You guys, that photo’s either apparency or materiality, not both but more human than ever, mysterious and round like an eighties pastel blouse, a chemical reckoning of independence from the digital, from muted IRL contacts, friends watching each other turn into ghosts, forecasting re-completion with the nineties looking more rational than ever.
Dry like a chilled Original New York Seltzer, full of changes to interface and built-in machine learning, reassemblage, non-binary events, seductions of a cyborg, sociological records from the southern Polish foothills, bored control and memories up in flames.
Reminds me of that time we planned a traversal from the no-coasts, let distance provide desire and vice versa, basked in all that land freedom around the crushing uniformity zones at the Indiana border, it was way more difficult to demand low-code configuration and automated testing from the proud back then, sent as we were packages of used clothes for our birthdays, selfies taken with tired middle-aged eyes (selfies on film, even), stuck in a vestibule of moderately satisfying labor, the work of contemporary textiles, the last time we saw a wetting rain.
So yay let’s weave strangeness and misdirection together in some foreign land with a buddy who’s never left the country, doesn’t know what to ask or how, suddenly we see a bird with one leg land on a carnivorous climbing plant, all air and nerve, shadow and martini, childhood trauma, thus all Brooklyn-based novel character, a room booked for two adults zero children, cerebrotonic the result of so many spectacles of Midwestern affection.
Recall the kind words spoken without a patronizing glint on the way to lunch at That’s a Wrap, say yes to strategies of refusal on the menu, to needing little while wanting less and trying more, to researching how to type “post/humanism,” deleting all accusations and completing educations, mornings spent with the Stoicism app, evenings spent saying yes to being incomplete.