Found some of screenshots from John Henry Thompson’s blog that I took a while back.
… “to set down essential truth rather than fact of detail, which is so often misleading.”
– Zora Neale Hurston on writing he story of Cudjo Lewis
hopefully this blog becomes a record of my happiness, too
I feel like the same part of me that doesn’t want to admit I like blogging is the same part of me that doesn’t want to admit I like Miranda July. Is that a product internalized sexism or whiteness…? In regards to both blogging and MJ.
Sayre says I’m a “July Head.” And you know, maybe I am. Been thinking a lot about this scene in particular. Been feeling the urge to share my new blogging project on Instagram, but then that feels like it defeats the purpose of finding a quiet place to process my thoughts in the virtual realm. Why blog? Why not journal? I guess the idea of leaving behind a public record feels… important? That feels stupid to say out loud. Or rather, write online. But spiralling feels good.
This scene tho. That’s what blogging feels like so far…
Made for @ALLBlackASMR
Sometimes you just need to see something.
I love living with a lover who entertains my would-you-rathers and creative curiosities. Over coffee, I expressed to Yeelen that this track by Frank Ocean would be cute set against middle school choreography. Yee was unfamiliar with this style of dance, until I was able to find talent show recordings from the early 2000s on Youtube. We’ve watched this combination countless times and I will continue to watch it when I need a pick me up. Fan art is satisfying like that.
When did I become an artist too serious to release videos that I clearly wasn’t paid to create? Definitely before Frank Ocean moved into a friend of a friend’s building Bushwick and started throwing private warehouse parties (which I was not invited to)
Instagram can’t hold space for my imagination anymore.
Returning to blogging seemed like a wholesome gesture in virtual autonomy. John Henry Thompson told me that he likes to publish his ideas somewhere personal before distributing them on social media and this made sense to me. I’ve witnessed my personal expression adapt to accommodate Instagram’s algorithms and that feels inauthentic. And boring. I remember Tumblr feeling like a safe corner of the internet to publish photos of flings and banal things. Before the following and like count became another compass for creative expression. Before Yahoo bought the platform and promised not to ruin it and ruined it anyway. Before sexbot sirens of malware hacked my dormant personal archive.
I was tempted to return to Tumblr, like a toxic ex-lover freshly encountered on a dating app, but the censorship seems too stifling. For example- the idea of photographing and posting nudes makes me feel scandelous. This is certainly a side effect of the algorithm. Additionally, I don’t want to engage with a feed. I don’t want to post something, secretly hoping to succeed algorthmically.
Livejournal was appealing in its unabashed dorkiness. There’s no threat of people pleasing because, as far as I know, no people I know are there. Skimming Google revealed that Livejournal has been compromised by Russian surveillance, just like my Tinder, Instagram and Tumblr. Seemed a bit on the nose.
In researching Blogger, the homepage took me to my first blog. I’d forgotten it ever existed, seemingly predating my Tumblr days. It was heartening rediscover old parts of myself I thought I’d lost with login info. I often push down the thought of how many photos and videos have disappeared permanently because the internet is ever changing. So frequently we’re told that the internet is forever- once you post something it’s there and you can’t ever take it down. But that’s not true.
The internet is forgetting about you is a phrase I’ve been thinking of for years. It seems silly and impossible. It is at once something I fear and desire. It has happened before and it will happen again. I don’t miss the Myspace page advertising my services photography services with awful watermarks and a Passion Pit track as my personal anthem. I do miss my photobucket accounts from high school. I don’t miss my Tumblr so much, but maybe I will if it’s deleted before I backup the content. I did miss Tinder when I was blocked (the reason, I believe, was a Brittney Spears meme about awkwardly performing masculinity), but my Google Voice number offered a get around.
“What’s on the colored mind?” is the name of John Henry Thompson’s blog. Turns out he’s on Blogspot, too 🙂 Can we repost things here or is that more of a Tumblr thing…? In any case, I look forward to sharing screenshots of his writings and visuals that inspired me as I break this new blog in. Among other things.
* UPDATE: This was posted a few days ago when I was trying out Blogger. Obviously, I’m here on wordpress sooooooooooooooooo