This edition was written as part of my process at SAHA Studio, where I am among the 8th term artists between June and December 2024.
This morning I've been counting the differences between being a good person and being a bad person.
One, two, three, four. This time it sounds exactly like this.
To my surprise, last night on the balcony I was explaining how all my life I’ve worked towards negating distinctions between good or bad, right or wrong, before or after; allowing myself to have a space so free, I could do anything I desire in it. I’ve realized on the balcony, that this is what I do, my blessing and my curse.
These distinctions I don't make have me swimming in swamps I believe no one else sees. As in, their ability to understand the swamp, or to be in it with me. A system where I may hold even the coffee cup responsible for everything that happens. Or sometimes a high dose of compassion I feel towards it for simply doing the task at hand, holding the coffee. Just because it exists.
The swamp keeps me arrogant. But it also holds my reality.
One beautiful downside to love is its capacity to hold you accountable. That’s why we play hide and seek with it. And swamps are perfect environments for the game.
Everything that comes my way seems familiar from somewhere else.
I forgot what I knew when I was born, my hope is to remember before I die.
There must be a connection between pain and pop music. Or between reality and pain and reality and pop music.
When given an explanation for it afterwards, an action poses the question of whether it occurred because of the explanation in the first place, perhaps it having existed regardless of the action, by itself, in the mind. Therefore does any action remain to simply be an action? Only when not explained perhaps.
I don’t have much of an explanation for what has been going on in my life lately. Which makes it more a totality of succeeding actions instead of a fragmented reality of explanation-bound thought patterns.
He-said + she-said = 0
The ambitions of writing once more comes into question. I resort to other forms of expression that lack the intrinsic feature of sounding like an explanation. Paintings barely ever explain something. Or images at large. Or even performative gestures.
I resort to old techniques to keep myself cool. For example, instead of air conditioning, I compress my neck and feet with blue gels from the freezer.
Yet it is completely unknown to me what I do to cool myself off from an event, a person, an idea, a task or a belief.
I discovered yesterday that staring at the mirror helps when talking on the phone. Much like love, a reflection has the potential to hold oneself accountable. But is that what we are seeking, an accountant?
I already told you I have nothing to explain.
except that I wouldn't agree with you if the past has to come before now and if the future will always have to come later. I do not agree with you when you do not listen, you do not agree with me when I think you don’t. We still love each other, why wouldn’t we? We have been alive for as long as we could remember. I have nothing to explain.