zora and brian
too tired to think or write at the moment. I feel so full. I know I need to write these names down and remember them
I also thought about writing a reflection essay for focus group because it is needed (I feel I am responsible to say everything I need to for it, even though, philosophically to be or not to be my answer would be I wish it and fiercely want it to be)
ZORA NEALE HURSTON
there eyes were watching god
BRIAN ENO
a year with swollen appendences
ABBAS ZAHEDI
mother’s day*
MAYA ANGELOU
i know why the caged bird sings
missing the point
I WONT WRITE THE STORY HERE BECAUSE I ACTUALLY THINK ITS TOO GOOD TO SHARE (I lie)
I will be very selfish at the moment and wait until I’ve actually turned it into a short film.
THAT IS ALL
I spoke to a person named Shiva about this and I think they would agree and love it. Maybe they will be reading this. If you are hello there again! Thank you for the encouragement.
today I did a lot of good work and I need to rest now
I think it’s important to be proud of yourself, with the little wins, all the time
Also thinking about my mom and how amazing she is, feeling exceptionally lucky today
I will share what I added to my body of work, focus group…
I feel like this work is leading me to write a story so I will let it guide me there… and no it’s not what I was just on about, I really want to share but I really cant IM SORRY
show me
I had a terribly awful dream last night. A theme that reoccurs is several dreams throughout my life are towers. Dramatically tall towers. This dramatically tall tower had a man climb up it, the man looked so pleased with himself up there, at the very top of this ridiculously tall tower, stretching his big arms up and reaching up toward the sky, he then leaned backwards, then it looked like he pealed himself off of the sky and began to fall and nothing could stop the descent. His body contoured and his limbs grew slightly longer and he looked like a ribbon more than a human, but he was human, he was magnificent, and my heart was breaking apart. I couldn’t imagine seeing the result of it, I knew he was soon to be dead, so I imagined another body, this body slightly less human, I thought it would make this dream less real, less heart-breaking, but it just became more disturbing. I decided to leave the dream soon after that. It was too much, I thought to myself why this? Before I saw that happen… my dream guide was acting as if he was a project manager and I was apart of his team, he was showing me what has happened in the past and why we must discourage people from climbing the tower. So, what I was seeing was something from the past, something I must warn others about. When I first saw the video, I just felt how free that man was, how joyful that climb must have been, I felt it while I was watching the replay, until I saw him peeling off the sky, that’s when this sinking feeling hit me and the world began to turn slower.
road less travelled
So, a friend asked me if I would ever perform these at an open mic. and I never thought of doing that, but now that seems like it would be a great idea.
I was editing and adding some thoughts on my work road less travelled and when I watched the video again I thought to myself… the script for this (the text I super imposed on the video) would be a good read and performance. It would be difficult because there are so many things I discuss that deeply break my heart as well as give me terrible anxiety to think about. But regardless I feel like I would be okay to talk about it, and there is a little bit of humour which is so me and always here for.
I’d love a hug right now.
german chocolate
I messed up the cake recipe last night and it turned out all chewy. I’m going to try and save it today and assemble small chewy german chocolate cakes. will see how it goes.
Thinking about why I was scared to start the march yesterday. Why I am I scared of the snake, who is actually going to bite me? I might just take a leap and see what happens. Remember what Audre said right? (referencing Jan 14th beyond understanding) But I think Audre also meant that we need to be understanding of what we say, understand it as fully and with as much care as possible. This is my take, this is the bag I filled and kept with me.
So I was going to go on a monologue of a memory that made an appearance when I was feeling like a fraud, like a bad person, like a hypocrite. This is the worst feeling to me, to feel disingenuous. So maybe today I’ll swallow that frog, or grab the snake by its head and stick it in the bag…
a portion of what I meant to post yesterday… because I am still scared to share everything.
- - -
There’s a very happy baby sitting in front of me, just looking at the world, receiving energy and I tried to give that little soul a big smile and sunshine, and that’s what all babies, little souls need is happiness, sunshine, love (and when I say little souls, I only mean little souls because babies are so tiny, not saying that this particular baby’s soul is small, it could be a mile or a planet wide, I don’t know, I don’t know anything about that kind of thing.)
Who are you Laura? Hi there, are you also a star? Yes, mam, I am. Have you struck someone before?
yes.
I think
and I feel that snake going crazy in my chest. I feel and hear it say, “oh, yes, that nerve, what nerve she has, of course she has struck people, and people have struck her.”
The snake shakes inside me and brings back a memory. The snakes body whirls inside my chest and the vision of a night I went crazy (crazy what do you mean by crazy, why the word “crazy”? it wasn’t crazy, you were calculated and cold, you were a scorned snake, smart and cunning, and evil) pops up. When I knew the man, a man who was of the many men who bared my dad’s body into the earth, a man who cheated on me because he thought I’d never be happy again, a man who sewed my garden and then in terror regretted that years harvest (both deciding to burn it to the ground, truly a ladies work, the man who left me alone in a fire while he slept), a man who tried me again (I can’t remember what he said, either it was something to do with borrowing more money again or using my car for something, who knows) while I was driving to my friends house to shoot some footage for a music video and I threatened to crash the car. I swerved into the other side of the road to scare the shit out of him.
