Pine Sol

Noah’s fiancé, otherwise known as Santi and Dion, are often at the house without our being aware of it.

First the basement was trashed, then they cleaned it, now there’s a TV and a Wii to go with our collection of other people’s drums.

We were playing hide and go seek the other day and Santi remained under the up-turned troth-table for over and hour.

Santi is usually doing something uncommon and disciplined.

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“Santi, do come over by the fire and tell me about your supplements”

Santi trotted behind mom, lifting the weights I had left out.

“Pine oil, pine oil with resin, pine oils with even more resin”

“What is pine oil?”

“Pine Sol”

“- Freshness”

“Resin activates immune system”

Noah from the other room: “but it’s poison isn’t it?”

“…to an extent… BUT”

Noah turned on music and I couldn’t hear the conversation any more.

We walked around the house doing a fashion show with bags on our heads.

“Hey Santi, I dare you to take this shot of vinegar.”

That’s not a dare because most of Santi’s diet is clay and apple cider vinegar. He’ll also eat whatever is for dinner around here.

His plan for the next 4 months is to move to the forest and live off the things you can live off of in the forest.

In the meantime he appears unexpectedly in the basement, listening to some pretty good Spanish music.

Dion asks me the password when I go down to the bass. The password is: “Santi is a hipster.”

Beach

Kristen knows my flirting style: communicating infrequently and keeping wide personal space.

I do feel slightly stilted about deepening interpersonal relationships – maybe because of a sensitivity to projected personal space. Just practice to be psychic.

Still, I am over saturated with the sweetness of friendship. It’s good to be around people who are better at communicating than I am.

I often deprive myself of sleep. More so, I deprive myself of intimacy.

An obvious point: I am always dreaming about water.

This morning I was dreaming that a woman asked me about an installation. She asked why there were clocks there and I asked her why she thought there were clocks there. She said that in dreams people can’t read time, and that can be a clue for the dream to become lucid. I looked at the clocks, read the time, and determined that we weren’t dreaming. Then I answered emails.

Everyone jokingly held hands in a circle at 4Square tonight and I felt elated by the physical contact. If it isn’t a joke it isn’t real.

I woke up not real.

I was in a line to enter the space we were going to be held. The guard showed my coworker photos of how they had tortured and killed her two daughters. One girl was upside down, legs over her head, burn marks on the backs of her thighs, the other an infant with blood spilling from her head.

At that point I was the coworker and the grief/shock were too big to contain in words.

That morning the coworker said she had dreamed that I was helping her. I didn’t tell her about my dream. I helped her hack an app so she could communicate with her loved ones in Gaza. She doesn’t have two daughters, she has one small daughter and is pregnant with a son.

Another morning, golden lit, Bea and I were holding hands at SITE. We said that we had to be scheduled in the same gallery so we could continue to hold hands. I woke up to a text from her saying she had missed the train and asking me to cover part of her shift. Later we decided to move to Italy together and hold hands the whole way.

What I mean to express is… fuck it, let’s go to the beach.

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Into

Bea and I stayed up till 4 talking about philosophies/interpersonal interaction and giggling.

In the morning we had decorative breakfast, I packed her a lunch and drove her to work. I spent the morning sweeping ants off the counter and putting them outside, then bleaching/applying peppermint oil to confuse their scent trails. A two hour process.

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I worked on projects until 9, then delivered a commemorative Warf plate/Lord of Dragon Lord merch from Will to Hirshey.

John, Sean, and I joined the 4 Square match. Hot game. Fat stacks of players. Noah and I danced around, Benji and I danced around. Sarah showed us her finely crafted animal sculptures.

Everyone went back to the Radical Abacus, danced, and popped some of the decorative popcorn. At the end of the night Benji tossed Sean’s keys into the air and they landed on the lip of a ceiling beam.

John and I stayed up till 6 talking about social structure/capitalism as the selling of scarcity, about the nature of the universe as contained, and concepts of infinity/probability.

His phone broke and I took a picture of it so that he could use it as his background.

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I had a dream I was about to be dead, and I accepted what it felt like.

5 hours of sleep in two days. At around 3PM I started hallucinating lines of energy everywhere. I felt peaceful.

I also felt peaks and anxiety and troths of depression – with erratic consistency.

Still, I felt comfortable being human, thinking of all outcome as natural, in that everything in the universe is natural.

A ritual of weekend sleep deprivation. When I get home from work on Sunday I write and sing. I see clearly the slots where notes have to fall and melodies write themselves that way.

What could something that is infinite be expanding into?

Conceptual Kisses

I would hug a tree made out of newspaper. I ended up with tenfold hugs from the artist of said newspaper-ceiba, post beer/champagne/trampoline/fire/dance-party.

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Bea, John, and I have formed a triad of giggly pretense. John house-sat for Lucy Lippard and drove her car, taking on the ideals of her bumper stickers:  “Keep your theology off my biology” “Save the Galisteo Basin”  “Women make great leaders – you’re following one.”

Unsettled Landscapes is good. Everyone likes it. For the member’s opening Ric Lum made hors d’ oeuvres with foods gathered around the rio grande. Site Guides missed out on snacks and after the show we were to help clean up the event section. Bea and I collected all the decorative legumes/corn/quinoa that were to be wasted in Slatko jars leftover from the last exhibit.

At the Public opening Bea and I came up with pick-up lines related to the show: “Let me settle the landscape of your body”- “I’m interested in the post-industrial colonization of pheromones” – We can get transcendental with non-figurate maps if you know what I mean.”

The Radical Abacus threw a party after the opening. Miller brought beer. Everyone else also brought beer. Merril (king-boss of exhibitions) brought an ax for the “hot wood” John bought at Smith’s. I made chile with a fraction of the aforementioned decorative legumes.  Gianfranco Focshino DJ’d. SITE staff/artists danced – more than I would have expected.

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Blue Curry has a piece connected to a live-stream of the sculptures created when ships come into harbor in the Bahamas. Corresponding to their arrival are beach towels hung on a flag pole outside the museum. Tourists claim beach space with towels: they are flags. At the after party we were going to play dice. We needed floorspace on which to roll so I laid out a towel. I mentioned this to Blue and he said he knew people would make fun of his piece. Little does he know Bea and I want to (do a project where we) kiss conceptual artists on the cheek.

As we were informing guests the museum was closing, I told Miller, who was near his sculpture: “don’t touch the art.” He looked startled and I felt bad for the joke. By 4am at the party we had reconciled any miscommunication. There were endless cheek-kisses before he caught a taxi to a hotel to an airport to Columbia.

I was trapped in fun and left after 5AM. At work the next day Bill had made apple crisp, which he assured me was vegan. “What a beautiful day” I said, to quote an earlier post-party-work-self.

That day two guests commented that I had changed the show for them. I should get a bonus for every time I am working while sleep deprived.

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