2001

On breathing

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On breathing

Holding breath. Inhaling as deeply as I can. Holding breath. Exhaling through my nose as I think how I breathe. As I think I know how to breath and where breath goes what does it do, what is in breath. The quantity of air near me, the quality of air pulled and pushed moved circulated, fresh used in air that I must have in me and it is not just Oxygen but Carbon dioxide, Nitrogen, Argan, water, Neon, Methane plus pollution. I don’t know. Have to know the technique of breathing but can I develop better at breathing and can I think what it is to pull it in my lungs, in my cells, in my blood, the air. How the what I have been breathing becomes me, how it can be measured and calculated and what it can tell about me as an organism, an individual and human? How many times I breath when I do not think about it? How long can I hold my breath? How long can I run without losing breath? Things that breathe as people and animals having breath. Breath entails, it hides. Breath that smells, breath that has speed, reveals us, keeps us living as parts of this world, breathing particles of the atmosphere, vapor of breath in cold weather, heavy breath. I have to puffer and blow to make a visible steamy mark in the air, something I like doing.

The world is under breath, we are under breath, us breathing, under a breathing monster with big vicious looking mouth that we fear, many monsters with mouths channeling air and lungs breathing the same gas. To end up in a mouth of a monster is like being connected and disconnected repeatedly. The contradiction as we think of the hugeness of a monster when it is in the little particles in the air. The thought that there is a monster, where is it and what is it like?

There is no danger, no hurry in breathing, there is this relaxed moment of having unconscious moment of lungs, me, observing my body doing its thing, keeping me alive, realizing its nature, my nature. The many times I breathe per minute and how short a time it is that I lose my consciousness if I cannot have a breath.

 

2000

Anonymous architecture 2002-

Times of an art student and fish fingers.

Daily photos

Documentation of burn.

Burning sheets

The burning sheets, pink, naivety of a dreamcatcher on a concrete balcony, glass shades on the first floor. Disliked the kitsch and the thought of a horror b-movie in YouTube in ten parts.

Pleasing stuffing, filled but not full, exhausted, drained, sucked, emptied, done. Wanting to fill it, because of the lack of content and the feeling of fulfilment all the time that is compulsory. Drank in between the birches in cool calm despite the sign of a mall in bright. There and the dirty double-trailer truck on the side of the road, two words, a pulp factory, which has been closed for some time.

It is dark, drinking in the dark, the blue, yellow and red, drinking a wish and the thought of full, drinking the landscape, drinking the melancholy and the night, drinking the time, drinking the passing cars, drinking the dirty snow, drinking the shoes, drinking the hands. Not who drank but why. The problem is what you are. That is why.

Killer Hair

Killer

Man entered flowers, tattoos, piercings. Sat on the stairs staring out smelling of wet grass and rain, leaf on his head, yellow, couldn’t say anything.
Brown spots, small
birch

Nature Wild How In the dirt. 
I don’t know.

How fragile are we, sting to be stung by a sudden wasp in the hair. When you torched your hair, didn’t know what, to be stung, sting, hit, anger in fists, in small beings staring outside scared.

 

World map