I am very comfortable with the fact that I am at once completely isolated and messily, inseparably connected without bounds. That is a characteristic of systems within systems. A set of components can exhibit closed-system behavior, while the larger overreaching system is open. I am alone&myself; I am onlyMebecauseofEverything(historically/presently/socially/culturally/emotionally/physically):IamWe.
I am often overwhelmed with trying to understand our larger systems. Dealing with only my system (my thoughts, history, emotions, body) is the easiest - most comfortable. But it is also a lie. The components of me are only possible through interaction. I am always interacting, no matter how many invitations I turn down or books I shut in exasperation. In the choice to not-do, I am still doing.
I have a degree that imbues its recipients with a reverence for Earth and all its creators, but only qualifies one to destroy or assist in finding the most economical way to invade. Fuck.
Anyway, I understand that to-destroy is inherent in existing as a biological being, but I don’t want to dedicate my life to it any more than I have to. Destroying-on-the-daily in order to sustain myself/keep alive is plenty.
Reflections in a square pond and Below the red kite, textile works by Janet Bolton.
What really exists is not things made but things in the making. Once made, they are dead, and an infinite number of alternative conceptual decompositions can be used in defining them. But put yourself in the making by a stroke of intuitive sympathy with the thing and, the whole range of possible decompositions coming at once into your possession, you are no longer troubled with the question which of them is the more absolutely true. Reality falls in passing into conceptual analysis; it mounts in living its own undivided life—it buds and bourgeons, changes and creates. Once adopt the movement of this life in any given instance and you know what Bergson calls the devenir réel by which the thing evolves and grows. Philosophy should seek this kind of living understanding of the movement of reality, not follow science in vainly patching together fragments of its dead results.
We view plastiglomorate as sedimentary evidence of the anthropocene and cemented ceramic remnants as artifacts of archeology. No, no. They’re not different categorically. Yes, yes, they exist on a spectrum - like Brassica kale and genetically modified corn… different levels of alteration. Both to be preserved, in rock or in bodies. Both by now discerned, in effect.
I hid all of my books because their presence felt tyrannical.
Sartyr and Nymph in pleasure. Rich person’s house (House of the Faun), Pompeii, Late 2nd Century B.C.
Venus, the patron goddess of Pompeii. Relied upon, prayed to. Powerfully clothed, but on occasion nude and near Mars for comfort’s sake.
I bought myself flowers. Purple for the ambiguous. Two colors make one, vibrant yet cool, fiery blue.