Saturday, December 22, 2018

Journal Entries

Physical material is how I dream, no more allusions on paper with pen or paint. The real, conical dark wool shaped by hands. It has always been about the process and nothing more-- the process and the flow, constant and ebbing like hot water over a metal tea casket, moving and seething continuously-- going somewhere, going nowhere... no matter, as long as we're going. What if we had an artwork that extended on forever, becoming interwoven with the fabric of our daily lives. The almost humorous tragedy of finiteness, dancing in space suspended, then extinguished. Art is really just the congealed substance of everyday life, specially demarcated to draw attention to it, tighter lines around everydayness taken to extremes due to time and spatial constraints.

The master and slave's need for each other exists as a doomed diminishing balance. The conscious master suffers too by living inauthentically. The same cycles of struggle, power, resentment, guilt manifolded and multiplied. Cycles fallen into and inescapable until diminished to nothing. A one-way Markov chain.

The feverishness of capitalism toward producing results and end states to prove its validity in the face of the diminishing balance becomes apparent when flow was the only reality to be striven for. The counter-intuitiveness of the grand result versus limitless growth (or is it the attempted paradoxical correlation between the two?). We are faced with the system's stepped, iterative process as acknowledgement of "innate" rationality; instead it reveals itself as desperate justification for a system bound for extinction due to unsustainable consumption with nonrenewable resources and the endless scouring that underlies capitalist exchange.

And what else I am wondering is that capitalist realism is further shaped by our conception of end goals and end states (the ideas of culminations or pinnacles of human development-- mainly, linearity and hierarchy) so that even when talking about alternatives, we are so hooked on the idea of utopia in the same way the current structure does to justify itself. Furthermore, we must at some level internalize the staying power of something that touts itself as the ultimate development and therefore we can really only imagine seeing it to its logical end. However, the Real cannot exist as states. It is flow in its eternity. "The Real may be experienced as traumatic gaps in the symbolic order"...

Saturday, July 28, 2018

Topological Desire

Mood: Future Inter-dimensional Goddess Realness

        - Klein bottles and other higher dimensional topological spaces

          - Iris van Herpen Haute Couture F/W 2018/19

          - NUXXE Collective

          - Mulholland Dr. nightmare

Sunday, December 3, 2017


He wants to consume me because he doesn't know what love is.

How I've convinced myself these distractions are good for me... and they are! Really! No, really!

Dancer, perfect artist in reality.

Coming up to an almost imperceptible itch, I could no longer comprehend the familiar.

Technology and art have intrinsically disjoint motivations. One is utilitarian in its creation and manifestations, and the other cannot be put into a box.

I am not afraid to love him
     I like to store it up
          I like to not speak about it
               The last thing I want
                    Is release

I crave disreality
Fantasy, dreams
These are the only real things

I want to float on those notes
     Until eternity

The melody glances me

Shimmering in place
Whole mind, hole mind
Shedding Object temporarily
I do not know her, I do not know
Her image cannot even
Disappear here
Only unawareness extinguishes
Painful shadow

Saturday, October 28, 2017


I've come to terms with infinite recursion.
I've come to terms with reality existing as a vision of a vision of a vision of a vision of a...
Life's images can be mapped one-to-one to a number with infinite digits in an infinite number of combinations.
The observer observes the observer observing the observer... There are only outward observations.
There is no root!

Saturday, August 26, 2017

Current Status

I am moving toward unreality. So I desire. So I forget to desire. Let me flee from myself. I need to be alone. I pull pieces from the viscous void. Spiritual vernacular is useful to describe that which is indescribable, yet there is is a falseness, a voodoo aspect in it that resembles religion. I am not afraid of my thoughts, of venturing into pure territory. Let me love something as much as people fall into ecstasy with religion and spirituality. I want to find something into which I can pour my energy and awe. Maybe I believe in the transcendency of man. I should aim never to misdirect my energy. I need guidance-- I have no conviction. With conviction, I can push further, can make transcendency realizable at least for myself. I can live as I had dreamed. Energy put into becoming adaptable is energy diverted from developing new ideas.

Sometimes I feel beauty with intuition, other times with knowledge. Girls play with the names they've been given, ...warped, reclaimed, sitting housed within carved out homes. Pressure begets community, creativity at times. Observing vs. growing through crossing over. I like the idea of demarcating life into journeys. Sometimes inspiration calls for new mediums; sometimes new mediums force inspiration.

Channel my love. Channel my strong feeling. Pieces of individual always fall away. One day I will share my vision. No slates, no labels.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

As Lost As Possible

Recently I've been experiencing fleeting moments of clarity. New realizations relished one moment and dispersed in the very next . My last one was about Kafka's idea that writing is really self-serving or something along those lines. In trying to find that particular quote, I found another one which encapsulates my overwhelming feelings at the moment: "I am free and that is why I am lost."

I told a close friend my truth regarding my attitude about the world around me. Saying the words aloud were surprising even to myself. I did not know the words had already been ironed out in my subconscious.

My truth being the inescapable, frustrating feeling of self-alienation. An alienation that breeds apathy and resigned acceptance of uncertainty. If I don't actively convince myself to choose life, I naturally wallow without grief. Before, I believe I had deluded myself with a hopefulness about human transcendence through creation, mutual cooperation, and kindness. I fought for this as if it were my religion. Yet I always secretly knew I was only trying to convince myself that those qualities were truth in order to more easily choose life.

I still fight for this hopeful truth because I believe it is a fight worth endeavoring even in its objective futility. I struggle just as a believer with her religion. Subjectively I would argue the fight is not futile; making this choice allows me to cope. My rationale is this: because living is the most I am capable of doing, I choose to live. My new philosophy is not so much a necessity as it is a choice. In my mind, for another more courageous aesthetic fool (like Raskolnikov), it could be a choice as arbitrary as any.

For me, as a human, I like to have hope. I enjoy the permutations of life: making acquaintances, reading stories, achieving feats of abstract thought. Experiencing the sadness of heartbreak, the pain of failure, the thrill of success. Physical pleasures. Mental pleasures. Spiritual pleasures. I absorb them wholeheartedly the moment I reaffirm my choice. I must pay the price for this reflection which I cannot un-imagine and so I never live as fully as someone who never contemplates that such a choice exists.

Attempting to find absolute truth is like attempting to prove the facts of a particular system are true using the facts of the system itself (Godel's Incompleteness Theorem). I accept the uncertainty of not knowing in the same manner that I accept the concept of zero.

These words spilled out from the starting point that if I were to be fully myself, I would never say a word to anyone. I would exist as an indifferent observer, each exchange playing out whether or not I am there to see it.

Monday, January 23, 2017

Short Post of Accountability

Today passed unpassionately.

Reading The New Jim Crow has uncovered a disturbing truth that I have been blind to, or rather, ignorant of, until now. This awakening can be likened to my feelings post The Second Sex. I want to educate myself. Elevate my consciousness in order to live my life fully aware of the consequences. To keep in check my interactions with others, my consumerism, the direction I choose for my life, my words, actions, and art. To take action and speak out against injustices.

I rediscovered the joy of reading over winter break. Reading has consumed a lot of my free time but I'll try to document from time to time.