Your Hands Around My Throat


I returned from a week of intensive performance art exercises feeling much more. My mental health has been of a slide for a few weeks prior to my birthday, as usual. I work really hard not to place my feelings on other people, not projecting anger, or for that matter sadness anywhere but into the ground it seems. My performance practice is based largely around expressing and expelling these feelings. Let’s say when it is successful I feel empty and wanting to be filled, maybe eating voraciously for several days or the opposite and wearing myself thin over nights of manic conception, digging deeper than is appreciated into the graves of what I have settled. I have enough new material to keep me occupied, this isn’t an escape as much as it is a rehearsal, it being embodying this kind of possession as vessel for creative ends.

I still need a job. I’m halfway through the month and I have almost nothing to my name as far as rent money goes. Maybe it is as much surrendering to my beliefs. I spent a lot of today thinking about a tweet of how I should have learned Spanish. There is preference for spanish speaker at the local museums. No preference placed on blackness. I can’t help but think about the capitalist cycle of consumption of people, there being no value on the black experience beyond body as tool. I bet I would be a shoe in as a security guard at any of the institutions that I have applied to but anything involving programming my resume is under qualified no matter the circumstance, its a vision thing. There isn’t a value placed on bringing black bodies to museums even if black artists are on the rise.

I have given up on another libra. Things that never sit well with me is the conversation around affirmative action in relation to my education. Apparently I am the product of exemplars and not myself to some people, that my success, and failures in my opinion, have come as a model pressed by whiteness. How fucking dumb. I will leave it at that. I’m not interested in having the conversation anything other than my work has put me where I am. I am not interested in having the conversation that I was put on to fill a quota. I am not interested in schooling anyone of any color about misconceptions lumped on my back by bullshit click baiting fascist, troll, or any other normative pos cultural maven.

Midterms reviews are this Friday and I am on fire. I am a field on fire. I am burning like California and Portugal. I am lit up like a million candles in a monastery. I am burning down the house.

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