i thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iink id rather
just not have sex than havesex IN N95 MASKS
i thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iink id rather
just not have sex than havesex IN N95 MASKS
this year was the most productive year of painting (and basically everything else) ive had in 5+years.
i would like to photo and post my more recent things of which there is prob over 100 since the last time i worked on digitizing things. in the meantime i am posting older things i have images of (2011-2014 mostly), to see how that feels and if i hate having it online or not.
send me some half cyborg zoomer kid to work on this plz, if you know any.
dude yea i dumpster but [rolled is eyes @ me]
i Read the Ingredients !
geez
april 2020:
the way i felt when I was 10 or 11 finding out about columbine, or 12 when stranded in manhattan overnight on 9-11; the dominoes were already lined up in the absolute stupidest and most evil way possible, how could anybody express surprise that it was happening like this. the process of the dominoes continuing to fall includes the way certain entities predictably disavow the fact that they were even lined up in the first place. this is all some sort of mistake, some sort of injustice that could have been averted if only… people were more obedient? people weren’t so ‘ignorant’ ? (‘ignorance’ is the most misunderstood quality of any population)
we were promised (we are still being promised) first of all an apprehensible event with discrete limits. we are promised specific dangers, codes, rules, consistent forms, a crisis with horizons forming traceable shapes. we are promised that the plague event is discretely identifiable in its mechanics and its effects, hopefully also its origins. we are promised that the monolithic single plague is upon us, one plague, unifying us, sanctifying the global unit. the crisis we experience together will make us ‘one’.
solidarity is not a dishonest word because of the monolith’s actual ‘exceptions’ and exclusions–if these were somehow filled, in the concept of ‘solidarity’ would still be beyond dishonest, simply because at such a scale it is fundamentally completely meaningless.
are we more unified than we were in relation to death, now that death has sped up a little? even with all the inequalities theoretically ‘filled in’, solidarity on its own is still just absurd.
but the monolithic event we are being told to relate ourselves to in various ways (piety for the sacrifices of others, personal responsibility, social distances, righteous demands for fairness) is like an all-important cardboard cutout floating in a body of water; but it’s the water which is the living part. ‘they have’ the genome, so many patterns, so many ‘cases’ from which to draw data. so much data. one day ‘we’ will know literally everything there is to know about the coronavirus, by which time millions will have died. the information is a moving target. this matters because in the time spent chasing the target, death arrives. when time is of the essence the lens of data is proving itself incapable of grasping the practical reality, the material effects of fragmentation of time itself (and logic itself, reason itself) across the world. the lens of data is just like a kaleidoscope looking at the monolith. The kaleidoscope turns every day, bringing more shiny focal points to the center.
the more objective medical description happens, the less information we have. there is such a saturation of ‘data’ that from day to day in a city with ‘according to some’ the highest death rate in the country, for practical purposes we don’t know what the fuck to do. the obsessive faith in science, in medicine’s holy project of locating The Coronavirus as this event with discrete logically apprehensible effects, literally a Medical identity, has blatantly failed to deliver the associated promise of (state–or anyone’s) significant apprehension of the factors involved in the outcome–or even significantly dent the outcome; let alone control of the outcome
the living chaos that attacks bodies has not been described in usefully legible terms and never ever will be. the more description happens, functionally the less description happens. the more desperately we beg for a central voice, a medical unity, to save us from a sudden torturous death, the more blatantly this impossibility is revealed
as raised spikes of exponential spread bloom across america a kind of relativity of logic itself emerges across regions. what is happening? what do we do?
the crisis, it arrives at a different speed with in fact different consequences, and different methods are even possible, let alone advisable. as a simple example, ‘social distancing’ is a complete unachievable abstraction for actually the majority of the world. the plague event literally has a different existence in different places; the metanarrative of ‘one global crisis’ arguably does more harm than good for many regions. it is literally a different crisis. by now it might even be a significantly genetically different virus. the imperative to understand a situation where i or people in my life have an increased chance of dying a sudden and horrific death in abstracted global terms adds nothing.
beyond a few basic facts, the plague’s functional reality quickly diverges. the ‘rules’ of transmission, treatment and survival become incoherent and contradictory across circumstances. the factors, demographic and environmental and historical factors such as who had access to healthcare for their whole life and who fucking didn’t, are so widely differentiated as to make attempts to compare and analyze and chart, into a comedy.
understanding this, the glut of “real scientific information” and its resultant worthlessness under the circumstances, people should be much less indignant about the existence of conspiracy theories–the obvious syndrome of knowing you’re being lied to outright; shot-in-the-dark conjecture in reaction to visible ideology is as good a method of apprehending a tangible reality as anything else.
it hurts to live in acute fear. it hurts to watch beloved people suffer and brace themselves for a nightmare with no forseeable end. nothing could be worse, though, than to yield to the delusional propaganda of a clearly defined crisis with a single, global medical protocol (the medical is the only discourse that can trump the economy in the contest for the ‘realest real’). not only will this yielding (and internalizing that concept and its implications) not save physical lives, it will leave you defenseless and clueless when what you most need is strength.
it’s true that the world is ‘globalized’ and this cannot be ‘undone’ in the way it was ‘done’, but it’s also true that these existing connections of commerce do not, cannot and will never mean a heroic global coherence in the face of a global mortal threat or frankly anything else. this is one of the reasons why the climate movement is so weak. everyone will never care about ‘everyone’; from city to city we have only the faintest ability to comprehend anything that’s happening to us. in a certain way this should be a source of comfort rather than despair.
