First heat the fruit in a small pot with a quarter cup water once the waters boiling double boil the small pot (put it in a bigger pot of boiling water) then add the arrowroot powder and sugar little by little, mix it a bunch, make sure you put the spices in. Leave it like that for a super long time but stir it every once in a while then turn it off when you think it’s at the right consistency it’s rly up to you.

It might look like this:

Or if you’re wearing glasses and they fog up, like this:

PS I’ve found that double boiling isn’t totally necessary and can actually be kind of annoying if you’re trying to reach higher temperatures so as long as you are willing to spend more of your time standing over the pot stirring and making sure the marmalade doesn’t burn feel free to put it directly on the burner

Who am I? Why haven’t I slept in 36 hours? Why am I inventing marmalade instead of writing my thesis?

I never cease to be an image because I am not transparent to myself, I never stand back far enough into me – into the point in space from which I begin to radiate outward – to know my bounds (I have no bounds). And so I am forever your mirror.

You act upon me – upon my image, upon my space – and feel yourself passing through me like a hologram. And I too feel myself like a hologram, flickering in and out of presence but never lingering long enough to leave more than a diaphanous trace curled about your fingertips and along the staggered crevices of your lips.

Ahora, soy estudiante en la Universidad de Columbia en Nueva York. Yo estudio filosofía de género y sexualidad. Esta es una de las últimas especialidades añadidas al curriculum de la universidad, y la me gusta mucho porque es una especialidad muy libre – yo puedo elegir los temas específicos que me interesan. Yo estoy muy curiosa sobre los feminismos indígenas, y yo espero en México poder hablar con mujeres diferentes y aprender algo sobre sus perspectivas…

Ella dijo que hay que escribir “el feminismo indigena” o “las feministas indígenas,” y tuve explicarla — en español — que no escribí “feminismos indígenas” porque no entiendo la gramática, sino lo escribí porque quiero expresar que hay muchos distintas (e quizás indistintas) modalidades del feminismo indígena, no solamente un universal.
Cada día es gracioso en esta clase porque cada día me hago una caricatura más obvia y ridícula.

— OK just practicing.

I want a person with aids for president and I want a fag for vice president and I want someone with no health insurance and I want someone who grew up in a place where the earth is so saturated with toxic waste that they didn’t have a choice about getting leukemia. I want a president that had an abortion at sixteen and I want a candidate who isn’t the lesser of two evils and I want a president who lost their last lover to aids, who still sees that in their eyes every time they lay down to rest, who held their lover in their arms and knew they were dying. I want a president with no airconditioning, a president who has stood on line at the clinic, at the dmv, at the welfare office and has been unemployed and layed off and sexually harassed and gaybashed and deported. I want someone who has spent the night in the tombs and had a cross burned on their lawn and survived rape. I want someone who has been in love and been hurt, who respects sex, who has made mistakes and learned from them. I want a Black woman for president. I want someone with bad teeth and an attitude, someone who has eaten that nasty hospital food, someone who crossdresses and has done drugs and been in therapy. I want someone who has committed civil disobedience. And I want to know why this isn’t possible. I want to know why we started learning somewhere down the line that a president is always a clown: always a john and never a hooker. Always a boss and never a worker, always a liar, always a thief and never caught.

–Michael Warner, Queer and Then?

and a more ‘normal’/pre-performative picture of it I suppose:

These pictures are stupid because first of all the lights flickered with the frequencies of the sound waves but mostly the whole point is to be inside the sculpture and touching it and moving through it or at least getting close enough to think about what it would take, how your body would have to be negotiated, in order for you to enter & disrupt the space/ get disrupted by it

I guess I called it ‘Blood Test’ tho not really, this is a video of me messing around in it and making noises with AK: Blood Test (.mov) … It takes a super long time to load and is abrassive

A man who finds himself among others is irritated because he
does not know why he is not one of the others.
In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that he does not know
why he is himself instead of the body he touches.
Without knowing it, he suffers from the mental darkness that
keeps him from screaming that he himself is the girl who
forgets his presence while shuddering in his arms.
Love or infantile rage, or a provincial dowager’s vanity, or
clerical pornography, or the diamond of a soprano bewilder
individuals forgotten in dusty apartments.
They can very well try to find each other; they will never find
anything but parodic images, and they will fall asleep as empty
as mirrors.

— Georges Bataille, The Solar Anus

I’m still working on getting a video of the arms moving (they go up and down)….