A Secant Query

Between Down and That

Wherein I am up for trades...

Between Down and That

πŸ“• Camera Geologica - Siobhan Angus

Down For What

Stabs through the mattress find me, or I am passing thread through my zine.

I am thinking about photojournalism I've experienced. It's a local, taking photos of the site a corporation is trying to build, now it's an international reporter, taking photos of one of the hundreds of festivals happening on one day of the hundreds available in a year...

Now it's a neighbor taking a blurry image of a weed and asking an immune-compromised neighbor through SMS if this plant is welcome at this time to the tended garden.

I have a good time.

Photo Indexing

Photos are a kind of pottery for memories that never exists in quite the capacity memory does for the pair of hundred-thousand years humans prior exist.

Were my garden exhibiting photos, I would weed them.

In my work, I've an index of aspects my community appreciates and aspects community cultivates boundary work I tend. In my index's work, photos serve. In mine, not so much; I treat photos like organisms treat oxygen: like living fire.

Photo Grammar

When my work transitions from work I do for the community to work blessing another with space to begin theirs, perhaps my index may serve another, perhaps not. My index serves me as invitation - this moment merely their moment's arrival.

Photos are not nearly as raw as livestream of making that work: photos are not as cumbersome to commit as audio/video nightmare a video on a device summons into the moment. Still, for some work video serves:

A chef updating their blog with a recipe rents out a studio kitchen to prepare the recipe in that studio. They film recipe, leave a mess for the studio crew to clean for the next occurance (porn, soap opera, interview...) as the chef takes the film home and edits it.

This kitchen is available and it's a housing crisis out here (and every other crisis)! All is lost; this isn't possible.

Nothing composts such calcified terminals. Or a culture adapts, stays alive! All these crises and videos from influencer-chefs updating blogs shared a world this day.

Light Synthesis

Cultures adapt; changes burn as if bioluminescence, comet fire.

Photosynthesis sinks into the heart of her sea through whalefall, eaten by that stem cell-like organism other organisms evolve into when they need to rest: the crab. This process ("and then the creature's genetics wintered by evolving into a crab") so common it has a name: carcinization.

In this p[ ]easurable dark where food falls from every heaven, flashes of light are very disruptive. Dazzling (compared to chemical signals). With no light, shining a light is safer than releasing chemicals: everyone smells, not everyone has eyes.

This blog post arrives to your device as light. Chemical secretions ("post", "photo", "meme"), find thier way to your creature, who is drawn to this signal: it's a response. Be in high school this moment: think of all the notifications you recieve while engaging with this piece.

Your Capacity

Is this piece requesting being printed? Let  print to pdf  exist as a menu option alsongside turning off wi-fi, turning on do-not-disturb, and otherwise burning a space into life that "prints out" this post as tasty whalefall: radiance!

Happy glowing, post!

Your path this moment is your capacity. Be real (that's short for letting your capacity be your level best ): all hypothetical versions of you so cowardly they fail to exist this moment. You show up.

Piss on this, read it, have a bot summarize it, have a bot answer the questions at the end for you, ask a group of friends to answer all other questions as you answer one yourself, print it out, put lube on the result and fuck it until fuck fucks meaning into a crab who scuttles of and it's just you and peotry this moment possibilating a world.

However you experience it is the correct way: at your best. Where what's best is where you're real - where your pulse, feet, breath is.

Your best is what showed up, the energy.

Many extract an ancestor's or decendant's best through a transcentral shame bank which converts attention into shame.

This so one may shame themself into doing more than their capacity invites they do. The shame bank has a marketing team called "Be brave." It's all disembodied cowardice. Shame is a coward.

Compare yourself to a younger, less disabled self (we all have one, even the acidic ocean has a less-acidic past). Draw from this account; you convert attention into shame. Live as fire. Overdraw the account by taking into account your self a paragraph ago died and left you this understanding you feel invited to adopt.

Your self a paragraph ago is a coward! Where are they? That's what this moment thought. Coward; tomorrow's self - where are they? Crab; coward! Laws of physics, where's their body? Gravity have a body right now? Where is gravity's body? Coward.

Dear second law of thermodynamics, can you die this moment, be gone forever? Or have you chickened off the face of my world? Failing to be organism. Again. Another dawn. Another no-show. Still collecting royalty from creation.

Except I don't worship cowards.

I Make Zines

I made a previous post into a zine; next commumity member asking in person for it gets it.

This member carries local trans folklore; I see no coward. Whoever's name they act in be blessed with presence. You want it, diety? Come and get it. Get one of your 'shipers to do it, if they all aren't cowards like you.

Attempting. Recording. Writing. Streaming. Whispering. Praying. Mystery embodied (Departure). No coward.

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