@heretodayblog - Tumblr Blog

Try it...

An Egyptian programmer created a page dedicated to every Palestinian soul killed by the occupation during the war of extermination in #Gaza.. So far, he has registered 72,000 names.

Each point of light on the screen represents the name of a martyr, and when it is clicked, the name of the person it belongs to appears.

The link is in the first reblog :

A memorial for the 60,199 Palestinian victims of the Israeli genocide in Gaza. Each dot is a name. Each name was a life.

sometimes summer is just one day meaning there is just a single slow, thick and heavy-sweet where there is no fear no haste no panicked moulting bird in my ribcage and nothing to do and things unfold naturally and sometimes there is just one hour-heavy lashes sun flickering dots sweet smells no pain- and for now that has got to be enough licking every last drop soaked and nurtured by achronological time. Reminder. Nothing happens. Everything happens everywhere all at once. There is no you there is only perceiving , rearranging, becoming.

I welcome, I’m inviting in, I surrender, I’m made a new in the dialogue between memory, vocabulary and symbolism. skin> sun drenched granite > peeling paint> salt water> soft soil, pines, owl, possibility.

#heatwave #androgyny #estrogen #visual diary #diary #chronic pain #innergrowthoutersilence

jueki

Strawberry Shortcakes 2006 ‘ストロベリーショートケイクス’ Directed by Hitoshi Yazaki

heretodayblog

1. random chat /only text and drawing based

2. contract to mutual commitment to listening

> digital pen pal network platform

I see less and less sense in showing my work in traditional art spaces , as it can or should neither be bought nor can it truly be felt if someone doesn’t rely on it with the hunger of a starving heart.

I see myself trying less and less, I find it so fun to be seen as interchangeably an amateur, failing at a mysterious persona, scatterbrained etc. etc.

In German there’s the concept of Basteln (transl. maybe Arts and crafts) which has been used in the past towards me in condescension but which I’m beginning to embrace, even wear with pride.

The beauty in this is that not only the concept or idea manifest in the end product/ art work but also the messy coming into being of an idea, a testament to the resources, spoons, capacities at that moment. No collaborators, no significant funding, no commission ( this has made my work worse) . Ironically, I find that the bigger and more elaborate the realization of a work becomes , the more it gets lost in translation, cause it can hide itself behind citation, aesthetic and literary and technological splendour .

I for myself, have little time, in many meanings of that word, I am young, I am fatigued, in pain, trying to care out every minuscule ounce of energy out of my foggy mind with almost obsessive, compulsive, devoted repetition. As to be expected, it shows. It shows in copy pasted code , smudged notes, traces of where my hands touched material, last minute changes and adaptions, frenetically stumbled explanations.

Is explanation not a luxury , is shared time , time committed solely to the becoming of an object/ a work, not a gift? A testament of trying. I love amateurs, I love failure, I love DIY, I love collaged thought.

I measure not in skill, not in technique, not in societally constructed and therefore deconstructable conceptualisations of “value”, I measure in heart

I am a failing amateur of many folds/disciplines. Masculinity/Maleness/Manhood, performing humanity/social normativity, even posture, performing a “normal”, abled body. ( which is a privilege not everyone has). Falling in and out of acceptance, normality and expectation- always have been tip toeing that narrow line)

I would be content just talking about my ideas to myself, friends or lovers only, as those are conversations where I’m forever learning. So I try to find universality in anonymity, and offer certain concepts to strangers with the trust I give to loved ones.

Emails, spam bots, QR codes, sticky notes, scribbles serve as an alternative to the gallery-they are the exhibition , a momentary revelation of hopeful intent.

#diary #note 2 self #fuckartschool #amateur #disability #autism #artoffailure

he’s plugged into my brain, few intentional caresses, silliness , endless conversation, no sex, missing each other for the joy of it, building tiny dragonfly robots that fly and crawl and fly back and forth between our apartments. Fear is unfolding , then gently inspected and faced to together.

#diary #dream

love is scarce and abundant at the same time and also very momentary , one of many reasons why we benefit from non chronological time. time left stamps/ bite marks upon my soul , time gave me a bundle of brief impressions manifesting in smell, feel of skin or bark , sunlight carving its way through my lashes stubbornly, such things . I’m writing, I’ll never stop . My spam is like a EKG wave, you can tune in or out, I won’t stop weaving, spinning stories. Like infinities of different volumes my soul will get bigger, it goes like this: I meet you (unspecified), I take your ( ms picture, smell, sound, shared memory) we change and grow apart, I eat you, take root in you, expand around you, inside and outside are the same thing like space time, I’m thinking and being, in comparison to everything a minor note, but so stubbornly and thorough , like there was a goal, like I could invite people into my cave of memory, emotion and sense making.

> this as p2p/ bot/ mesh network

#diary #reminder2myself