And this is the part of the monologue I thought, fuck, I’m really not proud of that. That’s the part I thought, I’m crazy. There was no care, it was a personal attack on him, it was something I knew he would hate, it’s something I knew he wouldn’t have expected. I wanted him to feel awful and it worked.
I don’t think I’m that woman anymore, I mean I have that capacity, but I wouldn’t put myself in that position again, I’d hope. What would I do now? Not be with him, that’s it. This man I speak about is somewhere. I have no clue. One of the last things I told him was to “fuck off” which I never wanted to do, but the guy I was seeing and living with at the time, gave me an ultimatum, saying that if I didn’t tell him to “fuck off” that I was a fraud, that I was lying about all of what I had been through with him, psychologically putting me through a ringer, I remember the first time I opened up it felt as if he had pushed my body against a wall metaphorically, my chest actually felt like it went inside my body. I was scared. I just wanted peace. And it’s something I’ll always regret. And I’ll never be put in that position again either.
Snake crawl back in your fucking hole.
Speaking of, snakes like ribbons.
I see them.
(insert picture of those beautiful paintings)
I see them, Wiebke… I see your dancer, the snake, the idea, the full expression. A ribbon connecting life + death + spirit? Connectors like a rainbow. Could snakes be a bridge? Are snakes rainbows? Are snakes bridges? (I am thinking in terms of norse mythology, how rainbows and unicorns are seen as the bridges between realms)
I made a pilgrimage to South London Gallery and saw Christina Kimeze paintings and it gave me this (above starting with “snake like ribbons…)
She looks like a tree, flailing arms and branches out, so natural, spirit, that keeps coming into my mind and the word soul, “soul + spirit”
Our colours are so beautifully/ beautifully?- I’d like to not say that word, what I mean this image feels more like a pride of our universe’s spectrum, a language of colour, and she speaks it with great confidence. Her speech is Shakespearean, if only I knew more about Shakespeare. All I know is my mother loves Shakespeare, so, I must know something of Shakespeare. If I know my mother then I must know Shakespeare.
- - -
So what was the point of sharing this, well I want to introduce the snake. It’s a new thing I’ve been referring to as the animal who brings memories, I don’t particularly want to visit. But I think the snake is really interesting, I feel like I have more involvement with the visits (with the feelings) and I can let the snake crawl back into its hole. The snake is uncomfortable but it’s also healing. I’m trying to see the snake as something for my overall benefit.
Another point is to respect Audre Lorde and do better, as in to be more authentic, to be less terrified, to be powerful.
Another point is to remember, as best as I can what I am going through right now. I feel like it’s important. I’d like to remember this time. I’m quite fond of it. Benefits of this being my time right now, running towards myself, slowly but surely. I feel like it’s more like crossing, like crossing a body of water to my island.
links to some of the mentioned artists and places above.
monologue march
This is a reminder to myself to write this today x
…
Not particularly related to what I’m going to post today but just thought of how I used to have this kind of boldness to rip a cigarette out of someone’s mouth if I thought they deserved it and it makes me laugh. Like I have on more than one occasion swiped a cigarette from someone’s mouth so smoothly they didn’t even know what to say. It’s making me laugh so much, I can’t believe I’ve done that.
-
Still not particularly related to what I’m going to post today but
it’s also my dad’s birthday (rest in peace and celebrating you more than just today). Funny that I am not religious anymore but decided this year to practice lent because I want to cut out as much sugar from my life as possible. But after a week of barely any sugar I am starting to feel the effects and I want some so bad, and I thought… well… today is my dads birthday… could myself a lovely German chocolate cake in honour of… which is only a little bit fucked up and funny and I think my dad would have laughed. I blame dad for my great sense of humour.
-
Still not particularly related, but I thought I’d put these quotes in like great authors do at the beginning of a fantastic novel…
“SPENDING 80K ON A WEDDING IS NOT ALLOWED.” - some guy I over heard
“Sick poncho.” - same guy
-
I’ve decided against posting the monologue I was intending to post. It is just too personal. Like at some point I will find it less threatening but it feels like a snake to me, like in my mind, there is a river and this particular monologue would be a snake on the raft with me and I don’t feel like I necessarily have the bravery to grab it by the head yet and shove it a bag (this blog).
to dance
a song for someone, someone we all love
We watch airplanes and we dance
We watch airplanes and we think they’re on their way to Monaco
We dance and we see a motorcycle go by
She thinks of her brother and I think of a dove
We stop when we hear engines roaring in the sky
Through rain clouds and tree branches and skyscrapers we look
We search for the tiny sight of it, how slow it moves
We inhale until it vanishes and we dance
We sit at a bench and watch the water move, we watch the water move
I feel so alive with the sun today
I think of all the possibilities and how I could sew all my clothes together if I tried really hard
and I could make all the frames I needed if I tried really hard
I could make all the sketchbooks I needed if I tried really hard
there’s books galore around me that are waiting to be read
There’s more time for that I ashore you said the angels in my head
and I sit up in my bed writing this poem for you
and I love that it doesn’t rhyme so much
and I love that love is true
and I love everything about this world even if it means moments without you
………………..
