have this place to call home, always

(This love will keep us still blinded of the eyes Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind)

Until the time...

(This love will keep people blinded of the eyes

Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind)

'Till the time we die...

(This love will keep us still blinded by the eyes

Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind)

Oh-oh, ohhh I'll always love you Until the time we die Oh-oh, ohhh

- Frank Ocean, ‘Godspeed’ via Blonde/Blond 

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• Ghostly statues by Jakub Hadrava at the abandoned church in Czech Republic.

The dark night of the souls.....

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• Untitled, c. 1950s - Zdzisław Beksiński 

.............................

.....Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,     For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;     But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—     The female of the species is more deadly than the male.     Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—     Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.     Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact     To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.    Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,    To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.    Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex    Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!    But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame    Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;    And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,    The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.    She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast    May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.    These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—    She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.    She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great    As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.    And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim    Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.    She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;    Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—    He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,    Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.    Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,    Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,    Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw    And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!    So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer    With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her    Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands    To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.    And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him    Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.    And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,    That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

-  Rudyard Kipling

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• Tale, 1992, Kiki Smith

My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn't the moon warm enough for you why do you need the blanket of another body Whose kiss is moss Around the picnic tables The bright pink hands held sandwiches crumbled by distance. Flies crawl over the sweet instant You know what is in these blankets The trees outside are bending with children shooting guns. Leave them alone. They are playing games of their own. I give water, I give clean crusts Aren't there enough words flowing in your veins to keep you going. - Margaret Atwood