No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi
One Nice Bug Per Day
blake kathryn
JVL
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
JBB: An Artblog!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
No title available
No title available
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Misplaced Lens Cap
h
Keni
if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Mike Driver
Kaledo Art
we're not kids anymore.
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Nepal
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
@lossofthenguyener
The moon exists. The moon can be in our hand, that imagination and realization exists. To the bright future, I strive, We strive. I exist, We exist. We strive to exist. We exist to strive. Our life is a mere ritual, one that we draw from the past to press onward to the present and to bring forth the future.
The road is closed, but the future isn’t. It exists. So do I. My rituals have just begun, as I become closer to realization.
A bird in it’s natural, ritualistic environment. A majestic being I discovered whilst I begin my soul-searching.
A Conclusion and, definitely, A Final Entry: What is a Ritual? (#6)
After loss and more loss, I find myself changed. I am not a “changed man”, but I am a “changed thinker”. Initially, my idea of a ritual- due to my family’s religious activities- was simply a procedure or ceremony that is exacting in every motion and utterance as a religious practice.Now, a ritual comes to me as an activity the provokes and promotes thought, revelation, spiritualism, and change. This process is never always exacting, but it can be. A ritual can recognize many things.
Spiritualism, religion, existence, human nature, change, feeling, and being, are some factors and concepts that can be recognized by a performance of a ritual.
After the past weeks of loss and separation, I’ve come to realize that I can be too anxious and concerned when it comes to losing something, whether valuable or invaluable, whether tangible or intangible. I found myself thinking about the things I left behind more than I could ever imagine. I felt hurt when I lost what I thought about over a short span of two days. Why? I can’t tell, not yet at least. I can see myself differently, but maybe that was always how I have been. I simply neglected such perceptions, pushing it into oblivion and obscurity, until they were dug up and discovered. Perhaps a time of soul-searching is needed. To the future.
But now, You do not exist. You are the past.
You were there. You existed.
An Extension or, I don’t know, A Sense of: Getting Lost (#5)
I lay down and here at the Campanile, listening to Africa by Toto. Not by choice, obviously. (Thanks Pandora) I brought my FASET ID and lanyard, I contemplated sacrificing my laptop or BuzzCard, but I am not insane yet. But this ID represents my beginnings at Tech. I can hear, besides Africa, the construction, the water, and the new FASET babies. It is unbearably hot, but I will do it a grade a good experience. This is beautiful, I must say. My arms hurt from trying to write like this. My pen is messing up too. How great. I can smell nature (and chlorine) and this is wonderful. I only wonder what everyone else brought and what places they chose. To the next two days, then.
Day 1
I am concerned. My past, the memory of FASET, will it be forgotten if I don’t get it back? What if someone finds it? Will I get in trouble for “littering”? My name is in there, so it’s possible. Will they seek me out? Would it be a manhunt? There hasn’t been a phone call. Maybe they just threw it away. Maybe I’m just thinking too much about it. Why am I thinking too much about it?
Day 2
I want to check. I want to check. But I can’t. I could, but I can’t. There is lots of work to be done. There is a restriction to keep me put, or at least away from my possession. Yes. My possession. But.. if it is my possession, does it belong to me then? I thought belonging was acceptance, not possession. I don’t know. I don’t know. What if someone cleaned the area and whisked it away? My worry and concern grows as time passes. It’s just an ID and lanyard, but why am I so... worried?
Day 3
The dreadful two days have passed. Class has passed. Now.. I can find it.
Gone. It has vanished. Vanished. It has vanished from my life. It is now one of the “disappeared”, taken away and dropped off into the mountains known as a landfill. Probably. What if it was nature? The winds could have just taken it away. Unlikely. Maybe it was a faculty member. There was no call or notice, it simply disappeared. Will I be able to remember? Will I be able to remember my beginnings? I don’t know, but probably. All I know is that it is now a part of the “disappeared”. It was lost. Am I getting lost?
