week 02

Jan 13, 2025

16:42, 06 January 2025

Location: chair at my desk at the studio

This is chewy
Why does the tea taste subpar, is it the water at the studio, is it different?
Need to download ID document check app and verify my passport, best do it at home
Settled status already! Good I checked
Life fluctuates between form and formlessness — Kate Briggs says, quoting John Dewey talking about art. That is a way to meet the year
The tea is bitter, lukewarm, cooling

Location: the wooden chair at dining table at home

Click click click cup
I wonder, is tomorrow too late
The line in Helen Marten’s The Boiled in Between about how, sometimes, we unzip our faces so others can be absorbed into them. Or something like that

And Kate Briggs in an interview, on form and formlessness

I should try for more time spent in diffusion, dissociation, lapping at pragmatic thought

Location: computer chair at desk at my main job

Podcast:“the definition of queer is about expansiveness” — yes
Bitter, rounded, smooth
Is the water truly different between North and South of England, to the extent that Yorkshire tea tastes better up North?
Click, click, spreadsheet, duplicate rows, containers, leaning eyes
How to reconcile the pleasures of flow-image joy and of repeating monotony? Both detail, with both I clamp an observer imprint

Location: office chair at desk at my secondary job

As I drink most of the tea, I’m in two minds, maybe three. The most surface–level slice of consciousness is merging with task at hand, reconciling movements, updates, switching between apps

Then, the automatic movement of hand to cup, of cup to mouth, smooth and cool on the lips, taste getting more bitter with each sip (the teabag left in). Something muted ebbs into consciousness, but stays further beneath the surface of the most par

And then, alone ineffable “me,” amorphous inner, all through the limbs the lungs the synapses, blankets the background

Location: armchair at a dear friend’s shared home

Full, overspilling
Soft, the sound of lemon mousse is like a peek at a mollusc on the beach
Tired and / but a giddy shadow of headache
These shadows, that pulse, the colours cinematic, intrigued and curious
Soon, the bus home, its flickers not dissimilar from this glimpse into someone’s watch history

Location: bench at the kitchen table of my art therapy placement

So much buzz, movement, thoughts stumbling against me–another, how to get out to organise to from into text, linear, typed, characters, so binary, black and white, when what which happened, that while was in the room, that which was in between was so alive, dynamic, flowing retracting, emerging, and slipping, that which was is, it goes on background, spills over and through, continuous as a trickle, as a mist, as a caring for through the day
The tea is rounded, the tea is not too bitter, the tea is pulling back into body, but it’s flowing too