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naiset ja taide
How to express
Fear to express, when do you become afraid to express? What there is to express? When do we know, what should be expressed?
A bruise in a shape of Africa.
Those who do not understand, they may say it out loud and look at you. Things that can’t be told her, are not told her. They are kept from her, totally weird and not at all, but totally something. Silent and distant, untouchable gap, it is a shame, it is a religion.
Men who talk to women as if they were dogs, like dogs, like dogs talk, that they were dogs. What is there to talk to a dog other than they just look as if you know the answer. You don’t want to talk to women like they were equals, because you don’t want an answer. You can’t handle the answer.
Drawing the news: a dead elephant.
Thoughts on working class identity: it sounds so grand and an invention of the past. How so? When you are looked down upon and there seems to be no unity between workers. Isn’t that how it always was? Well, I still have it, pride.
Working class identity, working class experience. What do people who haven’t grown into working class know about it? To my experience not very much.
Oh Love
I will always love you. Like a virgin. Everyday. That’s the truth, and nothing but the truth.
I Love You. Let’s Love Together.
Artist under constant observation: what is it they observe the most? Bags under my eyes I’m sure.

Co-worker, 2002/ How to breathe
date that passed was a day, time that passed was once that day, name attached to a
person that was not, emergency of spirit, breath, suspicion over what if. who is that? what does she want? what did she want? depending on how we react, expect, scare dictating how we behave. suspicion, why did we expect the things we did? how did we come up with these expectations? suspicion and scare, how did I end up wanting the things I wanted?
how I grew up to be a man, because that is the ultimate ideal of a human being to be. characteristics of a man woman as assisting, a statist, a decoration, a thing, so surrounding that, I could not think of myself as such.
Stay out of edges/experiments on paper, what to do with paint and paper.
It is long way to me. It is a long way to yourself. You can go round and round on and on, all the way to the other side of the globe and think you have found something worthwhile since you had the money and time and will and effort and interest and guts to go and explore as far as possible.
I cannot close my eyes, I have to look every detail. Every already seen thing again and again. Every many times seen moved unmoved untouched left explained broken bulged split idea that I got excited about and I remember why. Staying still, staying put, staying here where I am for a long period of time, not moving. Staying, staying. Where is this trip going, where am I going? What is this, is it a trip? They call it a trip.
What comes out of not knowing that the child is yours? It is a child of your own, smell of divinity, smell of liberty, smell of you, smell of the unknown. What comes out of this tiniest thing that is insignificant to you? That is from you like tears and sweat, shit and piss, vomit and anger. Way away pathetic insignificant, fluency of religion, surface of face, façade of a tower, decency of staying out of the edges, staying away from what you do not understand, do not want to understand. Edges of wanting, edges of not wanting.