This part of me belongs, now. I threw it away, but it found it’s way back. It belongs to me, but I belong to it.
This one exists, now.
A Perpetuation or, maybe, A Question: Belonging/Disbelonging. (#4)
What does it mean to belong? Are we some object? Something that is meant to be owned and possessed by something, or someone? Or.. are we the possessor? Perhaps, to truly belong, there is no possession, only acceptance. Yes. To be accepted... That is a sense of belonging my eyes. What are we to be accepted by? What determines whether we are worthy of such status? Belonging or ƃuᴉƃuolǝqsᴉp. These are two divisive feelings. But we all know, or perhaps we should know, what it means to feel accepted, to belong. To feel belonging is to be accepted and loved by people. Family, friends, and even strangers, these are the people that determine whether we belong or ƃuolǝqsᴉp. I belong to many, or at least that is what I hope and think. My family, my home community, my friends, my online friends, and the people online that I have met but never known, are the people I feel belonging to. But now, I feel like I also belong to a new group: Georgia Tech. Now, I feel renewed, like I truly exist. The past and the farm have shaped this sense of belonging, this class.. has brought forth belonging. A sense of belonging fights oblivion, a stark ending to one’s life and history. I want to belong. I want to belong to the past, to the present, and to the future. I feel at loss when I do not belong. This sense of ƃuᴉƃuolǝqsᴉp, is no good for the heart. It is no good for existence or existing. I feel at loss, I feel suppressed and depressed. Surely, I am not alone in feeling this. But not being alone does not mean I belong. To love is to belong, and I truly love my family and my friends. I wish for them to belong too.
They exist.
A Continuation or, rather, A Remembrance: Remembering Disaster. (#3)
Brent Crude Oil Prices. How crude.
December 12, 2012 - $108.25 The 2012 phenomenon. The belief that catastrophic disasters would occur on this date, 12/12/12. The world would end, but it seemed like not many people cared, at least that’s what the prices tell us.
August 12, 2013 - $109.28 My beginning of Riverdale High School as a freshman. New blood for the bloodthirsty world of education.
January 1, 2016 - $37.28 A random New Year’s date, though a promising one. The future was here, but now as the present. The prices were an all-time low, oddly enough.
May 26, 2018 - $76.44 My graduation from Riverdale High School. I gave a speech, I felt good. I felt accomplished. Yet, there was more to accomplish. More and more.
June 12, 2018 - $75.88 My “first day” of college. I moved in to the Hefner Residence Hall at Georgia Tech, for the summer program. iGniTe, what a lovely name.
1) My online friend, whom I’ve known for six years, experienced a grievous injustice when he was in high school.This occurred in Canada, where my friend has lived his entire life. This happened several years ago, as he is much older than me. During this time, he became friends with another boy. My friend became close to this boy, peaking when he finally admitted his feelings to this person. It was a radical thing, back then. My friend was rejected. He was mocked. He was bullied. He was alone. His sexuality brought him agony, yet he never left it. He was traumatized, forced out of attending high school. Now as years have passed, he is content. At least I hope so.
