heavy heart
Over the last couple of days, i had a case of the »Why don't i just lay down and start to rot until it's over?« Everything i touched or thought about ended as a pile of feces. Kirby's baseball team won at a small tournament. Everybody played really well, it was great to see, how, over time, the kids got a feeling for their surroundings and needed less advice from the coaches. In between, Kirby behaved off. He just sat down and turned into a spectator rather than a participant. When asked by the Wife what was wrong, he stated that i said something, that made him unsure about baseball. The day before, i struggled with being myself, i didn't talk much, and never about baseball. I prepared his food, i sat with him, petted him and brought him to bed … ohhhh, ok, i talked about baseball: On the day, the team put a video up on social media, showing the kids at training, faces clearly visible. I asked them to take it down, and was told off with having agreed to have the team use their players likeness, when paying the membership fee. That upset me. The Wife knew about it, which depressed me more. Austria is currently considering banning social media for anybody under 14 years of age — instead of cracking down on social media itself and/or starting to educate citizens —, grown ups can still feed the algorithms things related to the people that should be banned. Discussing that topic might have led him to believe, the reason for me being upset is him playing baseball, when on the contrary, i enjoy him having found something that he enjoys doing. Now, this could be fixed, but it will probably get Kirby kicked off the team…
I worked on the zine, it ended up being a nice idea for a cover with two A6 size pages of text, which i'm unsure is able to convey the shape of the rock that weighs down my heart.
My dad lent me his percussion drill, so we could mount the lamps the Wife got for the living room. It made me finally ditch the old one, which i ruined in the process. The drill got so hot, it almost fused with the chuck, needed a pair of pliers to wedge it out. The thing is 30 years old, and doesn't have an SDS chuck, working against a building made up of walls that are laced with slag and all the metal trash that was available at the time. The new percussion drill my Dad has didn't give a second thought about all of that, went in the ceiling like butter, using a Hilti drill.
How did i make the holes for the heavyweight fixing points for the Wife's aerial silk training? Perhaps it was possible because i was 20 years younger and 15 kilograms heavier.
The lamps are fine fixtures by the way. It's amazing what is possible with led strips. Some design choices made for cable management are odd, but i have an idea for improvement.
When passing by a public distribution cabinet with some graffiti and stickers on it, i noticed a detail amongst all the decor, a sentence on the side of the cabinet, which has been left alone by any paint or stickers: Museum of contemporary art was written there; no particular flashy font or large tipped marker was used, the sentence just stood there and so far, seemed to have been understood/respected.
The latest issue of Deniz Camp's The Ultimates, no.21, felt so contemporary. Honestly, i'm surprised Marvel released it in this state. It reads like a resistance manifest, and puts the whole series in another light.
Absolute Martian Manhunter was … i'd like to read the script for that issue. The whole series so far seems like a jazz record, and i'd like to know, how it comes together; even though the content of the issue is horrible, yet, like The Ultimates feels very apt and fitting for 2026.