of crosses. crossing. an owl and a cross. a stranger crossing. a reflection crossing through an image. slightly like an orthodox cross. or it is what i want to see. there is a cross here now in my room. somehow it is always here and never there. here. in this room. this room. this. a resemblance crossing. it is silver. it is a gift. it is the cross of aksum. it is small. it is an afterthought. it is coarse. not delicate. it is a time of crossing and cutting. not delicate. where things are played out at night. the young grow old in a breath. you are who you’re not. blink. blink again. the dinner table. the skylight. the washing up. you. slightly above eye level on a lump of blue-tack on the wall behind this screen. (from the drafts folder, written as a reaction to this post and other things at the time, the cross is still here, but the room is different.) (we all have basic needs.)
Posted by a | reply »kind of, sometimes
to the old lady working at the internet cafe, whom i could slam a hundred times in aftermath but only saw my childish smile in backwards retreat, we could make an example of you in our courteous, civilised new metropolis, as per a certain someone said i was often wont to do, some sort of ethnographic approach to what lack of humanity there may be in world of screens and headphones, of blank faces and pounding hearts, why in the world should i wish to make an example of you, sickly woman with cracked face who sits in the dark by day, your rule this world perhaps and i am mere observer, a hasty brushing off sends me away, without being able to engage in the very services that you offer. or the mistake that we make in this situation is that working for the money (the system that creates low wage working conditions, the worker that desires to fill this position for lack of better opportunity, because it is easy, because it is simply what is there) eliminates the very ‘you’ of this equation, for You, Other, are simply no longer there. This is not an issue of being looked down upon or prejudiced, it is the disappearance of another all together. Combined with the last 61 years of our lack of self, we come back in full force with an overbearing subjectivity that oppresses all not-self as well. it leads us to a form of exchange without humanity whatsoever, but what sort of presumption was that, anyway.
i cringed when he mentioned that words had been missing of late, but the lack of literature could have been a parallel to a similar decline of the sense of being. i am present, perhaps, in some way, a childish half-smile, but it’s only half-shock, a blinding before anger sets in, what was that about to solidify, hard-set equations, exchange is never all that, i kind of hate you sometimes, kind of, sometimes.
Posted by 丫 | reply »i sincerely wish this for you
“you said you didn’t care when people were not talking to you but in your films, your characters are actually always trying to connect with somebody — following someone, or trying to make contact — but they just don’t seem to be able to connect.” “i prefer some distance. i don’t decide what the best distance is — how two people can get close and not feel uncomfortable. my films treat human relationships like an experiment. there’s no real conclusion. they are always experimenting, experimenting with that distance.” from an interview here
Posted by a | reply »Zürich night
Photo courtesy of Nic Shepherd
Some 15 minutes after having been abandoned at the Perla Mode by an American living in Zürich, I found him again at another opening at a small exhibition space called Les Complices. He made some comment about how I was typically Canadian because of the desire I expressed (which admittedly had structured my last 5 years) to keep going out rather than back to North America. I had not assigned value to my statement, and in my view it could indeed be taken as a lack of control and capriciousness. The space, which had a DJ playing, was a queer art space. I was not sure if my jocular, drunk brotherness was appreciated, and I was in the mood to joke. Out front one of the drunk women, who turned out to be a Canadian from Montreal, tried to convince her acquaintances to go out to a non-gay place to dance. She appeared to be quite drunk, and unless I was mistaken, the other two were not very fond of her. She had pimples. The other two returned to their friends inside and I was left, so she asked me and I thought, why not, I’d like to go dancing. We walked arm in arm down the street to a place right on Langstrasse. She joked with the bouncer who tried to remain stern, they were obviously familiar with each other, and it made me feel that this was a small town. Inside it was hip hop night, and various large men rocked back and forth in the red velvet surroundings. She knew someone (although they claimed they hadn’t known each other before) and they began talking. She asked me to buy her a drink, but I really had no money on me. This other girl seemed to be looking for someone to go home with. They asked me if I wanted to fuck, said that it was what everyone in the room wants. I joked that I was a virgin and the girl believed me, appeared to take pity on me, which made me uncomfortable – when I retracted the statement she asked me what kind of lover I was. I motioned to some of the large men standing near the turntables “maybe they want to fuck.” She considered this and went to see about it. When the lesbian’s back was also turned I used the opportunity to slip out the front door with my backpack on. I walked home along the vacant street car lines. I kept thinking of the girl’s sad expression when she said she came to the bar quite regularly, but no one had interest in fucking her. It made me kind of sad too.
[courtesy of Michael Eddy, October 2009]
Posted by secretary | reply »took a bike ride, found Robin Hood
¡¡vamos chicos!! que la clase ha terminado
community building
Our recently-met companions say, unfortunately, that Christians cannot really be friends with Buddhists.
(video courtesy of members of the Beijing Chaoyang Church)
Posted by 丫 | more »“i realize i didn’t take so many photos recently. although i often see the people i really want to document. it’s always too late or i feel bad to do it.”
从三月份在中国国内《穿》杂志可以在淘宝网买。在大阪可以在国立国際美術館于iTohen买。
Wear journal is now available in Osaka at The National Museum of Art, Osaka and iTohen. Within China, online orders can be placed via taobao.
[drawing on left from 穿 Wear, photo on right by anyway. Thank you, 小蔡 and aka.]
Posted by 丫 | reply »|
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