RESEARCH // BLOG // ??
13.0.11.12.14
Mesofuturism isn’t concerned with borders;
It is obsessed with the magical, the rhythmic, the quotidian and the divine.
It is observed in the ripples of lake michigan, in the dancing of the trees, in bonfires and amongst the laughter of friends.
It is materialized in weavings, inhaled out of wooden pipes, stored in clay vessels , burned in copper chambers.
It grows in the tendrils of grassy fields, it glows in the belly of fireflies, it falls out of the clouds and sprouts with the mycelia.
Mesofuturism is a place to find joy even when an empire conspires against your safety and worth. A space to ground amongst unfamiliar spaces and xenophobic terrorism.
It is a space to grow into the wildest versions of yourself, to combine and reimagine yourself infinitely, to splinter, shatter and materialize once again. A space to talk and dance with your ancestors and descendants. A space to live and remember and die. This is a space to call home.
13.0.11.10.9
Dissonance
Something in my head space doesn’t line up with the physical
Uncertain
Faking the funk
And doing it well
Why do I want to hide
And be somewhere else
The critic is here
He says im not doing enough
I’m ducking responsibility
He blocks intuition
Makes it hard to settle and relax
Hard to flow
I am trying to lean into the discomfort
Let change wash over me
Acknowledge that I could be more structured and organized
While unstructured time is necessary
Let me sift through the static in my brain
Let it settle
I’ve got time
And discipline comes and goes
But what feels important
Where are you drawn
The mystery of life is not a puzzle to be solved
Things are happening all the time
Observe and apply yourself where you’re drawn
Appreciate the things as they come
As they change
As you change them
And they change you
The dissonance is change
Passage
Becoming
You cannot understand this process by stopping it
Where are we moving to
Wait and see
You are not your failures and shortcomings
You aren’t your triumphs either
You are this moment
The sun through the trees
The fountain surrounded by people
The anticipation of a friend soon to arrive
The knowledge in your head bubbling to the surface
The saxophone playing In your ears
You are the world
13.0.11.3.15
Coyote
There is no dead ends on this path
No corners without a way to jump
jump into freezing water
Swim swim swim
gaze into the abyss calmly
curiously
be my guide, oh coyote,
I will follow your grace
embody your demeanor
fade back into the abyss
Road Ends
A living room full of best friends
Jungle outside and golden light swelling in
The roads keep ending, i say exasperated
and yet the road stays beneath our feet
What lessons have you learned? Danny asks
I wake up and answer
The rhythms will come and go
Certainty will come and go
Confidence comes and goes
Home comes and goes
Friends come and go and come again
Poetry comes along with romance
they always go together
Love goes and comes and goes and comes,
It never really leaves, it alchemizes into every other thing
I used to think love is fleeting
now i know that love is transient
I too, come and go
13.0.10.5.13
I had a very vivid dream this morning; abstract geometry in sandy dunes gave way to monochromatic ancestral jungle, where quiche people played, and extended a hand. I woke up from this layer to find myself in a classroom, only to fall once again, incarnate as a small doodled bird, bright red with a jagged outline, pursued by a larger bird of prey. As its beak closed around me, I pulsated larger and larger, until I became the thing that consumed me.
The dunes and the abstracted jungle remind me of Hélio Oiticica.
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13.0.10.4.14
Before ego, before a concept of I, we are an expression of the earth, the collective breath of life and swirling, clashing coincidence. Land, time, possibilities and existence exists all around us, beyond us, within us.
But who is the I we speak of ? What soil was it sown in ? Who planted the seed / where did it come from ? Did you water it? Have you pruned and shaped it ? Can you see it as part of a greater ecosystem, a cosmic garden, pulsing with life and decay, fire and wonder.
There are other I’s in this time space, other seeds of self, and you are the sower.
12.19.4.2.7
How did my ancestors understand time? How does it crash and squeal against the western linear time? How do we sport the same vision, the same understanding of time as cyclical and always becoming? How can those vast knowledges inform our relationships to each other, to our planet, to the universe? What devices could facilitate our use of ancestral time?
Channeling ancestors.
How can I exist as not only myself, but as an incarnate of a thousand lifetimes, of the experience of those lives lived? How does my temporal existence meld and communicate knowledge coded in my genome?
13.0.9.6.2
Si no de aqui ni alla, pos de donde? Que tan grande es este en medio?
Why the fixture on labels and clear cut definitions ? My identity is constantly pouring in and out of containers, bellowing over the edges, dripping over so many expectations?
How can I communicate clearly when everything is so nebulous?
Is it really about clarifying ? of being more assertive and convicted ? What do I do with everything nebulous? What if I can only make vague approximations about what it is ? What even is it??
I know I can’t be the only one stuck in this perpetual ambiguity. And dare I believe this disposition to be defective? I understand that in certain situations, clarity, assertiveness, decisiveness is a must. I get that. But so much of my understanding is amorphous, relationship, culture, home — is it simply a matter of committing to a frame, picking a definition from many?
Do I get defensive when somebody is asking me to define things? Just because it is unclear does not mean it is not settled. The primacy of needing everything clear cut is annoying.
Meso means to be in the middle. In between borders. Inbetween cultures. Inbetween dogmas. Always inbetween. Always in the liminal spaces.
