Consider your studio space, or the room where you work the most. Over three hours, rearrange the room in at least twelve different configurations with the sole criteria that each rearrangement should try to transform it into a space to “wonder what to do in it.” Do this by altering the layout—where the furniture sits, lighting, graphics, anything, everything. While rearranging, blast the song “Youwanner” by The Fall at full volume, which begins, “There’s always a work-in-progress. You’re a work-in-progress.”
"We lost public spaces. Online public spaces. Facebook and Google are shopping malls, but we think they are parks!"
Representations of Power and Resistance
The starting question “what if I could experience how it feels to inhabit other bodies?” multiplied into many other questions: why kind of biotechnology would enable this? How could it work? Why would it had been developed? How would it be related to systems of power? I had already started reading about brain implants and fantasizing about neurosexcodes. But it was necessary to situate that in a political framing, because to me, queerness is not an inherent property of bodies, but it is dependent on systems of power and oppression.
"Depersonalization-derealization disorder occurs when you persistently or repeatedly have the feeling that you're observing yourself from outside your body or you have a sense that things around you aren't real, or both. Feelings of depersonalization and derealization can be very disturbing and may feel like you're living in a dream."
Head to a spot nearby such as the park or the closest Starbucks. Sit or stand in that place for ten minutes and think about the way it looks. Soak in the details of the place, think about the layout, the colors, and the people there. Now go home and head to a quiet place, close your eyes and picture the location you were just in for ten minutes. Are you able to accurately picture the location? How has your memory altered the location?
The urge of spiritualists and other enthusiasts of psychic phenomena has traditionally been to cast an artificial—often purposefully distorting—blade of light into this mysterious realm. But what if the nocturnal side of nature is thought of less as the source of an alternative variety of knowledge than as a catalyst to the imagination, a preserve of images that have no known purpose, yet which compellingly reveal how the possibilities of the world have not yet been exhausted? At certain moments, alone or with a loved one, switching off the light in a room becomes a way of making the space larger, even boundary-less.