Pajama Manifesto
2014
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I am not a device. I am not a thing in the inernet of things. I am not my Facebook update I am not a bird. I am puckered pockets of fat, skin suit sagging and laz. My joints swell and my back on the lower left side hurts almost always. My hip flexor pinches and my knee aches and shoots micro pain bullets very step downstairs If I’ve been staning for too long or sitting. I can’t turn my head as far to the left as the right anymore and it surprises me that not everyone else walks around with these same pains every day. I thought I was normal. I worked so hard at it. Turns out I’m not together or predictable clickthroughs. I am fat I am fit I am brownish greensgoldish eyes and toe fungus and great enamel with receding gums long neck and sugar binging disciplined scheduled but deeply confused who I am anymore and what am I meant to be doing? I am not making people I am making ideas but I’ve lost their weave. It is a tangled booger of topics and styles and genres dynamics mechanics frameworks stuck—a filthy chewed up flaborless sidewalk blackened wad of hair and lint gravel soot leaves dog pee what pandora station can speak that language or at least give me a suitably sad sountrack to match the stupid nicotine sighs clogging it all up in there. I am a middle aged white woman who feels as uninteresting and apathetic as the words that define my demographic. I do not matter to the world—I have no children, property, savings, or staked claim to the future. I am nearly overdrawn on my goodish health, have used up nearly all the privilege that I was granted at birth and only feel worth the amount I owe to Sallie Mae and American Express. I ate my feelings at lunch and hate myself for it. I should be making art, but instead, I am sitting in my Old Navy Flannel Christmas pajamas at 4 in the afternoon deflated by the absolute perfection of that video piece at MoMA. Where’s the fucking app for that and when will be chip just go shot straight into my brain and flatten me back out? Bring it all you dude bros in the line at Whole Foods bragging about your powerpoint dechs for the next road show. Bring it startup dickbrains who are trading up on my taps. Get in your Google Bus at VanNess + California and drive in on over to me to plant your flag and finish the job you stated. Stuck here, a cereal crumb of ugle foul breathed complications and uncontrollable emotion I am not a device, and I am useless.