føurth ŵ ë ē k // mood; grateful for all the ways this body moves, it is (I am?) damn phenomenal.
time for something else #unfuckyourinsides // I’m hypersensitive about food and fitness aka body and all (more commentary on this below). There are days I do amazing and days I can’t. I wasn’t gonna post this photo though it was a great shoot cause I got so anxious bout it. Admitting it is the start and I am determined to learn to love change and find groundedness in my body. In the vein of noting what is digestible, will also be unfucking my feed. It’s not personal, it’s just not helping my growth, periodt✨ ———————————————————————— the Rx lookbook; photographer: Amelia Eskenazi (@swamp_witch_) designer: Charley Dickey videographers: Lindumuzi Jabu Ndlovu (@jabooe) and Sam Suzuki (@sam_seabass)
On how I try to ground my body in a place but my self is grounded in my body — my body is a place. Places are unreliably fluid and you better believe it. Borders are supremacist trash mechanisms and citizenship is classist and ID (passports, licenses, certificates, registries) are a way of rendering yourself knowable and legible to the nation! state! Meaning cishet capitalist whiteness can figure out how best to govern/control you (read about: biopolitics) meaning your survival is fucking revolutionary 🔥✨ stay bright stay starry stay angry ——
the #basic series episode one: the bare minimum of decent banter 👀 and still mediocre and but hey he knows it and respectfully so. maybe could get an @awardsforgoodboys ! pft no more giving precious time and energy to people who aren’t mutually fulfilling (for what?) don’t settle for what isn’t stimulating you mentally, emotionally, physically, all of it ✨
For those of you whomst know me, I am quite the thinker. Accordingly, I’ve been thinking a lot about unpaid labour and the capitalist mindset. How even activism needs self-care, because it is draining (and can lead to burnout). How we need both assimilation and resistance for survival (to live). Here’s a #thoughtspiel ✨
There is something about art that is to our bodies as ocean tide is to moon. Curious, impeccably raw, gentil - for growth begins with a「自己的是自己做。」/ what is yours is yours to own, do, take action for. Engaging with no rules, without boundaries, or stepping outside them, a challenge, or a moment of quiet, or something for yourself, is phenomenally powerful. On that note, over the last few months: • I’ve been sketching again • knit cosy scarves and multi-patterned toques (beanies) • wrote, filmed, and edited a movement/poetry project • expanded my ceramics collection of lovely crockery • danced and performed shows —- Here’s that wee reminder to create create create, however that is to you 🍂
What are you? An ode to myself; an ode to twilight moons, to golden-skinned girls. You; strategic button-pusher, tree-climbing whirlwind / you; wearing a seabird fossil around your neck. Star-chaser, I say. Believer of roots grounded galaxies away, in train tracks that forged my iron spine, in midnight escapades and a (re)turn (in)to myself. (poetics bout to politicise personalise prioritise. stay tuned ✨)
Twenty-one and in awe. Thankful to learn people can laugh like love poems unravelled, even - no, especially, amongst dissociation and reeling messiness, etched in radically tired sighs and unapologetically bruised hands and fierce, fierce vulnerability.
Listen: do you hear your heart song calling rebellion melody? What you fear is what will happen when you drink it in. After all / that / glass is full; part water, part air. Vocal c(h)ords tremble your lungs. Hail in the inhale, river the glass upstream, the shattering awaits the wind(ow). Glare the sunlight eclipse, light the breeze a-float the mid-autumnal mo(u)rning. And then, when sky falls to parts - of water, and of air - breaking inklings of dream-edged night particles particular to you, that. That is when it star(t)s.
I think Scotland is a typhoon lightning bolt. Two nights ago I got in a mood, made tea, and walked east in search of the ocean and the stars. Found it surging, inhaled its calm and cold. Still don’t like holding things, still think too quickly for coherence, still feel too much of somewhere else. Still, today I got a book and had a puppy tug hello at my scarf. Feeling roots grow; it seems whirlwinds cannot dismantle the earth that lets it form on its chest.
Alpine thicket rustles the scrambling forest in my head and there is lichen in my hair for the first time in a year and a half. Thank you. I drift the tiredness onto open waters. Some kransekake, a little kubb, quite a bit of s(w)ing-orienteering, and we say goodbye. The bears aren't here anymore either. The eagles, though, they watch. We whisper until dawn. I learn stillness, and the tea gets cold three times. When the sun grounds and shadows reach out, I stay warm.
We can finish three loaves of bread in a day. This trail is almost bundles of rock. Fire is banned but gloopy s'mores are not. Go laugh on dandelions. Wear sandals and bear spray belts. Ditch both. Throw pebbles onto someone else's book, or tummy. Wasn't me. Racism doesn't break for the summer hols, even if you do. Eat some pesto pasta.
Between midnight dusks and hollowing wind there is rough, glittering chalcopyrite and canoe jumping into icy lakewater. We name fish after gutting them atrociously (we gutted just fine, the names were appalling - but I reckon that wholly depends on who you ask) and on the way home find and lay to rest a too-still, still-warm fox. I start eating apple cores.
Reminiscent of two and a half fortnights ago; of getting to connect with the land and of endless scheming. Resounding laughter, quiet brokenness, the gently steaming kettle. Of sleeping with the least aid and most ease than in almost a year (and I'm not even partial to superlatives). More to come 🍂
Fuck your racist colonialist revisionist oppressive slop. Fuck Black and Brown body policing and binary control. Fuck your power plays - white supremacy is not ideology nor opinion. I am fuming flaming livid living. I am here, in this golden skin, to stay; this is a political act.