> Everything has been so potent over the last few years, the political backdrop to our lives unravels into chaos and we slowly slide, hiding, into digital worlds that map our thoughts into timelines & unearth curated selections of memories. Meanwhile we navigate growth and becoming, personal lives, (un)/employment, lack of clarity, love and heartbreak, depression and joy. You may imagine it as two interlocking timelines.>,>
> I can trace these years through books read, instagram posts, tweets, people encountered/loved/fucked, bouts of depression, and moments of joy. Memories become so important. I don’t know if everyone does it, but I relish in them, glamorise them, repaint them over and over in my mind as details fade and dissolve into sketch-marks. When I think of the time I have spent depressed, it makes me feel like I’ve not been fully alive, and so I want to hold onto every moment of life I can, and keep them in this special gilded box in my brain. Because when it’s lifted and it’s happening and it’s life and I can feel it, everything is technicolour and I want to throw my body on the waves and hold strangers and everyone I ever loved near.
> All of these texts are stuck in my memory, as traces of the last 10 years, voices read aloud pinpoints of an event, a moment in time that managed to slip through the cracks.
Remembering being read aloud to, or repeating it back to yourself like a mantra, or passing it daily in the street.
All of these texts are stuck in my memory, I share an intimacy with them.
They hold me, as I may hold their weightyness in my hand, it is a comfort.