last night i learned that it’s ok be to a determinist

that every human mentors every other
A4 sketchbook illustration
artifacts/ornaments/gems/detritus/lines/surfaces/
last night i learned that it’s ok be to a determinist

that every human mentors every other
A4 sketchbook illustration
i’m quite the veteran when it comes to unhealthily ruminative crushes on unattainable characters: that tall chicken-legged senior with bad hair when i was in sixth grade, and that kid with thick eyebrows and an irresistible smile.
now, stalk is a strong word, but i can’t think of another to describe my frantic girlish pursuits. those two were real people, and once i grew boobs and stopped dressing like an angry human eggplant, such pursuits ended largely in success.
[yea bitch]
in addition to my live breaches of personal space, i have suffered a right plethora of celebrity obsessions. johnny knoxville was a huge one, as was the surly vampire chap from HIM. i would save hundreds of their pictures and write them songs that were beyond abominable. needless to say my obsessive tendencies had to be quelled… but i do believe they’re acting up again.
this one deserves it. i love him. i want to sniff his shoulder blades. i’ve been listening to his album since it came out and ADORED his tragic smoke-filled-medieval-castle-with-a-dragon-in-it-and-also-clouds-and-magic-dust-and-maybe-a-cool-banquet sound. but today, i saw what he looks like, and i can’t deal with it.
meet Pat Grossi, a.k.a. Active Child: the harp. his socks. DEAR LORD.
give him a listen if you haven’t heard him–he’s got a truly magical voice and it’s wonderful music for brooding.
birth is given unawares, when replacements are needed
acrylic on canvas, 70×50 cm
“i’m not a cat person.”
“ew, cats.”
here’s what i think: GO FUCK YOURSELVES, HOUSE-PET NAZIS.
yes, we are all entitled to our opinions and uniqueness and all that crap. my anger here stems rather from the mutual exclusivity of animal preferences. i vouch that 99% of people quoted grumbling the above statements (or others to the same effect) are dog peopleĀ (except for my mother, who hates anything that breathes and isn’t human.) the same can be said of cat people, who will cuddle with a kitten that has poop stuck to its ass but go nowhere near a puppy because they’re “dirty, dirty animals.”
’tis a lengthy discourse, that of personal identification, and i will not go there for the time being. yet i will say that anyone who is a self-professed-something is an asshole:
i’m a vegetarian. i’m bisexual. i speak french. i’m succcchhhhhh a klluttzzzz!
we get it guys, you need to feel distinguished. but you’re still just a person (probably not a very interesting one either.)
if i had to stigmatize myself such, i would say creature person. anything small and endearing floats my boat, from worms to crabs to bees to otters to asian babies, and (gasp) both cats AND dogs. but i live in Beirut and am simply more familiarized with cats. hence this post.
i’m not sure where the angry rant came from.
anyone who has been to or even heard of AUB knows of the cats. they are everywhere. more powerful than the student body and staff put together, they live a life of luxury and leisure; kick one and you’re kicked out. and now, after three years at the university, on the dawn of my graduation, i have found their mecca.
my love and i named it Catland. it lies behind the Assembly Hall and is large enough to serve as headquarters to hundreds of felines. they emerged, one by one, from the bushes and shadows. they stalked slowly and we were encircled. from a distance, a low ‘mreeooowww’ prompted the tribe of four-legged warriors to follow suit and raise their heads in a welcoming chorus of guttural catspeak. here are some snapshots from the discovery.
how we longed to stay! we nicknamed that last oneĀ Ugly Freak, and it followed us everywhere we went. poor ugly bastard.
now, just for fun: the pinnacle of cultural atrophy
and of course, the most awesome grown man in the universe
18 gauge wire, ink, tape, mascara, stockings, on paper
1.55 x 1.5 m
i am holding a head
with hairs clear and sour
i cannot put it down or rest my arms because when i do, it bites with no mercy
sometimes i can see inside of it and i enjoy having it close so i can see its lobes
mostly its foreign, but i follow along and learn
i touch its hair a lot
the sour ones hurt and i try to avoid them when i make a braid or brush through tangles
when i woke up today i saw a sour hair had wrapped around my waist and climbed up my back
it’s hard to tell when it began but it has reached my throat now
i’ll surely choke if i put it down
yes, yes, i will have to
jennifer abessira‘s photocollages are fucking awesome. she takes imagery from every day life, from domestic animals to potted plants to disco shoes, and pairs them up. the similarities are both conceptual and aesthetic, making for a both visual feast and the lovely feeling of oh yea, this totally makes sense.