☘️ juni-personal ☘️

_069: fragmented light

what follows is a malformed, poorly-formed jigsaw entry pieced together through hurried notes, quotes and links.

taken sporadically, instantaneously, surreptitiously, awkwardly, mid-conversationally, hurriedly, fervently; but above all, reflectively.

it has grown; from a single broken bottle cast aside, to a small mountain of fragments. shards of multi-coloured glass that twinkle in utter, blissfully ignorant iridescence. existing beyond merely being the sum of someone else's parts, a previously cumulative "true" form in all senses bar the ones that truly matter.

sometimes, it takes fragmentation to find unity. setting aside a pre-conceived "whole" and risking sifting through an ever-shifting, sparkling sea of shards for one upon which the light reflects just right. where the angle of incidence is a tad more acute, the refraction ever so slightly more noticeable.

one which–smooth to the touch between your thumb and forefinger as you hold it up to the sun–is able to speak with you through its light.

those shards are worth searching for. within ourselves, others, and the world around us. when the light does not, or cannot shine through them: do not forget their power.

lest we forget the innate beauty of such discovery.

~ juni

shards

my scrawled notes:

getting worse after "getting better"

...exposing myself to the darkness in full and having that leak back over me, into me, and affect me. but struggling with it after I've so openly gone back to confront it (hospital) is shameful and makes me want to hide that. I don't want to seem like it's made me worse, because it hasn't. it was always, very much, still there. just in a state of dormant ignorance...

my behaviour might be like this right now, but my thoughts are different at least.

those 8 sad, lonely, twisted yet hopeful words:

"I'm just trying to stay out of hospital."

People became absolutely reliant on the same gathering place, Nazis and all. They become used to sleeping in the plaza, butting up against friends, frenemies, and enemies. The convenience of seeing friends (sometimes) outweighed your other neighbours spouting garbage and hate. You came to rely on this place for everything. You brought your sleeping pad and bag, and maybe a little tent, and are ready for anything.

I have very little at the town square, because it’s not a public one. It’s a walled-off town square, whose rules and borders change at the whims of those who created it. The secret is that it’s not even that: it’s actually a panopticon. As conceived of by English philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham, a panopticon is an institutional building — a prison — designed with a central tower at its center while the inmates reside in a circle around it, under its watch.

Social networks adopt a playbook that feels similar. Give your users leeway, but only so much so they can survive and feel some modicum of freedom or creativity, but hold back on customer support, moderation, and a code of conduct or guidelines that would ever allow for anyone to truly thrive.

When I was kindly interviewed by Kai Brach for Offscreen Magazine, I said, “As I get older, I’m realizing that I’d rather leave a meaningful impact with a small group of people I know than faceless millions. The connection matters to me.” That was in 2013, when I was 36. 11 years later, I still feel that way. I don’t need to be in a walled garden but I’d love to have you over at my place.

I can't forever live in the shadow of my own nostalgia. I know I'll never be 10 again, spending all night doodling Madotsuki or Uboa in my sketchbook. But at least, I can make something to honour all those memories.

. . .

You trade intimacy for audience, presence for performance. And then every time you create, you ask: "Will this do well", instead of "Does this need to exist?"

That shift kills art. Slowly, quietly, and no one notices. Because it looks like success.

Would you still make music; draw, write, film, sketch—if the only person who ever saw it was you? Because that's what art is. Not a strategy, not a stunt, not a climb. It's expression without expectations.

I don’t treat it as something precious, but I think your environment absolutely influences your creative output. Whether it’s noisiness, cleanliness, or being surrounded by your favourite tools; our spaces (as well as music or general mental wellbeing) enables creativity. You can eke out creativity anywhere, but the right setting removes a barrier for getting into that flow state.

We try to apply permanence to a world that's always changing. We build lighthouses on shorelines that are constantly shifting. We store memories between electrical charges that are always dispersing. We pin names of creatures that are always evolving. Decay reminds us that nothing is every really one thing. It's only ever in the process of becoming something else; a house is just material we've rearranged, a nest to hold us for a season. From environment, to home, to back again. Decay is what happens when we're standing still. So we don't stand still. Decay happens in the silence, so we fill it with noise. Decay leaves room for uncertainty, so we fill in the gaps. After all, we don't know what might grow.

Reply via email here ~ ! (◕‿◕)

...& if you so choose, leave a little piece of your existence here in my guestbook!

#lucid-thoughts #shards