From Bret Victor in 2011: The most important thing to realize about the future is that it's a choice. People choose which visions to pursue, people choose which research gets funded, people choose how they will spend their careers.
Future has never felt like a choice. It's been a response. Where does the line between a choice and a response lie?
Seeing plants all around feeds my fantasmical imagination. How much better it is to imagine humans than to push through them everyday. Blood weighs heavily these days and I need is walking on rocks, alongside streams and fellow hearts. Here is all I need. Breathing mountain air feeds my fantastical imagination. I dream about loving, being loved, and beautiful streets of cities of the past. The city is a fantasy that swallows me up for months and then I emerge breathless and shallow, hungry for shoes and purses and wealth. Here it doesn't matter if I'm poor or badly dressed. Why does it matter elsewhere? What do the eyes of others do to the eyes with which we look at ourselves?
There is a version of myself that lives in my head that's flirtatious and seductive. It affirms me as an animal that's hungry for bodies, for spirits. I've had that for as long as I remember, that's how I related to my peers growing up. I'd go on a holiday and spend it finding the right people and then imaging the various scenarios of our encounters. I had many crushes but the point was never to act on it in action. To point was to keep on dreaming. There are many people I loved or keep loving. Just last night, in my dream I fell in love and felt incredibly close to a body that never had any flesh except for the on I imagined. But dreams are also collages of reality, they bring me closer to the bodies that surround me. This continuous affirmation of attraction as an inherent part of my personality is what makes me unable to keep casual friendship. And sometimes it blows things up. There is so much more to loving than relationships. It's like the most ancient human play which over time we boxed and trimmed but I know some still feel the fire reign within. I'm possessive and I want proximity. I get jelous even before I know it's jealous that guides my action. Somehow jealousy is a sexy feeling at times.
I really despise individualism. Proximity turns me on. I adore the moments when someone un-shells themselves in front of me, daring to discover their other self and affirming the continuity of change we all swim within. There are days when I think it perverse. There are days when it's the only energy that powers me on.
The institution of the family is one of the most toxic systems ever invented.
Curse your mother, love a stranger.
We walked the rocks. We walked on the rocks. Feet went up and down and up and down but we were not climbing
The pace of the river speeds up my heart I want to start jumping I see a bird on the other side of the shore jumping up and the flesh weighs me down but I feel so grateful to be grounded here between fire, rocks and rivers between two other hearts bound up by spaghetti strings.
quote from Terry Nguyen "On the Wor(l)d as Collage, or Intertextuality" published by syllabus Then one day, after a series of very very bad days, I remembered the collage. The sticky joyousness of cutting and pasting images on a canvas. And I realized that writing is collage: the harvesting of language, of words and the writer herself is tasked with organizing these structural units of thought into sentences, into sense. Language as a crumpled dollar bill, continuously used in circulation. (link: https://syllabusproject.org/on-the-world-as-collage-or-intertextuality/?utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email)
What to love the newspaper format for?
Cheapness. The very tiny letters. The nostalgia of the image of someone reading a newspaper. The unboundedness. Variety of content. The wearing off the paper. It serving a moment, and a moment only. The continuity - there is going to be a next one.
Cleaning day. Unfocused mind. I wish to inhabit a mental space of study. How to get there? How to nurture this type of focus? Certain responsibilities weave through my brain. This pause demands quite some organization. And I'm weary of the future. I have no idea what the next months will bring. Myself travels gently across contexts, without a scar, without a hole in the ground. I want change. I want to continue changing. I don't want to go stale. It's just always when cleaning this house I feel I ooze a bit of my spirit. Parts of my soul remain here, continuously angry at the road, and wondering how long will things stay the way they are, how soon will the spider webs cover up the spots we wiped today?
Empty brain, full body... Blisssss xd When you begin living in the embrace of the vastness of time, every minute seems simultaneously infinite and gone instantly.
We went walking up a mountain.