M asked me to close the curtain a bit.
There was a crack between two of them, and light was coming
through and it was bothering her.
We put up the curtain because despite being in the basement
during the day light comes in through some windows and the stairwell.
The curtains allow us to be able to sleep
during the day which we prefer, most of the time.
Anyway to close it, i had to move a bunch of stuff.
Basically the curtain became a conseptual wall, so,
when moving things around it became easy to stack stuff up next to it.
There is a sofa on one side and computer
desk and a shelf unit on the other side.
i had to get on the side of the sofa, which was blocked off
by storage boxes full of random shit.
I hate moving things.
it flares up my allergies.
maybe it wouldn't be so bad if i cleaned up more...
another reason i hate moving things is i get hit by memetics stored in the phyisical item's packaging, and
i have no ability to stop my curiosity.
if i see for example a notebook i will wonder - what's this for?
was using it?
is it trash now?
should it be here?
but i also feel like i lack the authority to make any decisions for any of that.
In a single phrase -
I have never really felt like i had dominion over anything.
I exist in this world, peruse its information
I read i look, but touching is only allowed in some cases, and beyond that i feel a moral question rising.
When something just allows me to manipulate it, i wonder if it's consentual.
I for example don't even know about what i am doing now.
But i have a hard time knowing what else to do.
And this has become, in a way natural.
after clearing the way, moving the large things here and there, making the area in the landing down the stairs
even more chaotic, but gaining access to the back near the curtain, i easily was able to rearrange the
position of the curtain.
Moved a lamp that was cliped to the curtain, and blocked the crack.
it wasn't hard.
I am reminded of a dream i had not to long ago.
I have lots of dreams while i sleep.
I feel like it's like
some kind of psychic broadcast, maybe from the moon?
or maybe my consiousness leaves my body and gets trapped
in the dream catcher on the wall.
What is culture?
what can be put on a shelf.
This dream i was in some kind of school, or museum and there were drawings which i recognized in my dreamself
consiousness as "my sister's" There were some people talking about the drawings and paintings.
commenting on why some things about the drawing were some way or another, and one of them specifically asked
about the eyes.
This particular drawing was one of "my sister's" family.
None of us had any eyes.
The drawing was in the style of another artist whose art had been in the house we grew up in.
The name isn't
What's important was the eyes.
The lack of eyes.
But it wasn't entirely true that there were no eyes.
Children had eyes.
There were these painting of triangle people with circle heads, hunched over.
maybe one of a mother carrying her child.
the lack of the eyes on adults made it seem like that child was staring
straight into your soul.
The adults, blinded to their reality lived their lives in a dream.
Dancing around fires,
telling stories, working in the feild with horse or ass, not seeing anything.
The children sometimes at play,
other times, just watching.
My "sister" drew her family in that same way.
With no eyes.
When the person mentioned the lack of eyes, i opened my mouth: I know something of this, it was made by "my sister"
This work is an homage to anothers style and in that style only the eyes might represent innocence, only the
There was no point to saying any of this, my inner critic reminded.
of course that was true, and more perhaps
it was dangerous.
eyes have been countless things across countless cultures, and by opening my mouth and coloring
the interpretation these people had, i was in effect killing potential interpretations.
The man spoke in reply "See it's like i was saying" to the woman next to him.
As they were looking at the work.
I left the show.
All the pieces were things i have seen quite a lot of, although looking back now, it was
interesting to see it in that specific context.
context can change how things are perceived but i wasn't interested
I ran around the area and for some reason climbed on this spinning thing in the main foryer.
i was probably about 5 ft up maybe more, and near to a wall.
the wall had an ledge that made it easy to stand on
but i doubt i would have been confortable except the spinning thing had a center pole that was stable
which i kept hold of.
the ceiling was still far above my head, but the wall only went up to just below my eye level
there was a garden on the top of the wall with plants growing and hanging down.
It was there to add ambiance
The building generally were curvy with terraces almost faux organic with many wide open spaces
and full walls of glass to preserve the effect of openness even in the partitoned spaces.
From the high position i saw across the spinning thing in the foliage above the wall something sticking in the dirt
I spun around the spinner and landed on the edge on the side where that was, and what i saw was a wad of cash.
That dream flashed back into my mind as i was standing there.
After moving the curtain to block the light i was near a shelf that was basically completly inaccessable before.
All the stuff that had been there blocked it off, but now i could easily open it.
There were some greeting card envelopes, staples brand.
some baseball cards in plastic sleeves.
my dad had speculated in during the 90's.
I don't really know.
I grok getting playing cards, because like there
is a game you can play with them, i guess now it's basically the same thing, since i havn't played with them
there was some cookware, caserole dishes.
the motor of a fan, the intent was to maybe use for making a small
power generator or something?
it's hard to throw stuff like that away i think.
The brain tells me there is just so
much you can do with it, and it's a shame to just scrap it, it has so much work put into creating it.
under that motor was a leather notebook case, the kind a dayplanner or address book might go in.
so i picked it up
and opened it.
inside was a stack of paper money from several forign countries.
This isn't a joke.
I don't know what im supposed to do with this information.
It's like fine to speculate on forign money right?
that's like a normal thing that's done.
People buy bitcoin which is basically the same thing.
The money as far as i could tell was devalued from the time it was purchased it seemed.
there were some receipts.
I like the aesthetics of the money.
seeing currency from other places, the artistry in it is something i appreciate
i "understand" the "value" of money.
Like the utility of having something that abstracts the bartering system into
something that is more standardized.
but i feel like the conversion goes a little wonky with me.
When i think about value i can only think about what i personally would spend on something.
i tried to relate it to like the value of a pepsi, how much would i pay for a pepsi is x, how many pepsi's of
enjoyment is other thing, is that more than the cost?
that kind of thing.
but that doesn't work anymore.
I don't have a good conversion.
And as far as what amount of labor is worth some amount of money?
god damn i don't
have that at all.
Maybe it's because i have never really had any difficulty in getting the things i want.
achieving every goal like clockwork then running out of things to care about getting.
The things that remain
are so far out of reach and the path so undefined that it's hard to get the motivation to care about it.
The thoughts on seeing that money, come to me quickly and are discarded.
How much is it worth,
seems like at the most basic level at normal conversion rates they'd be like 15USD a piece for many, some 7USD etc.
they probably lost about 15% of their value over 6 years, and it's probably close to about 1000USD total?
i'd like actually have to count it all to know.
and that's not really important to me.
it's not something i actually care about.
I might want to get pictures of them or look.
Many places see money as a kind of face for the nation putting the culture
the language, the aesthetics, the heroes the culture aspires to be.
You will see artists, scientists, writers, poets, warriors, royalty, along with examples of their work, and their language.
It can honestly be inspiring seeing money from some places.
Do you think this information has any value in any context?
Does it prove anything?
is there any significance?
Is anyone there?