“What state would be capable of dissuading and annihilating all terrorism in the bud (Germany)? It would have to arm itself with such terrorism and generalize terror on every level. If this is the price of security, is everybody deep down dreaming of this?” – more from Fatal Strategies
hahahaha
the cost of it if u go over
hahahaha the cost is
very dear
its very dear
the cost after that hahaha
hrut: i heard a troll took the domain antifa.com and made it route to bidens campaign page
hoskuld: bahahahaha
i love that
hrut: yea me too. funny how ppl see it differently
like i think is a troll but right wing ppl think its a strategy
of either antifa or biden or that they are the same (“troll ur self”)
hoskuld: obvi they r bofe Masterminds
i heard someone cough. i turned around.
there were no people in sight. i listened. all i heard was traffic and wind. 50-50 it could have been my imagination. i walked faster with the bulky stuff in my hands.
the sun was setting on one of the darkest corners of the neighborhood. a huge patch of shade blocked the road.
in the parking alleys behind the plaza building, i found a milk crate. as soon as i got to the end of the alley, i could organize everything. a bunch of crushed electronic crap was weighing down my bucket and i could probably dump most of it back there if no one was around.
i also had a library book. i didn’t intend to steal the book, i only wanted to bring it with me for a few hours. the title was cure yourself with wine! it was about what kind of wine to drink for different illnesses. it had a lot of colorful pictures of fancy meals paired with the wine. between that and the disorganized bucket of herbs, i was hoping to have a look at everything, chuck what i didn’t need, put the good stuff in the milk crate, and return the library book, which i’d taken without checking out, since i didn have a library membership.
at the end of the alley i saw a smashed windshield propped against a wall. little blue-green crumbles of windshield glass covered the area of the ground.
i wanted to stand in the sun but set my things in the most hidden corner of the concrete courtyard instead. i knew i should be in the spot where they’d last see me if i was followed.
there was already a small pile of crushed electronics by the wall, even a large TV set, the screen not broken yet but the VHS slot with a large crater in the front.
i stood there and looked at the stuff for a moment. this was when i heard another cough and a shuffle like somebody’s sneaker brushing on the concrete several bends back. this was when i knew who it had to be. and that he wanted me to hear him coming. he was making a little noise on purpose.
i looked at my stuff. i was really disappointed. i wanted to go through the herbs and i really wanted a chance to look at that wine book.
i looked at the crushed glass on the ground. i reached out and took a handful of the glass. it seems stupid now, but i didn’t have any other weapons on me. a gun would’ve been useless back there anyway.
i listened. it was silent now. but the stress from waiting made it impossible to take my estimated remaining 90 seconds to sort everything. i thought i could throw some things in the milk crate and try to run? on the other hand, the alley was a dead end. i’d have to get out somehow, and this wasn’t a sure thing, never mind the stuff.
before i could think another thought, before i could even figure out if i might as well just come out into the open instead of trying to hide behind the very last corner, or even started to imagine what i might could actually do with the crushed glass in my hand (throw it at him?) i already saw his teeth, his smiling mouth, from under his hood.
somehow, he was already right next to me. he leaned close against the corner of the wall, smiling wide, with huge white teeth, completely silent, like an owl.
i ring both doorbells. nobody responds so i ring them again and again. i look apologetically at the people behind me.
these girls–they ought to let me in; they remember me; some of the neighbors are the same people who lived right next to me most of last year. we shared a yard and split internet and a bike pump.
i look around. the girl who stands behind me is traumatized, so while we wait i don’t want her to see what’s playing on the screen in the garage. someone in the movie is picking up a chainsaw. “don’t do this,” the other woman begs, sobbing. they’re in an enclosed space. i jump up to rummage through the pile of junk by the doorstep for the remote. someone else jumps in to cover the girl’s eyes. i look away too. chainsaw sound and screams. from the corner of my eye i see the shot i definitely didn’t want to see. the victim’s vulnerable abdomen squirts stuff out.
this is right when both doors open. dogs come barreling out of the doors. from both doors the neighbor girls just stare, don’t even say hi. they give me dirty looks as though i’m trying to make their dogs run away.
