yes-lukewinter

[yes-lukewinter]

Nostalgia is a faithful lover; does not take offense, does not make scenes. Waits, warms the sheets. And when we are wavering, when we need a refuge, familiar threshold, it is towards it that we stumble, hoping it will reach out its hand without a word. This silent place that asks for nothing. Where we can lie down without playing, pretending, without seducing. Memory then seems to be the only space that frees us from the need to convince. Always there, omnipresent and elusive, one we pretend to ignore when necessary, for necessity or sanity. That’s why sometimes, it moves away, because we claim no longer to need it. But when once again we realize that only one can exist, ashamed, we invoke its specters. We revive its settings. We gather around shadows. Everyone has a right to their fetish, ritual or makeshift prayer. Even bastards have a mausoleum of love; solace obeys no aesthetic. It spreads where the mind seeks to fill the void, where fingers move to ward off emptiness. But, young arrogant one, let us laugh at its virtue. Indulge in the luxury of an irruption, without invitation, without staging. Replacing it. Invent a nostalgia from scratch to soil it with drunkenness and screams, to build a myth with broken glass and gazes that cross too long. Grab the first object that comes to hand and raise it towards the crowd to ward off its banality; artifacts are innocent no more. Penetrate everything—the bodies, the walls, the space between two silences. Rendezvous for revenge in a brand new field of melancholy. The leash that ties us to the past will be of no use anymore. Because we always need a stray dog at the party, an outsider who knows the way out. For it is in the eye of the outcast that the answer already burns. Doors open. D.C.

Ninetto Gallery

[yes-lukewinter]

'And some sit late filling books with tall words until the birds whistle, Trying to see what we are and what we wanted to be

Alasdair Gray

[yes-lukewinter]

Michael Thomas Jones - A9, Scottish Independence, 2014

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Michael Simpson, Drawing towards Painting: Selected Drawings 1974-2024

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Luigi Iona (Italian, based Florence, Tuscany, Italy) - Tornado, 2023, Paintings: Acrylic, Wax on Cardboard

[yes-lukewinter]

Money might be made available for groups with certain objectives, but people at community level have no way of influencing how these are set. Essentially, this creates a dynamic where people at grassroots level are corralled into setting up groups that indirectly do the bidding of central government — because it’s hard to get supported for doing anything else. Working class folk receive strange looks when asked what their group’s loft objectives are and they respond simply by saying they just want a place to make tea and coffee for the elderly. Or somewhere for teenagers to hang out. Or cooking classes for single parents.

Darren McGarvey, Poverty Safari, p.49

[yes-lukewinter]

one of the biggest problems we face as a society is stress; how it shapes us as individuals, families and communities; how it directs the thinking that drives our behaviour and the things we do to manage it; and how these coping strategies impact our families and communities. Stress is the connective tissue between social problems such as addiction, violence and chronic illness as well as the multiple crisis in our public services.

Darren McGarvey, Poverty Safari, p.176

[yes-lukewinter]

Contrary to many myths about dugs, they can have a profound, value-changing impact on a person’s perception of themselves and the world. But that undeniable utility is, like all novelty, time-limited. There comes a point where there is nothing left of value to extract from the experience, when the drugs begin to insist on themselves, regardless of how they make you feel.

Darren McGarvey, Poverty Safari, p.167.

[yes-lukewinter]

Alucinari, 2024

[yes-lukewinter]

I'm home half cut as you get up keys graze the lock fingers rucked on the storm doors' lips as you open them up I slur and laugh you ask the fuck am I doing soaked  and clearly still up you're off to work  and I'm in luck  there's eggs in the pan and tea in a cup I say 'I love you' and you say 'yup' I say I'll cook dinner when I get up you kiss my forehead I wish you luck St Bert's bells ring and I hiccough

Henry Bell, Morning Goodbye off Albert Drive

[yes-lukewinter]

O I ha’e Silence left

Hugh MacDiarmid, A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle | The Poetry Foundation

[yes-lukewinter]

I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises - they're like little flowers. I've always said that if you have a name for something, like 'cut' or 'bruise,' people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don't know what it is, it can be very beautiful.

David Lynch

[yes-lukewinter]

It is big sky and its changes, the sea all round and the waters within. It is the way sea and sky work off each other constantly, like people meeting in Alfred Street, each face coming away with a hint of the other’s face pressed in it. It is the way a week-long gale ends and folk emerge to hear a single bird cry way high up. It is the way you lean to me and the way I lean to you, as if we are each other’s prevailing; how we connect along our shores, the way we are tidal islands joined for hours then inaccessible, I’ll go for that, and smile when I pick sand off myself in the shower. The way I am an inland loch to you when a clatter of white whoops and rises… It is the way Scotland looks to the South, the way we enter friends’ houses to leave what we came with, or flick the kettle’s switch and wait. This is where I want to live, close to where the heart gives out, ruined, perfected, an empty arch against the sky where birds fly through instead of prayers while in Hoy Sound the ferry’s engines thrum this life this life this life.

Andrew Greig ,Orkney / This Life

[yes-lukewinter]

Society is just another story we tell each other about how to live in this world. Listen for echoes in our languages, whispers of those who survived to add their histories to the hidden archive. We have lost so many to the monomyth, as if one empire of archetype could hold everything we are. The hero's journey is not the only tale and someone has to be the first to take the threads of the world and weave a new genre into being, for all the people afterwards to hear and know: yes, you see me; yes, I know myself at last. Your blood glitters with a story yet to be told. Destroy the monomyth. Build something new from the wreckage. Your blood runs dark with stories: you are Alexandria unburned.

Your Life Is Not Over: A Book Of Apocalypses And How To Survive Them https://issuu.com/fionarobertson2/docs/your_life_is_not_over_updated_3_

[yes-lukewinter]

Capitalism requires a placelessness to ensure the smooth flow of capital, people and resources to achieve economic efficiency. The critic John Berger wrote that ‘the historic role of capitalism itself is to destroy history, to sever any link with the past and to orientate all effort and imagination to what is about to occur.’ When Gaelic culture resisted this, it was belittled and dismissed. The radical sociologist Manuel Castells sums it up: ‘elites are cosmopolitan and people are local.’”

Madeleine Bunting The Language of Resistance – Bella Caledonia

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digital life is disembodied, asynchronous, shallow, and solitary [...] the religious ritual is typically embodied, synchronous, deep, and collective.

Derek Thompson, The True Cost of the Churchgoing Bust - The Atlantic

[yes-lukewinter]

Do you think peace will come some other place than here? Some other time than now? In some other heart than yours? Peace is this moment without judgement, that is all. This moment in the heart space where everything that is, is welcome.

Dorothy Hunt, (excerpt) quoted by Tara Brach