I’ve never discounted an angel number. The one that’s been showing itself for the past 3 days is the number 222
received, with much love.
cam 2
case against money number 2 is a battle to produce
I would like to not worry about the possibility of not having a home one day. I would really like to have a home one day. I’m sure I’ll have a beautiful home some day. I just need to shift my perspective. I’m sure this is my biggest issue with money is the perspective and my understanding of what success is and the ways money can be acquired. Another reason why I want money not to exist.
I’ll now forget about this by writing a list of things I see
trauma-sensitive mindfulness
isaac asimov
feather
hair clip
water bottle
sticky notes
tattoo machine
common classics
gil-scott heron
skeleton
wine
mirror
cactus
minor detail
coloured pens
coptic binding
yoga matt
the castle
moldy wall
broken blind
dripping
perfume
soaking paint brushes
masking tape
water
beyond understanding
Audre Lorde reminds me to speak, not only to speak but to speak better.
Reading When I Dare To Be Powerful by Audre Lorde
This post is not about the book, it’s just to a nod to what prompted me today.
More specifically… this call to action…
For those of us who write, it is necessary to scrutinize not only the truth of what we speak, but the truth of that language by which we speak it. For others, it is to share and spread also those words that are meaningful to us. But primarily for us all, it is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding. Because in this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing, that is growth. – When I Dare To Be Powerful by Audre Lorde
I want to write about the things. I will write about the things soon. I have written about the things. I have not shared the things. I do live in fear Audre. I have and must share the things. Some people will say that you don’t need to make your art that personal, they ask, why put yourself in a vulnerable position? Well, like Audre says, I’ll still be in that vulnerable position regardless of if I say it or not, I’ll still be there.
I have to share the things. But not tonight, god no. I need to sleep.
I am so grateful for today
I’ve had such a nice day. I had a good day at work, read and looked at the moon. today was great, there is much I am thankful for, which is why I need to write.
I’ll sleep and then write about it.
Now I would like to dream about how perfect today was, and not think about the past. I’d like to think about this reality that happened today and how lovely it was. How I let myself be more me, how I am still so open for this beauty to come in.
And yes, I will write about the darkness, like I have so many times. But I feel like I need to write about that harsh reality in a more impactful way, it needs to be done to upmost seriousness, with the upmost respect, in a language that you would understand.
pseudo-memories
I trudged each step through the sand, heaving my legs up as fast as my feet sank. I slammed my hands onto the side of the red steel to rest, shortly before releasing a yelp from the scorching metal. I dropped to the ground under the shade of the pick-up truck and dug my hands down into its soothing, cold depths. Eventually, I pulled my hands out. I sat there playing in the sand drawing pictures in the ground, smoothing out the dirt every time I finished one to. Every now and then I would dig a small hole to the side to gather damp sand, a more firm foundation to draw the pictures, the lines presented much clearer. Time passed by. I found a nearby stick to use instead of my fingers which brought excitement and improved the sand illustrations. Soon, I would gather more materials, leaves, sticks, rocks, and create a small fantasy world out of the forage.
I could see in the distance my dad gathering his materials which meant we would be leaving soon. I stood up to brush the sand off my clothes, as much as I possibly could. I slowly made my way to the passenger side door and opened it I kick all the sand I could off my feet. My dad put all his tools away in the back, kicked the sand off his shoes before stepping inside. He cranked the truck up and put the air conditioning on full blast. With my feet still dangling outside I gave them one final beat on the trucks side and swung them in. I stuck my face right in front of cool air, I took a sip from my dad’s water bottle. He slammed the door closed and I followed suit. My dad unfolded the small towel in the middle of the console, revealing the neatly laid coins he would obsessively organize, he wiped his face and neatly folded it back in its place. We drove through the sand onto harder sand, then onto clay, then onto a main street. I accidentally touched my bare skin to the plastic console which was burning from today’s extreme heat, I quickly checked my sitting situation to make sure no other skin was exposed to either that or possible a seat belt. Today was a day I thought we could easily fry an egg on the hood or even better bake blueberry muffins. Even though I know eggs would be more feasible then basking muffin batter, I don’t think the muffins would have worked at all really unless we made some sort of contraption, the effort would not have been worth it, unless we were that bored.
