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2023/01/09
the door vanishes then I hit the door, then it breaks. I began writing my first word after the first drop of blood hit the ground, within its ripples.

Here I propose a performance score (for you who is off the note):
In a chamber that’s silent but echoing.
Perhaps not echoing, the words stick around beyond a remnant of audio
sounds come from motion thus result in desire of movement, it shakes in the way my bodies shake.


2023/02/01
Fragments as expansive thoughts:

There is no sign of disorder in your eyes. The only thing in your eyes is disorder. Cross-continental immigration as cross-tectonic plates movement. “My body is the continent.” Quarry/Mine is my kin. Compositing relationships. 


2022/07/19&
2023/03/01
What about the queer chiildhood? “Okay! Let’s talk about it!” (John always begin our critiques with this sentence, an inside joke hahaha) The phrase “queer childhood” shocked and confused me enough that I need to approach it from an artistic critique state of mind.

Here I am not refering to theory on queer temporality, I specifically mean the early 10ish years of me beings around my body within the immigrant(sort of) heterosexual family I was born into.

When childhood seems completely seperate from queerness, how do I feel and recollect it from the current queer perception I have? What were the queer ways of perceiving I grow up with? How does the plafulness of childhood carries on in my life so far?

A deep listening, hanging out, and embracing the water around you while forgeting and ignoring a scientific transprancy. A focus on play and joy before/beyond inquiry of fact and truth. Be with the act of recollecting, and with all your troubles and concerns, but also let them wandering around gently.


Remembering the community swimming pool my grandmother took me to:
“Against a weakened gravity, you shouts under there and hear it turns into a distanct drum, you sing, the songs leaked into the water, flowing back to your body, you feel the vibration of your skin & bones. You hear the best and feel the best because you can’t see, the fog that always climb to the inside of your goggles.”
2023/10/04
Through touch, rubbing, a gentle tactile sensation with the gel
MH is drawing four lines in THE four directions on her note while we are talking about borders

Refuse definition and classification
2023/10/11
MH told me the way she lives in this crazy world is to work on the world, don’t create the split between selves.

At the same time of its productions, the evidence is facing purposeful assemblage by solidifying identities into items as continuations and reconfigurations of institutional power. Facing the temptation of a singular crispy identity and the expression of it, perhaps to countermand the power is to go small, layered and contradictory when organizing the evidence. Perhaps trauma as the base for archivists’ actions not only provenance and respect des fonds.

There is an unfilled and yet unactualized desire for a messy archivist’s positionality among/in me, the active actor reorganizing with the constantly becoming avatar in communities surrounding it. To engage with an archive is to continue to shapeshifting to reattach limbs together for survival. This somatic metaphor brings a possibility for a somatic experience of the contradictory archive. The trauma flowing through the body of the archive and the bodies of archivists.

When sitting in the rare book room of Wesleyan’s special collection. I felt the cold air and the dimmed lights are attempts to impose a timelessness on the archive. Rare books as specimens being preserved. Timelessness is nevertheless death. I received an idea from the room’s physical configuration that I can become an interface when taking on the avatar of the archivist. Interface as a process instead of a stationary concept. Engagements and movements are resurrective attempts. Engagement brings wear, wear brings materials down, simultaneously adding indexical evidence to the materials and the archive. Like Guy Debord and Asger Jorn’s book Mémoires that the cover is made of sandpaper which will actively destroy other books within the owner’s collection. Thinking along the line of entropy, by nature and by men. One’s memory decays as one’s body decays and one recollection fades as another recollection surfaces. The decay of the materials is the materials’ agency to shapeshifting. To liquefy and to vaporize is to escape the ever solidifying border of archive and identity.


I remember when we talked about borders last Wednesday, you drew four lines on your piece of note pointed toward THE four directions. I wonder where/when these lines go, what their shapes and volumes are. Then what does Border taste like, what does it sound like, what’s the temperature of it, is Border colorblind (thinking about The Green Line by Francis Alÿs). As the lines extend and get closer to the border of Mexico-United States, they begin to shake violently in the desert sandy winds, twisted, folded, and distorted.

I was sitting in the Murchison Rogers Park in El Paso overlooking the border between El Paso and Ciudad Juarez. I listened to the sounds while in between dry winds and blowing sands, I increased the sensitivity of the directional microphone and I heard the recorder overloaded with distorted noises leading to distorted space, and a distorted self. The long been suppressed murmuring of ghosts.