2) Going through the Civil Rights Movement exhibits, I was very surprised by the facts and details that were often overshadowed by what we were taught in school. For example, Jim Clark- a sheriff of Dallas County, Alabama- mass arrested 300 students who were silently protesting outside a courthouse. Clark forced them to march to the detention center with caddle prods, as if they weren’t human. They weren’t, in their eyes, at least. They were wrong. Their eyes showed them wrong. Another surprising detail I never knew, or even thought about, was the logistics in planning the March on Washington. The March involved at least 250,000 people-which was 100,000 more than expected- and there were 80,000 prepared sandwiches, and 2,000 parade marshals who were intended to actually instill public safety and mitigate violence, but they actually directed traffic and participants. Despite the unexpected factors and change in plans, there was ZERO violent incidents and ZERO crimes reported in the March. This showed how established the march was, even with the overwhelming and unexpected numbers. In learning these things, I was genuinely astonished by how complex and surreal the Civil Rights Movement was. 3) “The genocide happened because people were told to kill neighbors and they didn’t understand the impact of their actions.” “We once opened our office door to find four cats on our doorstep- with their throats slit.” “To be free is not to merely cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” “Women who were pregnant when kidnapped were kept alive until they gave birth, and their children were given to other families.” “People were shot on sight just for wearing glasses, which were assumed to be worn by intellectuals.” 4) Having learned the reality and existence of the past and still rampant atrocities and abuses of the world, I find the museum to be an eye-opening experience. If I were to invite a person, it would be my World History teacher, Mr. Stevens. I chose Mr. Stevens because he has been a positive influence in my life and a great role model that has pushed me to do great things. It would be a way to show my appreciation, while also giving him a chance to experience the exhibitions and take in the breath-taking information. He has shown interest in the Civil Rights movement as it is also a part of his heritage, something he is quite proud of.
A family, my family, exists.
A Follow-Up or, perhaps, A Memory: A Farm, A Family. (#2)
On the day that marks the transition from future to present, or as many people call it, New Year’s Day, my family reunites under the same, singular roof. While it may not be as symbolic as I perceive it, I find this momentous day as a reflection of the pass and its beginning, of the present and its passing, and of the future and its ushering. My family may not think too deeply like this, as perhaps my perspective is too ambitious or optimistic, but the union of my family could be a stark reminder of my family’s beginnings in America.
Before the Vietnam War, my family lived lavish lives, owning vast acres of land and businesses. That existed. Then the war came. They had the opportunity to leave. That existed, but was neglected. My great-grand parents wanted to defend their lands from the Northern, communistic force. Pride existed. However, the war was lost. My family, having worked hard to rise to the top, would plummet to the bottom as everyone else did. Every Vietnamese person lived and worked on the farms. Their blood, sweat, and tears, were essentially the rivers that irrigated the rice fields. They sought refuge. Refuge exists. Moving to America, my family was displaced and lacked any possessions. As a family of approximately twelve, including uncles and aunts, they lived in a small, two-bedroom and single floor home. Under the same roof, they lived a close and cramped life. Despite these obstacles, they toiled restlessly to finally attain what many consider, The American Dream. Hope and dedication exists. My family branched out, founding their own nail stores and living better lives- though nothing like the legacy that was buried in Vietnam. Now, we come together for the occasion that ushers in a new year. Home-cooked food, prayers, exchanges, conversations, gifts, and other homely manners exists in this home that sprawled with life and family. This is a tradition I cherish and truly embed into my life.
Life exists. Death exists. A cycle exists.
A farm exists A group of students exists A family, now, exists But one doesn’t, yet.
The Beginning or, should I say, the First Entry: On Dirt and Place. (#1)
Dirt exists Nutrients and worms exist Plowed dirt and tilled dirt exist Land exists Farmers and tools exist Farms, now, exist Florida exists, the past exists. A Vietnamese farm exists Food and crops exist Ripe mangoes exist A golf cart exists The dirt, marked by wheels, exist Picking and choosing exists Rain and dirt exist Mud, now, exists Driving through the farm exists. Mosquitoes exist Bug spray does not exist Bug bites exist Red bumps exist Itching, lots of itching, exists Retreat exists Shelter and protection exists A family, adjourned with another, exists Two dogs exist Petting and happiness exist Bliss and tranquility exist Knives exist Splashing liquids exist Red exists Blood, does not exist, rather, A red towel exists Cut mangoes exist The delicate softness exists The delectable juiciness exists Satisfaction and deliciousness exist Windows exists A gaze does, too. A lake exists A boat exists Time exists The passage of time exists A car exists The interstate exists Georgia exists Home exists Memories and eternity exist Life exists The present exists Soon, the future will exist.