***
I know I will never be ever to recall all my memories, I’m not supposed to anyway. Some people have great memories, as in they are great at remembering things. I have never been great at remembering things. It takes so much effort for me to remember everything I need to. What I recalled above is when I think about the times my dad would pick either myself or both my brother and I from school to go sit at the construction site as he finished up his day, or maybe when we weren’t in school and didn’t have a sitter. Anyways I will never be able to fully recall those times I can only think about things that I would have done and can remember doing at some point. It’s all mixed around in my head. I have not tried hard to compartmentalize anything, nothing in particular has been ingrained, and maybe the practice of building and destroying my worlds as a child was developing me to be like this. I think its made resilient because I do not accept things as finite, I know things change and that things need to change often in my world. Stability has it’s place, like the damp sand helps make things clear, a more solid foundation helps my home stay where it needs to be for a longer time, but that’s never the end of it, it makes sense to begin the process again and again, it makes sense
share
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Having those “feeling like a fraud” feelings. Are these blog entries a cop outs for harder work? Am I judging myself for not being that commanding of the English language and that it’s difficult for me to recall words? Yes. Is this something to be kinder to myself about? Yes. Do I need to stop comparing my experience with others? Yes (stopping in a way that’s detrimental)
I am grateful I can write at all. Do I feel responsible for writing for those who cannot? I do… but I feel like that is a bit problematic when I need to take care of myself. I need to figure out how to get things done, period. I have too many ideas and not enough follow through. Energy and time is limited and there are only so many hours in a day so it’s crucial I am more present and carve out the time for them. Consistency.
About this time last year, I moved to London, and I was so focused on the work to be done at college. I managed to get a room in someone’s home which was walking distance from the campus and a part time job across the street from campus.
I am an artist, period. I need to make things, these blog posts is a subsidization of my artistic practice. I rent out a small room in a shared flat and this is a way for me to express myself a bit more freely because space is limited. I don’t feel comfortable painting in a small space. I think of it all the time, I want to paint, but painting comes at a higher cost to me than it would do another. That goes for everyone, painting is for privileged folks, and I’m exceptionally privileged and blessed in countless of ways. So, some days I think it’s worth my weekend to completely dedicate to an oil painting (52 weeks in a year, 104 days of painting, realistically will I go out or go on a short holiday, - 10 weekends, so let’s say 84 days, average 4 hours/day, 336 hours in a year for painting) Yes, actually, that seems doable.
People took responsibility for where I am now in life (those who shall not be named), such as having gotten into a college I really wanted to get into, having landed jobs that I really wanted, not considering that I, Laura, am in fact responsible for that and not them. That they did not know (or frankly care to know) how much work I had already done before I even moved to this country and the work I did when I did arrive in this country. I already had a vision for my life, as simple a vision that it is (to have a home and be comfy, be real, obviously make art, as much as I can, help others when I can). They can imagine they had a big role in it but they really didn’t. The only person who is truly responsible for where I am right now and wherever I am going is my mom, literally the biggest supporter of my life and has always encouraged me to choose my life since I was a little girl. And my little brother and very few other people who helped me escape a really difficult situation, that might always be a struggle to comprehend, something I wish never happened, something that makes me feel so dumb. Really if not for the kindness and love of those people who cared for me I probably would be on the street or struggling hard and some people don’t have anyone and do end up on the street (not by choice like in Denmark) and are dehumanized by this system who needs us to be in costume and character in order to survive. Such a strange turn of events in our evolution, as if I know anything of our evolution but the sad short history taught by the athletic departments coaches and visits from the military recruitment officers. A history of timelines when in fact we live in repeating loops, so many hoops and loops. There were two occasions popping in my head right now, a sad privilege to have these burned in my head and sadly, maybe fortunately for an ignorant peace, some of the context and details escape me…
The first being a visit by a man who was born and raised in Africa. All I can remember is that he was smartly dressed man in a suit. I can’t remember what the colour of the suit, I don’t know why my brain really wants to know, it’s just placed him in white, navy, and purple suit. What made me remember him, was that he told us a story of him as a child, that in his village you had to walk miles and miles to water, and that school was miles and miles away too. He said, one day either on his way to somewhere, he couldn’t or was not able to find water anywhere, and it was so hot… He told us that he had these Nike shoes with a jelly like logo or sole, he said it looked like it could have water in them, so he tried to burst the gel in his shoes to drink it. Obviously, it was no good
I just cannot ever imagine being that thirsty. Keep in mind this is a child is literally scraping at his jellied shoes for water, clawing for their life while they however many tons of water is being used to produce the plastic jellied shoes at the oil companies plastic manufacturers. I had met a grown man who had experienced this and lived to tell us in a very small country town in north Florida, we are exceptionally privileged.
The second visit was by one of our substitute teachers whose name I can’t remember. We were learning about the Holocaust for months, and our substitute teacher was invited read to our class out of the diary of his grandparent who was sent to a concentration camp. After reading Night by Elie Wiesel and hearing this man read from the diary of one of his grandparents who was in a concentration camp broke my heart.
What I think is so important about both of these visits was that it was their stories, one lived out personally and another was handed down to a keeper of knowledge and words, a direct descendent of someone who experienced a very real and terrifying reality. It is so important to WRITE AND READ AND SHARE – this is something that I believe has the biggest impact when shared personally, in the flesh not just in out heads, not online, not reading a blog post, we need to be in each other’s presence to understand the gravity of anything, you can speak of running or visiting the top of a mountain, but how can anyone understand that if they are not there, and if someone who has visited does not write down the rawness of that moment, it is so difficult but we have to try.
