Stripped bare. Portraits by Chris Boyer.2020. Share on Instagram for the New Year 2021.
Dare to post moments of life where you thought they would be your last photos. A moment of life. Fixed thoughts. An experimental megalomaniac therapy, a shout-out, a confession. (OOOps Aie aie I was really bad….lol lol lol)
“A BULK OF LIFE. ANACHRONIC AND A LITTLE ANARCHICAL.
A cerebral, sensitive, and intimate introspection for 2021 greetings. Taking care of yourself to better take care of everything else. Egocentrime welcome. Welcome to my brain. Entry is not mandatory. Judge, criticize, comment if you like. But no items for sale. No after-sales service. Spotlight on you, on you, on them, on everyone. Do yourself some good. Try. Do the best.
I explore, I move forward. Stubborn. Unconventional. I don’t want anymore, I feel anymore, I say stop. It’s not taking humans for weathervanes, it’s keeping my head above water so as not to sink, drawn to the bottom. You don’t want to: you hold me back, and then we talk, we tell each other everything. We see. It’s nothing, you say nothing, it will pass. Listen to yourself. Don’t promise anything. I’m learning to know what I am. in this flood of information, frames, and images. I know what I’m looking for. What I believe in. Alive. Here and now. One day, the tribe, the union, two beings. A family.
In the meantime, long live those I consider builders: anti-capitalists, vegans, cyclists, organic farmers, sustainable farmers, feminists, the self-confident, the contemplative, the seed sowers, the activists, the ecologists. I’m forgetting some. Role models. It’s cliché. It doesn’t matter.
Herd instinct vs. evolution of consciousness.
Construction – Deconstruction.
Order – Chaos.
Day – Night.
Life – Death.
Balance. All of it.
Long live those we love and long live those we think we don’t love.
On the other hand, if we lowered the value placed on money and power a little, it would be so good.
For some, Covid. Negative turnover. Unpaid bills. Deprivation. Money. Freedom. Movement. Lost. For others, a golden spoon in their mouths. Bourgeoisie. Hot bath.
Some under bombs. Hunger in their bellies.
And then loss. Illness. Death for ALL.
Empty stomach. Empty wallet. Empty heart. Empty health record. 5d scale of suffering. You. Them. Him. Her. Them. Us. I/you/he/we/you/they suffer. Sometimes. All the time. Often. Never.
2020 never again. I agree. Neither 2020 nor the ones before. 2021 I will shout it on the web, on the walls. Rainbows. Even if I am no longer a child. I will remain silent about the debates. I will do. I will create. Also for this: to no longer ban us from demonstrating, to no longer ban us from films of cops who abuse, to no longer tolerate the Racial profiling. Stop inviting Zemour on every show: hate monger.
Personally, I want more judgmental remarks about my leg hair like “You’re going too far, Momo.” Fuck you. I style my hair, like my hair, however I feel like it and the moment.
I’m tired of being encouraged by some to come out, which is impossible: even though I shaved my head, handle a chainsaw, and drive aerial work platforms, I like dicks and that’s just the way it is. I’d like to have the courage to be pansexual, but I don’t even know if it’s my tastes or my conditioning that’s stopping me. I’m tired of being told to stop crying. Tears are as legitimate as laughter. I’m tired of being judged on social media facades. Wake up, what’s being shown is the facade! I’m tired of judgmental remarks because I’m quitting drinking. Little encouragement, a lot of “it’s part of it” “You’ll come back to this addiction.” I’m sick of it. I don’t want it anymore. I’ve banished it. I’m sick of this theory of permanent happiness. Of cheating. I have the right to feel bad, to lose it. The system is beyond me. I’m unsuited to the system. The system is unsuited to natural cycles. I’m sick of being forced. I’m sick of doing things “to please.” I’m sick of trying to justify myself when I don’t want to eat meat. You do what you want: don’t come here to excuse yourself by arguing. All of this is my life, my unique thoughts. I’m annoying and unbearable, not because I’m a woman or a woman: because I’m like that. Intense. Blunt.
I’m sick of having to socialize because the group reassures those who can’t be alone with themselves. I’m wild too. I take up space. I speak loudly. I overreact. It’s complicated on a daily basis. “Exhausting. For others. Exhausting for me. Accepting myself. Yes, I overdramatize, overdramatize, put myself on display, perform: it’s my shell, baby.
Your concepts of “blood,” your glitter, aren’t for me in your superficial sphere. Behind the overly grand words of love and the promises, it’s often hollow: shut up and do it. I have more time to waste with this superficial life, but a dance to lead with the sun, protected by the moon. Assumed madness. Daydreaming!
And let’s change the Republic in the process, damn it!
I, a baby of capitalism, am asking for my emancipation and the guardianship of Mother Nature. Procedure in progress.
Alternation. Moments of life.
Generation. Country. Geography. Social background. Age. Colors. Sex. Situation: injustices everywhere. Human mess. Who has the solution? No one. Everyone: yes.
Life. Love.
At its best.
Like the ordered chaos of the primary forest.
Macro. Micro.
Evolution. Change. Impermanence. Cycle. Light. Hope. Breathing. Inhalation. Exhalation. Infinity. Cosmos. Micro. Macro. Inhalation. Exhalation. It’ll be okay. And if it doesn’t? It’s the same thing.
Creation.
Creation.
Creation.
Nature.
Naturally.
Inspiration.
Expiration.
Notes scribbled at the end of December, live from my grandma’s bed where she fell asleep next to me. There’s everything and nothing. It’s the ocean in my head. But this not-so-useful rant here is my way of paradoxically de-emphasizing things, to close two years of suicidal thoughts and unhappiness, a year of Covid, and to start again with a new lease on life. Because behind the smiling masks often hides destructive bulk: assumed or repressed. It doesn’t matter. We are alive. Here and now.
That’s life. It’s beautiful. It’s powerful.
Let’s celebrate as best we can.
Living here and now.
Photos taken by Chris Boyer at the end of 2020: I wanted a souvenir of my shaved head and my underarm hair. And to shout the I, the EGO to start again. We are only grains of sand, but we will always remain the closest to ours: we might as well explore it, respect it, and celebrate it instead of hating it. Peace, my brothers, my sisters, my blood.
Love.”