Mesofuturism isn’t concerned with borders;
It is obsessed with the magical, the rhythmic, the quotidian and the divine.
It is observed in the ripples of lake michigan, in the dancing of the trees, in bonfires and amongst the laughter of friends.
It is materialized in weavings, inhaled out of wooden pipes, stored in clay vessels , burned in copper chambers.
It grows in the tendrils of grassy fields, it glows in the belly of fireflies, it falls out of the clouds and sprouts with the mycelia.
Mesofuturism is a place to find joy even when an empire conspires against your safety and worth. A space to ground amongst unfamiliar spaces and xenophobic terrorism.
It is a space to grow into the wildest versions of yourself, to combine and reimagine yourself infinitely, to splinter, shatter and materialize once again. A space to talk and dance with your ancestors and descendants. A space to live and remember and die. This is a space to call home.
13.0.11.10.9
Dissonance
Something in my head space doesn’t line up with the physical
Uncertain
Faking the funk
And doing it well
Why do I want to hide
And be somewhere else
The critic is here
He says im not doing enough
I’m ducking responsibility
He blocks intuition
Makes it hard to settle and relax
Hard to flow
I am trying to lean into the discomfort
Let change wash over me
Acknowledge that I could be more structured and organized
While unstructured time is necessary
Let me sift through the static in my brain
Let it settle
I’ve got time
And discipline comes and goes
But what feels important
Where are you drawn
The mystery of life is not a puzzle to be solved
But a reality to be experienced
Things are happening all the time
Observe and apply yourself where you’re drawn
Appreciate the things as they come
As they change
As you change them
And they change you
The dissonance is change
Passage
Becoming
You cannot understand this process by stopping it
Understanding moves with the flow of the process
Where are we moving to
Wait and see
You are not your failures and shortcomings
You aren’t your triumphs either
You are this moment
The sun through the trees
The fountain surrounded by people
The anticipation of a friend soon to arrive
The knowledge in your head bubbling to the surface
The saxophone playing In your ears
You are the world
13.0.11.3.15
Coyote
There is no dead ends on this path
No corners without a way to jump
jump into freezing water
Swim swim swim
gaze into the abyss calmly
curiously
be my guide, oh coyote,
I will follow your grace
embody your demeanor
fade back into the abyss
Road Ends
A living room full of best friends
Jungle outside and golden light swelling in
The roads keep ending, i say exasperated
and yet the road stays beneath our feet
What lessons have you learned? Danny asks
I wake up and answer
The rhythms will come and go
Certainty will come and go
Confidence comes and goes
Home comes and goes
Friends come and go and come again
Poetry comes along with romance
they always go together
Love goes and comes and goes and comes,
It never really leaves, it alchemizes into every other thing
I used to think love is fleeting
now i know that love is transient
I too, come and go
13.0.10.5.13
I had a very vivid dream this morning; abstract geometry in sandy dunes gave way to monochromatic ancestral jungle, where quiche people played, and extended a hand. I woke up from this layer to find myself in a classroom, only to fall once again, incarnate as a small doodled bird, bright red with a jagged outline, pursued by a larger bird of prey. As its beak closed around me, I pulsated larger and larger, until I became the thing that consumed me.
The dunes and the abstracted jungle remind me of Hélio Oiticica.
13.0.10.4.14
Before ego, before a concept of I, we are an expression of the earth, the collective breath of life and swirling, clashing coincidence. Land, time, possibilities and existence exists all around us, beyond us, within us.
But who is the I we speak of ? What soil was it sown in ? Who planted the seed / where did it come from ? Did you water it? Have you pruned and shaped it ? Can you see it as part of a greater ecosystem, a cosmic garden, pulsing with life and decay, fire and wonder.
There are other I’s in this time space, other seeds of self, and you are the sower.
12.19.4.2.7
How did my ancestors understand time? How does it crash and squeal against the western linear time? How do we sport the same vision, the same understanding of time as cyclical and always becoming? How can those vast knowledges inform our relationships to each other, to our planet, to the universe? What devices could facilitate our use of ancestral time?
Channeling ancestors.
How can I exist as not only myself, but as an incarnate of a thousand lifetimes, of the experience of those lives lived? How does my temporal existence meld and communicate knowledge coded in my genome?
13.0.9.6.2
Si no de aqui ni alla, pos de donde? Que tan grande es este en medio?
Why the fixture on labels and clear cut definitions ? My identity is constantly pouring in and out of containers, bellowing over the edges, dripping over so many expectations?
How can I communicate clearly when everything is so nebulous?
Is it really about clarifying ? of being more assertive and convicted ? What do I do with everything nebulous? What if I can only make vague approximations about what it is ? What even is it??
I know I can’t be the only one stuck in this perpetual ambiguity. And dare I believe this disposition to be defective? I understand that in certain situations, clarity, assertiveness, decisiveness is a must. I get that. But so much of my understanding is amorphous, relationship, culture, home — is it simply a matter of committing to a frame, picking a definition from many?
Do I get defensive when somebody is asking me to define things? Just because it is unclear does not mean it is not settled. The primacy of needing everything clear cut is annoying.
Meso means to be in the middle. In between borders. Inbetween cultures. Inbetween dogmas. Always inbetween. Always in the liminal spaces.
Studies in handmade paper, drawn with mud.
Tools for preparing Amatl paper.