I know at the beginning of this I was so nervous, but really I feel like I need to share my experiences of the people who have come into my life like this, share my experiences and be take care of the knowledge I gain from others and SPEAK MORE OR ELSE SOMEONE WILL TRY TO SPEAK FOR YOU.
bother
14 Dec
I forgot to post on this day so this is just a blank page.
Reminder to read that book you’ve been meaning to read. Just read a 10 minutes a day or something. I don’t know what else to tell you right now.
Reminder to drink some more water too, but everyone’s reminding you aren’t they? and you just don’t do because you have something against authority.
drones
An update on things
Something I am wanting more of, in myself, is organization + discipline. I know my work ethic thrives on a structure instead of this abundance of energy going everywhere without a destination.
At this point, I’ve done exactly 7 drawing in the dark (DITD) drawings and I haven’t written about the last 5. Why? Because writing about it isn’t the point. The point is it’s about a process it is not the end result but an exercise with a possibility for an idea to generate from it. But they are basically just shadow boxing.
In the span of the last 5 DITD’s I’ve begun destroying and collaging a small guidebook to last years new gallery openings, cutting up paintings and developing a small artist book, creating drag race bingo for a holiday party, and writing/editing more of that short story I started a few months ago.
I’m concerned about the short story right now because I think it would be interesting to get the drones conspiracy incorporated, the ones flying over northwest United States right now that is causing a bit of a hype in the media.
My most recent historical knowledge of drones from the past 6 years
I knew a man who allegedly worked for special operations in the U.S. military. He worked at home, and I forget what it’s called but he was called by the military to serve with no return date in some submarine at a classified location that even his wife couldn’t know about. He worked specifically with intelligence, code cracking, and drones. He said there is a room in his home that he would work from to kill people. Intelligence wise, he told me that going to chat with people at a bar is how he would get a lot of information from people, that is, people he tried to hack information from. He said the best way to get passcodes because they are a bit more relaxed, and you can make easy conversation get the personal information out a lot quicker.
Before I met the man above, I knew a young veteran, young as in still in his 20’s who served in special operations in the U.S. military in the middle east. He shot people from airplanes; I want to say he went on hundreds of flights, but I cannot confirm that because it’s been so long I can’t remember. All I know is that he was 18 or 19 when he was deployed. When I met him, he was an alcoholic. One day when he was over to visit my flatmate/my friend/his gf I confronted him about stealing liquor out of my bedroom closet and he tried to deny it at first, but it was obvious he would be the only one to do that. I don’t know what all he had to go through but at that time he broke down, what do you do after your job, your service to this world was at one point to murder people sometimes children, he never talked about how many kids he killed. I say he was broken because that is what he told me, we spoke, well he spoke mostly and cried to me about the pain, I did not pry any details because I wouldn’t want to do that to someone, I feel like that would have caused him more harm than good. So we sat together in the corner of my bedroom floor and he kept apologizing and crying. I feel like if someone is crying with you it’s a duty to let that person get it out, let it go, as much as one possibly can. I’m not sure why he was really crying though, I feel like that’s not my journey to know, however, I knew his life was difficult even without his experience in the military.
---- What does this have to do with drones? -----
well, I’m thinking about this man because he had to be there and see, at whatever distance, for a human life be taken away from this earth, I have no idea what that does to someone physiologically but I assume from all the testimonies it fucks with the body and mind, the nervous system, everything connected to your nerves, connections we don’t even know of yet…
So, what is a solution? I assume the military uses drone strikes not only as a more efficient way of killing people but also because remote drone strikes may be less psycho / physiologically disturbing than handling the command in person. This is what I’m sure they try to say anyways, I’m probably wrong, unless a soldier would like to correct me, please do. To clarify again, this is all speculation… Another theory, is that remote drone strikes could be more psychologically / physiologically disturbing because what if the government starts deep faking what the soldiers are remotely shooting, what if they find out that instead of remotely shooting a group of grown men “confirmed” to be terrorists it was actually a bunch of children on a beach. The soldier cannot confirm or deny whether they killed who they actually killed because they were not there. We are getting into a quite dangerous Schrödinger's Cat situation and I am fearful about the reality of the coming days. I know this is a bit dramatic, but now we have the technology to really fuck everything up if it is not handled MORE SLOWLY AND CONSIDERATLY… We are moving too fast and at some point no one will have time to even care if people die or not.
ditd 2
I feel so impatient, I can see it there in my head. I was told recently by a guide that I need to slow down, that is was crucial. They prompted me to look into yin energy and it’s properties, that this is the space I should be in. Since this meeting, I am so hyper-aware of how difficult it is for me to truly be calm and slow down my mind. Even now, nearly midnight, already tucked into bed everything put away, I felt the need to pick up my laptop and right this down with urgency. Immediately, I speak to myself and say,
wow Laura you couldn’t just wait until it was a decent hour to do this? Do you have to use every bit of energy supply you have?
