Zidane's Melancholy (2024)
Inkjet, Watercolor and Masking Tape on Hanji Paper.
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I fell asleep last night while watching Inglorious Basterds on my laptop in my bed, I woke up briefly and Tubi had autoplayed the beginning of Django and I missed the part where Brad Pitt carves a Swastika into Hans Landa's forehead and says "I think this just might be my masterpiece". Tarantino would hate it but Tubi really is the ideal way to watch his movies, B movie pastiche into the B movie streaming service. Throughout the film, Brad Pitt talks about killing Nazis as an art form, and scalping the corpses as a way to spread word of their notoriety among the Nazis — he calls it a Sport, and I've been continuing to think about Sports - I read the Zidane's Melancholy piece that G sent me and have some overdue documentaries to watch, spent part of a walk listening to OT7 Quanny - Dame Lillard on repeat, shuffle put on Lil Durk Bang Bros which sent me down a rabbithole of emotions as I continued to loop it for the rest of the day and still into day, the only song playing as I drive around and past my past, forgotten memories emerge – hotboxes, summers, threats of gunshots but never gunshots, driving high so you wonder how after the grocery store parking lot where so much nothing happened. the everywhere where so much nothing happened really. I popped a zyn while driving and it felt like my first cigarette I got nauseous and had to get an energy drink to get back up.

In the morning, C called me, told me about the gallery party he went to where N performed with others, and running into E and M and others, and how he found out that they'd been reading his blog, and then this morning I read E's blog and she talked about that and about other things that happened. she had told me i should make a paywalled version where I use names but reading hers I can only deduce who a fraction of the people are and I'm sure there's some that I've never met so it really becomes a fun part of the game, especially to consider somebody who only knows a fraction of the people in my life, or how it'll age and the letters interchange because the numbering system is only specific to a certain temporality that continually shifts.

In the evening I called T and talked to him for a couple of hours while going on an evening stroll. we talked about how I'd FT'd A earlier that day and how things seemed like they were changing in terms of our values & alignments, natural differences that had always been there, but that have been exacerbated in a way, because of the bag and the things A is doing to get the bag, and in turn how that changes what A is doing and who he is to an extent. I'm sure it'll even out over time but right now there's a dissonance in values that is hard to reconcile. T said something like "you gotta get the bag, but you can't let the bag get you". At an opening, I was talking with R and they said something about how they were "designing a bag" in the literal sense, but I think about it in the abstract, and said that that would be my response when people ask me what I do: "I'm designing a bag". I made a burner twitter account that I need to delete with the bio "Daseining a bag" a couple months ago.

I woke up late this morning and I remembered a dream and it's been a while since I've remembered a dream. I got starbucks from the drive thru right next to the dentist – a chocolate cream cold brew and a feta egg white wrap. I thought about Yungster Jack's Pumpkin Spice Latte Type Queen and PNW anthropology while sitting in the drive thru, and about how later I'd write about it and how the menu only featured the sugar-y drinks while the espresso and lattes and cappuccinos were nowhere to be seen, but that the cold brew was fine, regular cold brew w/ a layer of chocolate cream on top. I drove east and sat at the cape horn lookout, as I've done hundreds of times before, to feel small in something bigger than me. The gorge swallows you up. You look down over the edge while the wind blows and feel so precarious, you're so close to plunging down thousands of feet, just falling and falling and falling