Nearing my arrival as Jihad Spice (2014)
Darren. Uncertain. Etymological. Origins. Great. Gift. Bewitched. Darren. Nerrad. Bok Fu. Max. Mr. Brown. D. Dare. Dare-bo. D-bo. Darewon. Brownie. Charlotte. Klenderfender. Bing Bing. Chong Chong. Space Prince. Jihad Spice. Creatrix. Peacock. Eva Braun. Names. Markers. Nicknames. Recreations. Reimaginations. A reclaiming of the self post-birth free from the genetic code that binds with an intent keen on perpetuating the self-fulling prophecy of a society adrift in a sea of suffering - the process - procreation and offspring. Birth. Categorization. The box. Four enclosed walls and vicarious living. Maternal desire and aspirations. Secrecy. Clandestine maneuvers. We roam. And find. Among the gallows imaginations intertwine offering glimmers of light in the darkness - opportunities to lessen the grip through strategic sharing, insight and transformation. Petals fall. As do leaves. And snakes shed their skins. Together, Yet apart. Techno soirees aid communications dreamed and discussed years before - premonitions of the future realized. Similar struggles. Navigating the systemic maze of capitalistic care, we fall deep within an abyss of self-questioning. We are diagnosed. We are stamped. Something is wrong. On the pharmaceutical hamster wheel of production. Produce and contribute. Or die. Legs twisted in the wheel. Limbs mangled, we emerge and recount the stories of surviving the complexes of the world. Realities cross and sometimes run parallel. Gazing at the wheel, we recognize the myth of meritocracy - and split. We take control. Cryptic comforts litter the binary landscape posing anarchic arrivals of identities suppressed. Slowly we emerge as we transform ourselves. Sensory overload as emotions once hidden emerge as machinery rebrands and crafts a new self anointed to fight, love and fly - treasures found beneath the oozing blood. The we. Careering. Multiple hats. Performing. Smiling. Assimilating. Slow death. The rot. Mind mush. Take another. Have another. Feed the emptiness. The closet of the mind. Mental arsenal inventory. Various ingredients chopped, slow cooked and stirred; its alchemy a result of combination. We don our wares and emerge. We arrive. The craving and the resultant carving - we find space. Attitudes, moods and broods. Praise, shades and disses. We outdo each other. Learn. Share. Get better. Morph. Like "Jap girls in synthesis" we confuse and offend. Outrage documented on celluloid for we inhabit a site of resistance in motion - we confound history. Out of the muck our wings flap as mud dirties the lens. The camera man wipes and we are gone. Home, we take off the mask. Shower. Observe the mirror. Question who we are. I am anarchic. Switch. Shift. An object. Pay me. To feel and absorb the sensual possibilities of crossing the bridge. And the bridge is me. Come down. Revisit the self. The third eye aided by the screen. Electronic documentation. Photos of movement. Global praise. It's all "1's" and "0's." Repeat the process as the singular yet multiple I - now inhabiting a space of cyber-reality. Express the suppressed. The longing to connect not just within ourselves but with others. The carving becomes tiring. To constantly carve. To search. To belong. To feel. To feel beautiful. We whittle. Our crafts a result of percolation. We reveal. We hurt. We emerge. Recreations become a declaration, a testimony to that hidden part of ourselves we are in battle with. Our movements beyond rhetoric - a purging of the mundane - an openness to spontaneity in which we find home outside the confines of the four enclosed walls. Inertia ceases as we find brief moments of liberation. In movement. In concert. We search. We arrive.
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AuthorDarren Brown, PhD. ArchivesCategories |