And recently, every time I speak to myself like this, I find myself constantly apologizing, saying,
you’re doing the best you can and it’s okay that you can’t slow down completely, yet, but at some point it will get easier… I am trying my best.
It could be the overstimulation I am receiving from short form digital content, and seeing everyone in the art world and the other worlds do their millions of things and I lose track of my things, it’s like a rollercoaster every time I turn on my phone.
in-between all of my daily duties I decided to do another draw in the dark
It was getting quite late but I thought now or else it will be to late and that little voice will pop up again, saying why are you doing this at all
I got her done, a bit frantically, even though, I tried to calm myself by rubbing the paper for a minute.
the drawing
it looks like portals to me, multiple portals
iceplant
if you live anywhere, garden
Lambeth county is at the intersection of the greater london’s B Line
notes below are some notes from Czech Conroy’s talk about Restoring Biodiversity In Suburban London
Wildflower-rich areas should ideally have a large variety of mainly native plant species, etc:
nectar will be available for more months of the year - Spring flowering plants: Aubretia, Bugle, and Primrose // Mid summer plants: Knapweed, Wallflower, and Verbena // Late summer plants: Iceplant, Rudbekia, and native Scabious
some insects require specific foodplants - e.g. Bird’s foot trefoil for Common Blue caterpillars / Sorrel for Small Copper caterpillars
Pollinating Insects = butterflies/ honeybees/ bumblebees/ solitary bees/ moths/ wasps/ flies (including c. 270 species of Hoverflies)/ Beetles (about 1000 species are pollinators)… Total UK Pollinator Species = about 4,000”
// we need stepping stones to strengthen B-lines and other corridors
cam 1
“match girls strike” I doubt there was a pun intended when their jaws were falling off.
I had a quick chat with my mom today and she noticed it has been a while since I wrote a note.
I’ve been working my full-time job, working on other projects during my time off, baking, and also following several court cases and listening to history podcasts (I listen to Emily D. Baker Show #lawnerd, and Bailey Sarian’s Dark History), etc. … so, I wrote a note today.
It is evident I never go into these notes with expectations.
Today is no different.
It is inspired by this episode of Dark History I listened to here, and my ever developing case against money and how it should be abolished one day (because it just makes zero sense to me, a logical human being, and one day I’ll have all the proof I need, even though, dying women and children barely moved this system, so, logically it seems as though an effort like this would make little impact, so they say, so they want you to say. To continue this effort is worth snuffing out this wild fire that is money, we are smart enough to develop a different design, though we are innately creatures of habit and this is one of the worst we have collectively picked up it is still doable, we are planning to colonize mars for fucks sake… a fucking rocket just flew back to it’s launch pad in reverse just the other day)
theory
woman and child slavery was and STILL is a lucrative exploitation by capitalistic entities
developing a proof
historical case #1
the Match Girls Strike 1888 TUC Archive here
white phosphorous exposure info here (info quoted below)
the company knew that women and children were suffering from white phosphorous but continued to use the mineral instead on the safer but slightly more expensive option, red phosphorous.
white phosphorous exposure (please follow the link above for CDC reference)…
“Stage 3: Nausea, vomiting (bloody; hematemesis), and diarrhoea; liver enlargement and tenderness and clinical signs of liver damage; blood vessels become fragile and blood stops clotting properly, resulting in bleeding into the skin, mucous membranes, and various organs; severe kidney damage and failure; seizures, delirium, and coma; cardiovascular collapse; and death may occur within 4 to 8 days.”
“White phosphorus is not classifiable as a carcinogen. However, it is not a suspected carcinogen. It is unknown whether chronic or repeated exposure to white phosphorus increases the risk of reproductive toxicity or developmental toxicity. Chronic industrial inhalation exposure to white phosphorus fumes has resulted in various symptoms. Examples include general disability, inflammation of the large airways (bronchitis), anemia, physical wasting and malnutrition (cachexia), and destruction of the jaw bones, called “phossy jaw” or “Lucifer’s jaw.””
since then London has come a long way…
I used to really love math when I was younger, I remember enjoying a lesson covering mathematical truths… sometimes I think of the world like this… I can see how one variable effects another variable just as any other rational human being might do, and then you prove it logically
I am sure this has been done by an actual mathematician (honestly, it’s been so long I barely recall anything now) but if I were to develop the most rudimentary theorem
these are all estimates based on loose research of that time, this is not to be taken as a fact just a very rough guess and starting point (unforutnately, I also have to work several hours a day and don’t get paid for this)
—————————————————————————-
(A WORK IN PROGRESS 21/11/2024)
capitalist entity (Bryant & May)-> is a detrimental variable in this case every 4-5 years 3/4 of employees gets extremely ill, 1/3 of employees lose their jaw and development permanent brain damage, 1/4 of employees die
150 logs a day
employed about 5,000 women and girls later years lessen to roughly 1200-1400 women and girls (probably because of how the long term toxic exposure is now killing and deforming the women and children.)
