Short Meteor

Made me cry. I miss a man I never knew, never would know anyway. I miss him. A lot. Fuckin amazing man.

fashion

I come across this line in a database for artistic research: “…to add a work is to make a claim that the work can be seen as research; through expositions, comments and articles the initial claim is transformed into an argument.” (Argument?!) All of this, it seems to me, leaves us squarely within the limits imposed by identity, subjective expression, and interpersonal exchange. It not only presupposes that you have something to say that can be communicated and argued about (to reach some sort of consensus I assume), but worse, it presupposes a “you” standing there (logocentrically) afterwards as a guarantee for the worth, value and meaning of this production. It makes no sense, it would be useful. I can’t do that.

a dove. yesterday.

This photo is exactly 10 years old today. This is the preservation of history.

This was 20 years ago. I was lost. Confused.

And then he found this old map. It did seem odd. A single sheath from some book. Was it? Anything seemed possible. Anything could be true.

and that was so long ago