i greet them warmly, apologetically, and just directly ask for the books. i remind them how hard it was to get the mailbox key and that i saved them the trouble. the books were expensive. i know they arrived at one of these two houses months ago. i’ve stopped by several times to no avail. i’ll definitely stop bugging them if i can just get those books.
i babble normally, but they’re both ice cold as though i’m the fedex man. i ask if i might just come in and look.
the girl on the right mumbles an excuse and just shuts the door. the girl on the left lets her eyes slide toward the ceiling, where a security camera is mounted.
i follow her inside the lefthand doorway. i’m still worried about the girl behind me and her exposure to the slasher movie.
the house interior has been painted electric blue in every square inch, even the tile floor. bright orange flowers decorate the dishwasher, the countertop, the windows. the girls seem derisive of me as i enter recalling how plain white and tan i kept the kitchen when i lived in it. as though this plainness in itself made me untrustworthy.
the doorbell rings again and everyone excitedly runs to the other door, to the pizza that’s being delivered there, all relieved to be ignoring me. i stare at their messy pile of mail next to the door. damn slobs. i know they have the books and for some reason they won’t give them back. i know they don’t even want them, won’t even read them. those books were expensive. weapons of the weak by james c scott. i paid like 35 paypal bucks for just that one. i really just wanted to finish it. i’d gladly keep my mouth shut about it. i just wanted to enjoy myself. these dumb millenial idiots are just withholding my shit for no reason.
i don’t know why they resent me. i was a good neighbor. i didn’t paint the floor blue and i didn’t have a dog but wasn’t i hospitable otherwise? should i have done more to be relateable, approachable? should i have pretended my mail was soapmaking supplies or a fancy vibrator or kitchen stuff? i’m not trying to make them feel stupid by mentioning “books”. i barely read anyway. it’s just about my own pleasure. do they think i want this? do they think i want to be bothering them, asking them for anything?
all i see is junk mail and clutter and i’m getting worried about the people i left outside. i give up and go back out the door.
a clean black sedan pulls up in the driveway. a middle aged white man in a suit with slicked back hair and raybans hops cartoonishly out of the car with, remarkably, a large brown leather gun case. my companions have already run away before i understand what to do. alone, i run around the other side of the house and hop up on the chain link fence.
if i wasn’t worried about luring him closer to them i’d want to stick together with my friends.
not that they’re my friends. they left me behind readily. actually, i’m completely sure they just hope he goes for me instead. the wind picks up abruptly. i hear a dog barking around the front of the house and i hear the dog get shot with an awkward yelp and fall on the grass with a light thump. i look at the neighboring yards. my balance is better than it used to be, thanks to those kung fu classes, but i can see i won’t get very far and that there’s nowhere to hide.
next thing i know i’m lying on the cold tiles, looking at the ceiling stalactites.
my interface was glitching out. i struggled to make it work with the remaining buttons. my phone beeped. i looked at my phone.
“heyy its how are you doing ? wwant to hang out later ? ?”
“sure thing!” i punched in immediately .
one more time i had to fake remember guess who was texting me.
i made a mental note to try to remember who they were. the list of people is too long. i can never remember half of them but i felt guilty enough of being out of touch that i knew i must say yes off the bat. no doubt i was behind in some important area with somebody.
i covered my face with my hands. my hands were kind of clammy and moist. i got up from the computer and went to the front door. i felt jittery.
i looked out the door into the night. an enormous pig was heaving itself up over the curb onto the neutral ground. it was covered in bulbous tumors. it was grunting loudly.
“well,” i said to myself, “the cars seem to be avoiding her all right. they’re slowing down etc. okay, i’d say this isn’t really my problem.” i shut the door.
my phone beeped again. the screen had reconstituted itself.
“how about this afternoon? “
“who is this, by the way ?” i got the courage to ask.
she gave her name, heart heart, smile smile.
i frowned.
“the one from hong kong ?” i asked her.
“no.”
“the one from sweden ?”
“no.”
i turned my head. behind me, the living room had filled with my extended relations. the pig was there, on the coffee table. she was squealing an indescribable noise. my relatives were helping her deliver the piglets, perhaps surgically. i’m sure only now that there was a knife involved.
i frowned deeper. why must they do this right in my living room? my uncle looked at me and picked up one of the wet piglets. he chucked it at me like a softball. i caught it, irritated. the thing scurried over my clothes like a weasel and rooted right into my shoulder. it got a mouthful of my flesh and started sucking on me, as all mammal newborn baby mouths do.
i looked back at my phone. “is your last name just what i think it is?”
” :) :) how have u been h ?”
i looked up at the pig situation — just in time; my uncles threw more and more piglets at me. i reflexively caught them all, since my reflexes are so good, but they quickly covered my body, each of them latching a mouth on some spare patch of skin.
i frowned deeper than ever and with difficulty lifted my thumb to text back.
“go fuck you r s elf girl” i managed to type.
“that’s not very nice!” i could almost hear her voice reply to me. i opened my hand and dropped my phone.