each girl 12-14 hour days 6 days a week 8 shillings per week (not including several fines deducted from wages if late to work, caught doing anything other than eating during break, looking unkept, having dirty feet because they couldn’t afford shoes and their required matching making equipment, going to the bathroom outside of your break, talking. etc.)
even though I typically don’t like using Wikipedia as a reference…
“In the 1880s Bryant & May employed nearly 5,000 people, most of them female and Irish, or of Irish descent;[8] by 1895 the figure was 2,000 people, of whom between 1,200 and 1,500 were women and girls.[10] The workers were paid different rates for completing a ten-hour day, depending on the type of work undertaken.[11] The frame-fillers were paid 1 shilling per 100 frames completed; the cutters received 23⁄4 d for three gross of boxes, and the packers got 1s 9d per 100 boxes wrapped up. Those under 14 years of-age received a weekly wage of about 4 s.[12] Most workers were lucky if they took the full amounts home, as a series of fines were levied by the foremen, with the money deducted directly from wages. The fines included 3 d for having an untidy workbench, talking or having dirty feet—many of the workers were bare-footed as shoes were too expensive; 5 d was deducted for being late; and a shilling for having a burnt match on the workbench. The women and girls involved in boxing up the matches had to pay the boys who brought them the frames from the drying ovens, and had to supply their own glue and brushes. One girl who dropped a tray of matches was fined 6 d.[13][14]”
the variable questions so far:
what does “d” stand for?
what is a shilling
how much was a bryant and may matchbox?
___________________________________
will continue this exploration at a later date
I’m sure any logical human can probably guess where I am going to head with this, yes, cobalt, copper, lithium just to start with
loops
I need to take my time with things and not try to rush because I feel anxious, sometimes, that I have no time…Then I thought about that book I started reading a while ago The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley… and then I kind of got stuck on the word “ministry”… first because I just think it’s a funny word “mini-stree” and how I typically think of Christianity automatically because I grew up around so many so-called ministries that God ordained, allegedly, maybe a few, but I highly doubt on every corner of my town God had time to ordain everybody that would be ridiculous…
Tyrant by Kali Uchis is playing now and I’m distracted because I love this song
I’ll pick this back up later
——
It’s now later… I decided to call this note, a loop because
we circled back to it
“All around we goooo…” - Kali Uchis
“Keep spinning me round n round n round n round n round” - Kali Uchis, again.
time as a loop
the loop of faces of a bf from years ago and his hand
gentle, loops in his hair
gentle, loops of graphite on the nose
that’s the connections I have with loop and the content of todays note … idk why I’m stuck on this.
nordic soundscape
I step outside and my first major sense is cold
the next major sense is a sound coming from the distance, the saxophone, playing Tequila by The Champs
I see the Eye, I see Big Ben, I pass a sign that says WATERLOO
“sometimes I feel like it can’t be real, somehow, for you to love me” loudly whispers a person snuggling up tightly to another person they believes might break up with them based on nothing other than their own insecurity (which they blame their perfectionist parents for). they both begin to speak sweet nothings and kiss each other in between making up stories of one being a German spy conducting espionage (sprechen sie deutsch) on the other because they used to work near the French Embassy… finally, they got off.
sometimes I feel like it can’t be real, somehow, for you to love me
this is the one thing I cared about while enduring their unabashed pda
earlier that evening…
WENNÄKOSKI Flounce
LINDBERG Viola Concerto
SIBELIUS Symphony No. 1
Esa-Pekka Salonen - conductor
Lawrence Power - viola
After Magnus Lindberg’s Viola Concerto was applause. After Salonen applauded the musicians he turned to the crowed, he appeared to be clapping directly at someone in the audience, of course, Lindberg … the composer passed by me from the right isle, smiling from ear to ear and gave the conductor and viola a warm hug and we continued rounds of applause while they faced us embracing his colleagues, the water in his vessel, from which we drank.
At some moments, I felt as though I being pulled down a hill and having to frequently catch myself, like rapids, how smooth and quite can quickly turn violent roars, so many rocks and pebbles tossing in and ripples waving through my body…
I couldn’t help but think of war sometimes, the persistence and tenacity one must have to proceed with war and inevitable deaths, over and over again, until Power is secured. And in this composition, I felt there was a exertion of a type of war, with Being, which makes me think of the primordial, our indisputable composition (besides carbon and the stars), water… and almost as if the god of water is speaking in whispers we are pulled along it’s repetitive odyssey…
Sudden, unexpected happenings and the will-power to keep going
Everyone wore different shoes
and the harp play was barefoot, heels tucked under her chair. my eyes were floor level. I tried to look to spot the uniqueness of everyone’s violins and violas (since I was closest to that section). Power’s bow was wearing away quickly (he had to tear off a couple strings from his bow in the middle of the piece)
wearing away quickly, like a stream carving a canyon, and our gift was that we could watch this weathering unfold in the matter of 23 minutes.
