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WE HAVE TO TALK ONE DAY, DAUGHTERS OF TENDERNESS
And it will hurt
It will hurt as much as the echo of our voices, it hurts.
Because our voice will be gone, but the echo, never again!
OUR ECHO, NEVER AGAIN!
They tried to bury our bones but didn’t know we were voice.
Can you hear our pain?
Can you smell our story?
Does the sea scare you when the night falls?
Can you look at yourself through us even with all that rage you’re feeling without even uttering a word?
Show me your teeth, and also your claws, this world needs our blade
But don’t forget the wound is also shown
The wound, always at the core to soften paths
Stop showing yourself to the world like this, and show yourself inwards.
Let your own rage speak and come, for that is really you, and if you get closer to your own fear, you will understand that your tears are all stories of TENDERNESS we/they were denied of yours, that they are also mine, ours, theirs; them and us calling for justice, memory, dignity AND RADICAL TENDERNESS AGAINST ALL CALAMITY
We must always cry, daughters of TENDERNESS
And listen carefully, for our tears are also our winged resistance, waiting for the mystery of the blue.
I am each and every lump in my throat
and I am not afraid, for that is the way one learns to knit, the way one learns to entangle
Today I can un/leash an ocean of tenderness in each drop of salt.
Let us cry, cry, they will cry, I cry and I cry a lot again in light of TENDERNESS, for I call upon the fall of the sky with my nocturnal mourn, can you hear it in your heartbeat?
What seas has my singing brought you to?
Come to me, sisters of the cloudiest sky; we, the ones who walk looking up with the firm desire that the sky falls to the ground and the asphalt becomes a warm sea where one can swim between the fantasies of mermaids, sea lionesses, and with the infinite emotion of the first time in light of the immensity of the deep, which really is all of the crying of those of us who wake up and tell ourselves with profound sentiment
THIS IS ANOTHER DAY TO DREAM
IF THERE IS EVEN A DREAM
OR AN AWAKENING.
o, how we need a sea in this dreadful grey asphalt!
The sky on the ground, flooding all the pain we wear, and at the same time, it claims to us, the ones who birth tenderness with no time, with no shape, with our souls inside out.
Let our hearts rain, sisters, however cloudy they are, because tenderness will vindicate us on a night full of shining stars that will make us smile, close our eyes and want to jump them one by one while we make up all the names we ever wanted to have and we were denied
While we jump between them with all of those little clothes we ever wanted to sneakily wear in order to feel like ourselves.
Let us cry to tenderness while we tell each other beautiful stories, those that fill a grey day with honey
Lying in bed
Let us tell each other, with some tea, some touching stories
That make us inhabit ourselves and listen to the call of wailing
Let us cry to tenderness when we exhibit our eyes to those who told us it did not exist and, suddenly, it does exist, and it resists.
It is felt, stroked, hugged, honoured, remembered, embodied, ripped, weighed, undressed, hit
but it transforms and it transcends
TREMBLING IS ALWAYS AWAITED WITH TENDERNESS
IT IS NEVER PREVENTED.
We have to talk one day, daughters of tenderness
And I cry when I write this
for even when we are so fallen
such /errorists of error
we will be that tender memory that hides in the hugs of those who we marked with this, this that we are.
ONE OF THE MOST FEARED FEARS OF HUMANITY IS
Morning mantra II. SNAKE
We must always give birth to our inner snake fearlessly, for in this path of water, earth and desert called life we all segregate toxicity, our inner poison, and we mustn’t fear the fragility of our danger, we must taste our inner poison in order to transcend it and to know ourselves to be strong, incendiary and warriors in face of the danger of our contexts.
In our affective path we have become or can be lethal. We hurt, we pierce, and scare away; we have smothered and have been smothered before. We are an affective contradiction that goes back and forth between desire, fear, wrath and the resilience of our times… We have dragged ourselves at great speed towards the catastrophe of our territories, we have strongly tangled ourselves to impossibility and resisted; our foreignness has made us feared; they fear us because we don’t fear… What would this world become, you feared snakes, without the powerful and sublime possibility of changing skin, transcending, transmuting, transforming ourselves again and again, leaving scraps of skin behind, scraps of ephemeral and contradictory emancipations, scraps of thunderstorms and hurtful falls, traces of skin that feed the earth, traces of skin that remain in the path for others as an evidence of danger, scraps of our own search for inner poison, as evidence that there where danger is sowed, what makes us strong can also grow…
Affective responsibility is:
-To not make your partner feel like they’re difficult, complicated or uncomfortable just for loving in a certain way. Each one of us has a personal way of feeling and sharing (themselves). I wish we had been taught to embrace every single way of showing affection and not just this totally binary way of “they’re too intense” or “they’re not expressive”. I wish we had been taught to not feel ashamed for being a certain way. Why do we try to shape others to our interests and desires? Why can’t we just name our feelings without demanding? Every single relationship touches wounds, however “free” they are.
Instead of being a useless affliction, love could be a teaching of transformation kneaded collectively, an agreement rather than a disagreement, a broken mirror in many little pieces in order to see ourselves in different ways. Let us open up without fear to new ways of love, let us be loved, let us love chameleonically and at our own time. To be continued…
Occasionally, even my own mother told me not to cry, that in this to and for called life, strong women don’t cry… and it goes without saying that in secondary school where “crying is for girls or sissies” I later on encountered women, who like me, transitioned and think that crying is for the weak… or that crying is only for situations of extreme pain… Even more in a historical context that has built us like this, like weak and devoted to suffering. But I am honest, there is no act more revolutionary than undressing oneself emotionally and cry and cry… Every time I do it and I look at myself in the mirror, I release myself and see a strong and fulfilled woman who is very proud of showing herself through what hurts, distresses and disturbs her too, that is also me… LONG LIFE TO THE PRIDEFUL AND BRAVE WAILING ONES…
Sunday, 3:22 p.m., number 2 underground line: I’d love to stop time and be able to talk to people that, quite puzzled, stare at my body in public spaces… I’d love to take all of those questions they have with me, and answer them… To leave behind all the social absurdity that separates us people. Some weeks ago, that was the beginning of an affective intervention with my peers in group 1F of middle school 192… I asked them to look at my body without fear, and to ask me all of the questions they had… After that, I told them that if anyone wanted to touch it, we could reach an agreement… The social worker looked daggers at me, with a pair of eyes that tried to shut me up… Nevertheless, we could feel each other… Those are my processes… Nothing without my body…
To take off one’s mask. To show oneself. To know oneself and to allow oneself to be known. Affection can do anything, to make us remain, for example. WITHOUT A FISSURE THERE IS NO RELATIONSHIP. That is my mantra. ??
Let those who have deconstructed romantic love a 100%, in its entirety, cast the first stone… How good it is to be critics of this day and its story, plus its capitalist, consumerist, patriarchal actions, their representations… But who hasn’t gone through that road before adopting this new position? Who was born a 100% deconstructed? And who is already over with this process? There is zealousness, Mexican soap operas… Drama… Fights… Even in our most radical spaces of resistance-dissidence. We accept contradiction and learn from there… Let us not fear to give in to temptation, whose heart hasn’t beat before? … This is also part of the affective posture, to live oneself in the process… I did smile this morning when two beauties kissed each other outside of the secondary school close to my place… Affective autosuggestion and conscious invitation to other possibilities, but no obligation!
"A desk is a dangerous place from which to watch the world" (John Le Carré)