The technology I've been using culminates in lana del rays song ‘heroin’ as i speak it simultaneously as heroine, which i like to imagine is an electric flickering in the breaking machine; It's time to leave.
Many of the recent images were created within the space of social media as a drunken exposure (and I wasn't even drunk). Facebook as mirror re-configuring me. I felt the cruel urge to mutilate and destroy myself as slowly and painfully as possible in front of this imaginary audience of men. Pulling from me a long and gory scream, faking my own death. Faking it so well that at times i felt i was really dying. I felt the drawing out of my death would asphyxiate them. Like pulling someone under with you. I was holding my breath. I wanted my exit to leave a poison in their water. This machine that is as discreet as a ballerina in a jewellery box. And now I'm exhausted, id be lying if i said I wasn't sick of it.
So see these following images as the spectre of a non-death. I've faked my death and left my body in order to buy myself some time as i go on the run.
Many of the recent images were created within the space of social media as a drunken exposure (and I wasn't even drunk). Facebook as mirror re-configuring me. I felt the cruel urge to mutilate and destroy myself as slowly and painfully as possible in front of this imaginary audience of men. Pulling from me a long and gory scream, faking my own death. Faking it so well that at times i felt i was really dying. I felt the drawing out of my death would asphyxiate them. Like pulling someone under with you. I was holding my breath. I wanted my exit to leave a poison in their water. This machine that is as discreet as a ballerina in a jewellery box. And now I'm exhausted, id be lying if i said I wasn't sick of it.
So see these following images as the spectre of a non-death. I've faked my death and left my body in order to buy myself some time as i go on the run.
"life rocked me, ultra-softly"
"flying to the moon again"
What im made of today is not a nice thing. I feel nasty. I've made a mess i cannot tidy. Irredeemable. And all the more scary was its suddenness. I take myself by surprise. What images do we have lingering in mid air? We have the damsel running from haunted mansions windswept wearing silk. In that i should have anticipated my mad-dash for the door. We also have photos of me looking intoxicated and un-sexy. How do i put this disaster together in a way which will make its substance love? How do i give it a countenance that will inspire nothing but love? To be able to love, most of all, it is the most of the alls. And i am sure it is in the tenderness of creating. But i am too panicky as though im in a rush. But for what? If i held a baby right now it would begin to cry, it would pick up the seemingly imperceptible trembling in my composure. And there, i would have ruined its entire life. That fearful trembling would have set the ricocheting rhythm of its destiny; fear. Its better off being given to someone else. Do you know how many babies i have given away for fear of killing them? All these children that i love but never got to see grow. Who do not even know me or know that i exist.
This time it's too much of a mess, and im panicking. I should go lock myself in a room alone and work on myself. And especially breath in long enough to suspend any dangerous fecundity, which in my case is never ripe fruit but some unwanted excess, like vermin proliferating. But i happen despite myself, so holding still is not an option for some of us. And some vitriolic errors are so far beyond my redeeming touch that i have to sit helplessly and hope someone else will be able to do what i in those moments cannot; love.
And yet, it is too easy to love rats, what is not to love? but do they find it easy to love me? A rats love would make my life complete.
This time it's too much of a mess, and im panicking. I should go lock myself in a room alone and work on myself. And especially breath in long enough to suspend any dangerous fecundity, which in my case is never ripe fruit but some unwanted excess, like vermin proliferating. But i happen despite myself, so holding still is not an option for some of us. And some vitriolic errors are so far beyond my redeeming touch that i have to sit helplessly and hope someone else will be able to do what i in those moments cannot; love.
And yet, it is too easy to love rats, what is not to love? but do they find it easy to love me? A rats love would make my life complete.
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