If you listened to it as well, but couldn’t figure out where we were, maybe, you just need to look down.
for details of this past event, please refer to the Philharmonia’s website here
for the music now -> YouTube// Lawrence Power · The Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra · Nicholas Collon · Magnus Lindberg. Magnus Lindberg: Viola Concerto, Absence & Serenades here
ps I love norse mythology… and I was wondering why was I linking water and war together? And then I remembered, Ymir, the first giant who created Oden and his brothers underneath it’s armpit, and whose offspring (the gods) killed him in order to create earth and the other realms. Ymir’s blood formed the oceans, the rivers, the streams
honey bees
I love reading fiction, but I didn’t realise how much I needed to read The Bees by Laline Paull…
*SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *SPOILERS* *and emotionally tolling content is suggested and stated in this note. Please, take care of yourself.*
Like fuel to a fire… a moment that truly satisfied this anger I held tightly inside me has been fed by the honey bee society, which is not fiction at all, but presented itself to me as a fiction based on fact of the matter…
male honey bees only have one purpose, to mate with a queen bee and after performing it’s life’s sole purpose, the drone dies. During the winter times, if the drone has not mated, it becomes most practical to kill the drone when resources are scarce.
Anytime I see men in our society try to control and punish us for being women, I automatically think of this scenario, I wish we were bees some days… Of course, this is not including all the amazing and beautiful men who live in this world, who are intelligent not only naturally / academically but emotionally, to them I’m grateful. However… violence against women and governments allowing for horrific acts to continue to women is appalling. I immediately think of the sister bees hypnotically dancing around the drones to then begin ripping them apart and eating them. The scene as described in the book is horrific but the horrors that persist make me think of this moment of the book so often. This is just the reality, I have such a pain in my stomach thinking about it and I move on hoping that in our coming future, in moments when we can stop atrocities and fight for people that we do.
I don’t know if this is healthy, I feel like it is quite concerning to have this kind of view towards men who are delusional misguided, and to far down a trail of fuckery. I want things to be fair, which has unfortunately been escalated to violent thoughts since this is what I see and experience… and this kind of thought is more of law of equivalent exchange response, you do something bad and the response is to do something bad.. their is a moral dilemma (some days I don’t feel the dilemma as much) in this, but nonetheless I’m satisfied to play this scene out in my head when I see cases of femicide and abuse proliferating (these days).
What is sad is that I could just list out all the awful things happening to women, but again, it would be as long as history… Of course, the successful matriarchs we don’t talk about are often publicly hidden gems in our academic circles and deep in the internet searches. I will at some point make that list just as a dream it’s common knowledge in the future. For now, I rage… and we make room with our limited resources, which means if there is a man who is belittling you, just cut him out of your life, we are slowly losing more freedom so we need more space and resources, which means to weed out unnecessary destruction of our physical or mental wellbeing
“what about her-story? did anybody ask?” Ab-Soul
* * *
24/11/2024
in Lambeth county, suburban London, it seems there are actually too many honey bees according to my local community garden experts
ditd 1
ditd #1
07/11/2024 @ 22:27 GMT
It felt difficult to draw while I could see what colour I picked up, it felt wrong each mark that I could see, I wanted to not draw with an aim… but because I could see what I was doing I could not really help myself… it felt like I had chains on my hands and whatever I drew in that moment was not mine, but something Wrong…
SOLUTION:
I decided I would draw blindly on a fresh page… I tried first just closing my eyes… that was better but I opened my eyes too many times, it wasn’t easy/ I could not draw comfortably. At this point I decided to turn off the lights. Now I can kind of see but will not be able to really make out what I am doing or what colours I am using.
The picture above was made while I drew in the dark.
I’ve titled this DITD #1
There’s a lot of moments in this drawing that I enjoy
orange+blue moment // green+red moment /// yellow line running through the middle (which I felt like only need to be a line, it just worked out perfectly) ////
When I look at it, I feel as though I am being visited by multiple people, like there is a presence being made. Anyways, I will keep doing this practice and see what else comes of it. I think this could also be a good way to know myself more.
On a less positive, positive note, I do feel a bit uneasy… other factors to be considered -> world tragedies, luteal phase, living on unstable island, slowly falling in love (with my new home), self pressurising
I saw this thing called “hopecore” today and it made me laugh. People are taking the piss out of the cores. But I really do like hopecore… I’d be down for more hopecore than a lot of the other cores.
I feel like so much will come out of me
it’s slowly coming, I just want to capture it, as much as I can… I am limited, time is limited, but I am here so I’ll be able to at some point and I see it so clearly, and it feels like it’s almost laughing at me in this little blind drawing. Like I’ve said in other posts, I understand people will read this but I really try to only right this so it makes sense to me… if something is of the most importance to the general public or loved ones I would try a bit harder to make it make sense to you…but really if you don’t understand this that is completely fine, thank you for reading through this anyways I hope, if at all, you got something of value from this.