“I might be headed towards fifty dates of grey, oppressive as the winter skies of London. Yet I have to dream that on one of these dates, the sun will start to peak through the clouds of this dark metropolis.”
I am an artist, an unconventional woman, I came to London, hoping to find unconventional spaces, unconventional people, and an unconventional man, to live an unconventional life with. So what is happening? What is happening to the dream? Well, this is my story.
It seems like we’re all getting hung up on the objects, not that bodies are a bad thing. Bodies are a significant part of how subjects connect to each other. There’s a German word for touch… berührung…which also means you’re touching someone on the inside. I meant the commodified bodies, each of us trying our best to conform to certain standards so that we can be bought and sold in a matrix of value and privilege. Partnering up isn’t seen as a connection between souls but a bargain between the livestock on Boris’s farm. The matrix was set up according to whose standards? Why? No one is thinking of that. We are just trying to survive. We’re all getting so hung up on pushing our skins outward from the flesh to fit the torturing approximations of the grid, some of us cravenly trying to save a piece of our souls at a very great cost. It is nearly impossible to imagine building a bridge between souls, and it is so easy to burn one!
So I display here my very humble attempts at bridge building, while admitting that I, too, get hung up on the object. I have hopes of surviving the matrix, holding on to my soul and my skin during the same moment.
Fifty Dates of Grey?
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Want to follow the dates in chronological order? Start at Date #1
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