we are artists without borders, we give and share,

not expecting anything.



in return we are part of it all, and pleasantly

accepted without judgement.



the journey is endless to join as desired.



i am a curator, a book about death in wales,

loosely bound, conceived by another



in memory.



ray johnson.



fluxus.

go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am),
jog an 8K  •thinking of you, wash up
drink some flavored, black coffee
watch the morning sun balloon
eat toast while reading a set amount
write my unique and uninteresting analysis
work on half a dozen, odd assignments
walk .8 miles to campus  •thinking of you
team up, with some older, uninteresting guys
interview a focus group, present dataset interpretations
walk .8 miles back to my flat  •thinking of you
eat while reading a set amount
go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am)…
.
.
Songs for this:
Falling Down a Wellby Jack J
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee  [E]

When my heart spoke in a whisper the world was so loud.  I didn’t hear her talking over the roar of the crowd.
She tried so hard to tell me what i needed to know. But i held on so tightly to where i thought i should go.
When my heart spoke a little louder i beat her back. Surely her words true wisdom did lack.
But no, she knew better than i ever thought, her instinct was to protect from the perils wrought.
When my heart began to scream i pushed on in robotic motion. Just keep moving ebb and flow like the tides of the ocean.
She was so loud but i was so so lost, forgive me i had no idea of the cost.
When my heart began to sob her voice in so much pain,  memories and hurt mingling together like cold and rain.
She grew cold, froze in the ice of loss and regret. And stood shivering still her words unmet.
When my heart grew silent, and i felt numb
I realized i had not been deaf to her resounding thrum.
I heard but ignored her warnings and cries,
And instead trusted in my comfort and lies.