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The infected touching antiquity

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  The infected touching antiquity Do you feel divinity when you touch antiquity? Metamodernist art by JJFBbennett Stand before a marble relic, and you find yourself at the threshold of contact. The museum enforces detachment. Do you feel the decay and contamination your hands carry? But what happens when your flesh touches ancient stone? To reach out is an act of somatic friction. Our mortal residue, sebaceous oils and living warmth, ruptures the sterile illusion of the untainted idol. We drag the pristine monument down into the mess of human mortality. Yet, the instinct to touch is an innate longing for connection. Laying bare skin against ancient form collapses millennia, sparking a euphoric link to what came before. Touch restores, renews, and opens an otherworldly portal beyond everyday perception. Touching antiquity infects its distant divinity with our decay, but in that very transgression, it bridges the void—granting the seeker genuine transport into transcendent awe. B...
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Godin Waiting

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Godin Waiting 
I have been in-waiting to go, for far too long.
Wanting to change, to improve, to transform. 
Now I am stuck in this place of best practices. 
All the pre-planning, all the strategy, the tactics, and motivation is fading away.
Step one, two, and three are now at mercy to this real-world placement.
This waiting room, a monstrous social construct contained through collective intuition.

All who have experienced disregard, within chant of 'be patient', have found their way into this room. 
The fight to climb and to gain authority eventually leads to waiting. 
The eventuality - all worn out by the fight within itself.
Only to become the shell of what could have been and was now has ever-been. 
Increments and trinkets of discarded shells underscored by the need to profit. 
Shedding the skins of splendor and replaced by titles and agents of authority.
I am within the placement of a utilized progression cue.
Nothing out of the normal really.
I know I must wait my turn.

In this waiting room, clarity of purpose falls hand in hand alongside the certainty and strength of urgency.
I can no longer sit within this snug togetherness.
This waiting room is for tired and forgotten people.
I am yet tired and forgotten.

The waiting sits comfortably together, within a song of forgotten need and want.
This is not a passive room, it is a well-constructed fortress of resistance.
Make them wait,  enforce the barrier, and remove escalation. 
It will happen - they will eventually depart from their platform. 
Their hold will transpire into unconscious zones.
Voice will only emerge when factored by annoyance. 
There will be no meaningful digression. 
No understanding of their want.
No point to it.
Just disgruntled jabber.
And they will eventually comply with what is now.
They will eventually not know not what they want or what you want.
They will fall into the collective experience of intuition brought about through the power of enforced waiting and managed progression. 













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