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babyhead:

oh my gosh

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louise bourgeois, the trauma of abandonment (2001), p.10/12

topmatter:

John Zabawa
4 Memories, 2017
Acrylic on Canvas
18in x 24in

www.johnzabawa.com

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The waiter came, we paid avid attention to him. When he left we watched a tourist boat make its way down the Thames. 
“Oh! I know what it is I want to tell you,” he said suddenly, slapping the bar and rattling a saucer. “I heard from Lamin! He is fine–he is in Birmingham. He wanted a letter of reference from me. He hopes to study. We e-mailed a little bit. I learn that Lamin is a fatalist. He wrote to me: ‘It was intended for me to come to Birmingham. So I was always coming here.’ Isn’t that funny? No? Well, maybe I use the wrong word in English. I mean that for Lamin the future is as certain as the past. It is a theory from philosophy.” 
“Sounds like a nightmare.” 
Fern looked puzzled again: “Maybe I put it wrong, I’m not a philosopher. To me it means something simple, like to say the future is already there, waiting for you. Why not wait, see what it brings?” 
His face was so hopeful it made me laugh. We got some of our old friendly rhythm back, and sat talking for a long time, and I thought it was not impossible that there might be a future in which I could care for him. I was settling into the idea that I wasn’t going anywhere, there was no hurry any longer, I would not be on the next plane. Time was on my side, as much as it is on anyone’s. Everything that afternoon felt wide open to me, a kind of shock, I didn’t know what was happening in the next few days or even the next few hours–a new feeling. I was surprised when I looked up from my second coffee and saw the day fading and the night almost upon us. 
Afterward, he wanted to get on the tube, at Waterloo, it was the best stop for me, too, but instead I left him and chose the bridge. Ignoring both barriers, walking straight down the center, over the river, until I reached the other side. 

–Zadie Smith, Swing Time, Pg. 450

softslow:

You Are Song - Angel Olsen

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Idea for an art show: 

I’ll hire a woman to perform in a gallery space. She will be required to wander around the space, never talking, never making eye contact with anyone. I’ll instruct everyone not to talk to her. The show will be called “BEST JUST LEAVE HER ALONE.” 

I will invite all her friends and loved ones to the show. I will invite her ex-boyfriends and people she was mean to in high school and the neighbor kid who she used to babysit who is now in college. I’ll invite her ex-best friend who she hasn’t talked to in eight years. I’ll instruct all of these people not to talk to the performer under any circumstances. 

I’ll leave a comment book at the front of the gallery, and there will be a big sign over it that says PLEASE WRITE ANYTHING YOU WISH. But I will have informed everyone ahead of time that the only thing they’re permitted to write is LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE DOING WELL and their own name. 

–Chelsea Martin, Mickey, Pg. 126

(Source: sketchofthepast)

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• always saying goodbye
  
• most people think they know a lot but actually everybody knows nothing