posted 08/10/2015 -  05h26

treats headquarter

At Walmart, my Walt Disney

Where can I find clothespins?

Go to the hardware quarters, take number 1 alley, follow corridor number 2, look for the hardware sign, look up for blue color section. You should find the clothespins.

I also got my treats.

 

 

 



posted 07/10/2015 -  06h09

Trick again

To release myself from thoughts related to what is supposed to be work but is not really, I want to look at images. I pick up a book in the library here, a small but dear library, so familiar to me as I realize I spent almost 4 months in that place this year. There is a beautiful book about sailing boats in America in the 19 th century, I think I posted one of its picture on this page. There are books about art mostly, classics that I know from art school, like Greenberg's Art and Culture, there is Foucault's Discipline and Punish amongst other classics, or at least what is classic to a certain audience. Recently I found a book I had heard of but never encountered, it is Air Guitar by Dave Hickey. It talks about art too. In relation to democracy. There is in there an essay that compares the car dealership to the art dealership. Today I picked up a book with images of Frank Lloyd Wright's houses. Most of them are very big and look like rocks. I remember visiting some of those houses, in my trips in the US. I don t remember the feeling they gave me at that time. I think it was a good feeling. Now I just see what surrounds them, here in the book, here in Connecticut, Arizona, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, California... I just see the land surrounding them, like I saw it the other day in south Missouri, close to Arkansas. I see the gigantism. And the solitude. The country here is so wild. I didn t have that sense of solitude even in Finland. And the malls and the huge trucks, aren t they the desperate opposite replica of that sense of solitude, trying to convey a sense of security. That need of security and comfort! Guns surely provide this too. And the trick or treats that kids provide to adults for Halloween are the beautiful side of that desperate need to break up insecurity.

We just need to find the trick! The twist, the game and the laughter.

I cannot control the fate of my car, like I cannot control the meaning of what I am doing since I am here. I like that it has no sense, and I like that what we cannot control finally reveals its logic, or better, its trick. 

This is not much of a narration. But I more and more believe that every day resolves itself in language, that it is the trick.

maybe the bigfoot can be useful

I passed by the most awful graveyard today

 

The Trick 



posted 05/10/2015 -  21h35

looking for a trick makes the trick



posted 02/10/2015 -  18h31

It speaks within us

I cannot really be Donna because Sancha is not here. Don Quixote is not either.

But their absence is enough to give me a multiple identity, that of Donna being driven by many beautiful voices, that come from the past, the present, the past in the present, reality,  fiction, fiction in reality.

We can shout and speak to the forest, we can sing with the cars.



posted 02/10/2015 -  06h30

a diary

A day in Florissant, with emotions at their pic. Difficult to get the distance to fill in the diary properly. But this is a diary. So why wouldn't I write about emotions. Is that a forbidden thing to do. No, it is not forbidden, but objectivity surely is the best way to tell about things, to embrace the days. And yet nothing much happened today, as I am taking a break from caring too much about quesitons rising and the "project" ongoing. And yet, a lot happened, as I have to make choices, as the relationship to the car grows as a fetish. All the characters mix together, like the places, Donna Quixote, Sancha, Antoine Laumet de Cadillac, Turtles, Dragons, Turtle Island, Greece and North America, South Saint Louis, North Saint Louis, the city, the suburbs, the country. Since I am in Saint Louis, something like 3 or 4 shootings happened. It is just a usual thing, it seems. Today also I was talking to P and P, nice people, but the more I get close to them, the more they reveal and open up themselves. They want to move, because there are too many black people in the neighborhood. Do you have black people in Paris? Yes. Oh but they must be nicer, right? I don't know. When we go to church, all the kids are black. Do you like going to Walmart? Ain't it full of black? Did you hear about the shooting in Oregon? That is so sad! We have guns, but we know how to use them. And they stay in the basement. Except when that Ferguson thing happened, we would have them in the bedroom. P and P also have beautiful stories to tell. I get dizzy. Tengo vertigo. I walk back home, and try to hold on a book and read it. I stay outside, I lean against a tree, I picked up this book that I take with me each time I go to the US, and that I actually found in a second hand store in Brooklyn. A document, not even a great quality one, but to me it is. A book about De Tocqueville, "Tocqueville in America", by some fellow called George Wilson Pierson. It depicts and tells the story of Tocqueville arriving and journeying on Turtle Island. The story of the pioneers, the story of Antoine Laumet de Cadillac, more or less, very much more or less, as Laumet and Tocqueville belong to two different centuries. The voice of Tocqueville himself is very much present in the book. It is a long time already since the first european settlers got there when he writes. He is coming to study what sort of society those first Americans have been creating in comparison with Europe. I think of one person that is dear to me. Then I read a few lines. And here Pierson reports the voice of Tocqueville, about the wife of the pionneer: " Scarce entered upon life, she had to tear herself away from the mother's tenderness and from those sweet fraternal ties that a young girl never abandons without shedding tears, even when going to share the rich dwelling of a new husband. The wife of the pioneer has torn herself in one instant and without hope of returning from that innocent craddle of her youth. It's against the solitude of the forests that she has exchanged the charms of society and the joys of the home. It's on the bare ground of the wilderness that her nuptial couch was placed." I'll stop here, this is getting over the top. It feels like the point of view is both super objective and super emotional. Also full of the depiction of stereotypes that are so obvious that they say so much. Also today I went to Walmart, the big mall where I get my groceries. Each time I go there, it feels like an adventure, I don't really like the food I buy but I handle it. But how I love walking through the alleys and seeing the enormous amount of things to buy. It is just both extraordinary and disgusting. 



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