Aaaaaa to jest ostatni tydziennn, niespodziewanie tutaj sie znalazłem, czas się przelał, roczek, rok, roczczunio dojrzewania. Gdzie nas poniosło? W nowe, niepoznane stepy i prerie, oceany i rwące rzeki. I dużo gór, skał, nieruszonych, my tam gdzieś w połowie ścieżki, jeszcze drzewa się nie skończyły, ale dużo rzeczy płonie, dużo ciał i marzeń, a my siedzimy pośród tego wszystkiego, pył i chmury osiadają, zadomawiają się na naszych ramionach, wkradają się nawet a najdelikatniejsze wgłębienie przy obojczyku. Czasem czekamy. Czasem wybija nas świt. Czasem kryjemy się po nocach. Droga ciągnie się dalej. Przez jakiś czas widać było horyzont, ale teraz wyłonił się przed nami mocny zakręt. Ściana bębni mocno, dudni, widzimy cię! Finalnie nasza jedyną misją jest nauka i nauczanie koloru.
What a fool sometimes, an obsessive fool. On the scale of knowledge, where is thy? Direction bends and twists and escapes my horizon. How did we arrive here? They always say 'arrive', be it for a person, a thought, a thing. Arriving is really the only action, the only motion so narrative and arrival seem deeply entangled.
'Narrive' or the turn of the self
The turn arrived on time. It's as if all of a sudden one looks to the side and one notices one has not moved their neck for quite some time. One feels far away from the past, it feels as though it was a different, very separate tunnel, somewhere there one can still glance at but can no longer collect the there's horizon. One outgrows oneself; there are trousers that get forgotten; pens that grow estranged. Experiences turn to images, mere pictures that one smiles at or grimaces.
Many thought trajectories these days. When I don't have someone to talk to around me, my head gets very full. Perhaps conversation is like a slow orgasm for the brain - a release of accumulated observations, connections, frustrations... It started with day one with hearing Catherine Liu speak to Joshua Citarella (he's entered through many doors into my life this last week) - hearing them talk about critique and aesthetics in the context of art juxtaposed against a political background. It sounded like a discourse I was away from for a while, but it wasn't unfamiliar. This was followed by a wormhole into the state of instagram fashion influencers: ballooned, inflated and repetitive - and so sticky with the movement, the video punching your eyeballs. Then hearing the voice of Joshua talking about the artistic potential of internet spaces and being like 'not here.'
This is the ultimate suburbia.
In a swirl, in a furl, in a spiral that is the dance of life. I miss sitting, the body never halts. Also, just nothing makes sense. Walk a step and the wind will blow at you and you'll find yourself watching some bread rise, hearing stories from a past that's like a thousand childhoods to you. I want to walk around with my jaw flipped open and be amazed, and stare at you in the eyes, my pupils asking 'how how how.' And all you'd do is make a bird sound and smile.
How does one know one is something? Why they? Why writing? Why the why? What can justification do if change is inevitable?
I'm not gonna cry about my shoes.
My name is Ire and I am a father of two daughters, one of them is a dog and the other doesn't exist. I also have an owl.
My name is Ire and I am a father of two daughters, one of them is a dog and the other doesn't exist. I also have an owl. I am survival and I love naps. I had a kung fu class two years ago.
I am available all three days of the festival.