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Diarealism … (or Diarrealism)

Diarealism attempts to enter into any of the various substrates of the Real.

Determining what is unreal does not in any way require a determination of the real. Rather, the unreal is subsumed by the real (and vice versa), and thus, the unreal and the real are unable to speak. To each other or to any Other. This forms a closed totality that is bound at the lips and silenced; the only alternative is to push voices towards it like breath into the cold. Shots in the dark.

Me cago en la oscuridad, my dad used to say.

In aesthetics, the diareal approaches realism but only through strata of the hyperreal. The result is the death of any hope for truth.

Diarealism is a difficult concept to flush, and might require several attempts (it necessitates smooth, coating action).

Stop Light

She pauses on the sidewalk

Stop Sign

tree tops

for Amy, the trees, and my homies in Chapel Hill. y’all ain’t forgotten.

barbanza muiños

for Amy, as always, and for Jamie Bishop

I knew Jamie Bishop, but I didn’t really know him. I knew his face, and it shocked me to see it on the front of the New York Times. We overlapped at UNC–he worked in the IT office downstairs in Dey Hall (Die Hole, we used to call it). From what I knew about him, he was a person who was nice, quiet, was into photography, was concerned about the direction our country was headed. A guy like me.

I am saddened to find out that his life was taken at VA Tech. I am thinking about Jamie, about his wife Steffi (I remember her well, she was very kind to me when she gave me a German exam, it hurts to know that she must suffer), about Northern Virginia, where I grew up, about how my culture produces ugliness and beauty, rotten eggs and peanuts.

jamón country

the world in ruin (ruins)

november 4-5

for A [in the beginning]

Self-Portrait, or, Many Mouths

golden porch lions in America