the emotional report of an academic seminar

my head is in pressure, as if against the wall or with an iron heavy object on top of it. I feel slightly on the edge of crying, of exhaustion, even though I don’t feel that tired, even though I’m pretty tough, I feel a special weight, atmospheric weight.

I will cry at some point, smoothly to decompress. I’d go swim, but it had to be summer and really hot, I’d let myself go with the heat.

My work broke and with it so did I, a little, right before mentioning Sarah Ahmed and the fragile connections of things deemed breakable, before Halberstam and the queer ethics of clumsiness.

One of my tutors is a monotone patriarch who fills the space with his intellectual cords, his knowledge is vast and his delivery irritating like a kid who knows it all. He provides unwanted guidance, unnecessary moderating skills and has a worthless commitment to (also) control time. He has a stupid crystalline alarm, like cartoon sparkles from Cinderella, when she puts her silly glass shoes or invites all the animals in with her singing. He’s using the same strategies as Disney, to fool you with stereotyped harmony. I would respond much better to an actual alarm, as if the room was on fire. As I would respond better to his pedantic interventions if they weren’t said in such an educated breath of voice. The alarm sounds 10 minutes before the end and then again to announce it, and after that his face expression will range from distracted to anxious, like a blown up fish. What an asshole.

How unneeded it is to deal with his presence in this situation. On the other hand, I’m the first to defend how useful it is to be exposed to a “bad crowd”, to train yourself. I’m an advocate of putting yourself into certain hard situations, just to learn how to deal with them, in case one day they appear by surprise.

To be fair, my colleagues are generous, intelligent, attentive, interested and ultimately very nice. I’m aware of how hard it is to be honest and outspoken in such a sterile environment. The academia system most definitely thinks we should be put through these situations. But you see, that’s not the same, because I put my own self in it, I wouldn’t force it on others. But that’s not really why I’m here.

My machine broke before and after, my dear friend drop it on the floor. What a horrible feeling to break someone else’s jewels! But by doing that she added a new line in my diagram of affects and emotions. Now my discomfort has spread. I like to think that, it gives it purpose. We shouldn’t just spread love, as those loose quotes tell you.

I’m back at the source with a broken machine and a broken soul, that magma inside of me. That magma I wanted to share. I’m so drained.

This is an emotional tutorial report, the other kind, not the one I’ll print at the end of the term. Or maybe I’ll add it as apendix.

My head is still heavy, stuck tears maybe? But I feel like I have to stay tough, at least for now. As another friend says, they don’t train you for this really, we artists are so fucking tough! There’s a lot of crying in grad school, she also told me.

(…)

5 hours later, I wrote a fb post:

Today I presented my ongoing research; I talked about fragility and queer clumsiness 5 minutes after my work broke, and so did I, a little. Then I mentioned intimacy, darkness, utopias and sex, and in the end the work broke again, a little bit more. I am quite tough so I did my best to deal with it. I also dealt with a monotone patriarch tutor who asks gratuitously provocative questions with a condescending cynical smile. This lead to an amazing conversation with my dear mind-alike friend, because things like that make you want to destroy and eat the world at the same time. Then later I come home and my girlfriend tells me a post she wrote on FB cinema group “shooting people” has been eliminated because she was looking for “queer producers” and many straight men complained, cus “you shouldn’t only hire people based on their sexuality because we are a totally inclusive group.” . When Lola too kindly explains, the moderator replies that “the term queer has absolutely no political affiliations whatsoever”.

I mean… you read the posts, you listen to the stories, but they keep fucking repeating themselves.

Off to a big chill now.

 

six stories from instagram

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On today’s #selfie episode “Mariana suspects she has a witch on her hands when the cheerleading squad falls victim to sudden blindness and spontaneous combustion” .
#breakfast #scifi #usagirl

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Mister Man is waiting downstairs, she’s gonna take me for a #ride in the #desert, at night 🌌⚡️

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I’m wearing #lipstick and #lesbian

#selfieswag

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We are such an #exotic bed
🌅
#tropical #threesome #twolatinasoneparrot

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I make posters of my girlfriend and hang them around the house
.
#dissidentromanticlove 🌴💕

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🔴🍈⭕️
#selfie

closer and monumental

“so my little show is about the beauty and the struggle of human connection. And what happens in those moments when we get closer to someone else or further removed from ourselves. And you know, often the change is slow and subtle, but sometimes it is sudden and monumental.”

 

(kcrw strangers “falling slowly”)