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Pierre Huyghe Nymphéas transplant 2014 Hommage to Monet : Giverny’s pond water, fauna, flora and lilies…

Pair with some more contemporary sculpture

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there is something particularly hard about being made to explicitly accept and participate in your own humiliation.

getting asked for consent when the action has already started. or after forty-nine people have already said yes in front of you without thinking. or while knowing that saying no will cost you and everyone else time. or money. getting asked for consent by, or in front of, your landlord. or your boss. or your partner. or a family member.

getting asked your pronouns in a pronoun circle (or being the only one asked), needing to give a bunch of strangers a simple (and safe!) answer of how to refer to you (with the additional humiliation of, after having been asked, seeing this answer ignored).

getting told that only enthusiastic, freely given consent is consent, and being left wondering what that enthusiasm looks like in yourself and in others, how it expresses itself in yourself and in others. are you enthusiastic, right now? are you consenting, right now? don't overthink it.

being told that consent can be withdrawn at all times and trying to assess the level of inertia that will need to be diverted, and whether it's worth it. if it's not simpler to wait it out until it stops. like you do at your job, or in court, or living with your parents. trying to assess what level of the pain, discomfort, fear and anger that you feel at all times and in all situations is justifiable to inconvenience everyone else over. trying to assess if expressing this inconvenience will even make a difference or if you'll just say no and it will still carry on. being told that failing to assess this correctly (and fast enough) is a violation of your own boundaries and a lack of backbone and that you shouldn't have to live like this. as if anybody chooses this.

knowing you must constantly do things you don't want to do to get what you, or others, want and need, except that now you have to say Yes to it, explicitly, performing enthusiasm, and convincingly enough.

getting told that consent cannot be freely given when there is a power dynamic, and wondering when consent can be freely given at all.

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Finnish postal stamps celebrating Tom of Finland, 2014

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Male thot jobs.

Barber Dj Personal Trainer Plug Club Promoter Tattoo Artist Mechanic Foot Locker Fedex/UPS Photographer Warehouse Overnight Stocker @ Grocery Stores Construction Worker EMT Sprint/TMobile Comcast

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"The word pandemonium was coined by John Milton as the name for the Parliament of Hell" is an all-timer etymology. Oh yeah did you hear that Mrs Higgins's dogs got loose at the village fête? It was like a vast golden edifice in which fallen angels debate their strategies for vengeance against god, yeah.

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theres nothing wrong with drinking excessively or taking other peoples prescription medications or jacking your friends off

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“Avoid pronouncing the phrases everyone else does. Think up your own way of speaking, even if only to convey that thing you think everyone is saying. Make an effort to separate yourself from the internet. Read books.”

— Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century

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*trying to call a woman beautiful but i've forgotten how to engage other humans in conversation* girl, you remind me of architecture

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"Desire ... merely indicates direction, but never destination; destinations, in any case, always remain phantasmagoric and unclear; the closer we get to them, the more enigmatic they become. By no means is it possible to ever actually attain a given destination, nor, in so doing, appease desire. This process of striving is best encapsulated in the preposition “towards”. Towards what?’

— Olga Tokarczuk, Flights

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isn't it so crazy that 51 is divisible by 17. because 51 is such an ugly number that based on vibes alone i would 100% think it's prime 😭😭 like who in the world would even WANT to divide that shit? 17 and 3 i fucking guess...... 🤷

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[ ☜ left ] arteries, from Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie, 1751-1772

[ right ☞ ] Saymaluu-Tash national park petroglyphs, Kyrgyzstan

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"Language, William Burroughs opined, is a virus: like a virus it has no aim but to replicate itself and needs to infect a host in order to do so, even if in the process, like a virus, it makes the host organism sicken. Our technologies of communication operate in much the same way, despite us, beyond us, with a life that includes and traverses but equally happily abandons us. At the same time, these contagions have radically enlightening side-effects, as it were, rational hallucinations we would otherwise never have been capable of, while they are not in themselves ultra-efficient, but mutated by their contacts, becoming internally noisy and changed, otherwise then themselves, so that their purity is always endangered. If media contaminate us, we contaminate them, and in that noisy mutuality we encounter each other in ever unpredictable communicative events, mutually implicated in a zigzag nomadism through time that constructs time itself in its conjoint wanderings." —Sean Cubitt, Introduction to Jussi Parikka’s Digital Contagions

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Something that gets really lost in a lot of discourse is that what we would now call 'going low-contact' or 'going no-contact' with your family used to be so completely within the normal range of familial contact that there wasn't even a term for it. Sure, in the pre-IM pre-social media days some people were calling their parents daily, but I'd wager the vast majority of people were not. Long distance calling used to be quite expensive, after all. If your kid went to the big city to seek their fortune you might hear from them every few weeks, or every month, or once a year, and that wasn't particularly odd. This was even more the case before telephones were common, of course - people would send letters, but definitely not more than once a week and probably a lot less. It was just a normal, accepted fact that you'd hear from some family members who lived nearby often, and some who lived farther away very rarely.

The minimum amount of contact with family that is expected of people in the groupchat-facetime-instagram era is so much higher than at any previous point in history. The ceiling is about the same, since then and now multiple generations often live under the same roof, but the floor is higher by orders of magnitude.

How many adult children who are 'no-contact' or 'low-contact' now would also have been the ones who moved to the city and sent a letter every three months then? Is family estrangement an actual current problem, or is it just an illusion caused by smartphones?

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jay quinn, from the mentor: a memoir of friendship and gay identity, 2000