it's been a while.
I feel like I am full of confessions lately, but confessions that are not so much real confessions but just raw openings, admittings, sayings-to-the-world-that-get-to-the-core-of-me. on a spring day I will sit down cross-legged in a park under a tree somewhere, having biked around somewhere, and then sit and watch people laugh and run and think about the world. and say: well you know, this. and this. and this.
I am full of stoppages, of frustrations, of newnesses, of exhilarations, of questions. if there's a moment at which the lines of confusion, certainty, excitement, waiting, and all of these converge, then it is now, and I find myself waiting for something, looking for something, being nervous about something, being excited about someone, being stuck about something, etc. projects drifting in the air. potentials weighing down, pregnant. the remnants of old attempts lingering, etc. etc. etc.
blockages and stoppages. paralysis and blocks. at these points, one just should push and shit and feel free. so quotes from the past:
Nearly exactly one year ago, this time:
in ten years this will all have been hazy memory. in ten years I will chuckle to myself and recognize the same patterns, and I would have just have told myself to make something and be proud of it, to flex my muscles and feel the fibers firing, to know the joy of articulation, description, thought, system, and creation, to make and to make and to make. calculus integration is the technique of aggregating mathematically minuscule areas under the curve in order to find the total area. everything ever made is also an aggregation of the epsilon, the minuscule, the little sliver of x that is multiplied, added over a series of time and space in order to get somewhere. the epsilon of the evolution of a biological species is the genetic mutations that occur of the copying-over of chromosomes. action generates, generates, generates error and thus new value. make and make and make and eventually add it all together.
and a year and a half ago, a friend wanted to do a manifesto show, so I wrote this for her and never ended up sending it because I couldn't justify something, couldn't quite express it enough. but here it is, and upon reading it again it sounds just right for a manifesto --- which is to say, overly full of declarations, overly striving for meaning, overly cryptic, overly expressive. maybe I was re-reading hakim bey at the time. but it's all there, in all sincerity:
sort-of not-really manifesto, sept 30, 2010
Work towards the modification of my current manifesto. Everything worthwhile only happens in a process of disorientation and a loss of self: there is nothing so stagnant than wanting to have solid principles.
The deferral of initial judgement enables a critical, productive glossolalia, the originating primordial soup.
There is no good, great, skillful, or progressive, only interesting, fascinating, resolved, and obsessive.
Critically celebrate and celebratorily critique the gloss of signified signification, verbal spectacles: phrases describing semantic relationships mediated by phrases. Techniques are tools until I grasp hold of them.
Desire is a muscle, not a drive. It should be used, flexed, trained, pushed, rested, and like all other things bodily, should be fed.
Beware the normal and the formal: these are forces out of which a surprise at transgression and an alarm at impropriety originates, the muscle that arches up brackish crystallized life's single hawkish eyebrow.
Space has mass and is slow, heavy, a warm suffocating blanket, the embodiment of inertia. Move quickly out of my current geography and abandon yourself to the vagaries and vacillations of transit, before I start to stick, before I forget what it is to be lost.
The 'invasion of privacy' is a hygiene issue, like all other twists, breaks, leaks, accidents, spills: vectors that impel the drawing out of a new line, the creation of a new person-function, the formation of (your, my) newly-bounded being whose outlines and definitions will rapidly recede and be naturalized: forgotten & ubiquitous. Be enthralled by these moments when my inner organs become exposed to the world, harden to form a new outer body.
I can only tell myself what I would do because what I need, beyond anything, is for you to not be me, not a 'not-me' but to not-be me, such that we can have the most precious of ideas borne out of the fertile ground of non-ground, of agonistic conflict, of contamination, disorganization, muddying, loosening, diluting, impurifying.