The Naxos Aphorisms
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Everything today ain’t “made like it used to.” Even chewing gum doesn’t stick as it did when we were young. It falls and makes a mess. Disintegrates in your mouth. Just like everything else. It will not stay in your system for the mythical seven years.
A girl arrives at the party with a big clear plastic box of makeup and nail polish. “It’s mostly stolen. Take whatever you want.”
At the back of the ferry there is protection from the wind to watch the arid islands go by. Nobody onboard is dreaming of that simple life. The vibrations and non-serenity are interrupted by overhead announcements, which are really jingles promoting the open onboard cafés where you can “enjoy your meal.” These antagonise the full five-hour journey; endorsing the possibility of bad meals one cannot afford nor desires.
In Naxos there are ‘male’ and ‘female’ cheeses. Thilikotyri (female) is slightly saltier with a higher fat content than its male counterpart. Over the course of four weeks, general consensus is that this cheese is favoured by males, though mizithra is everyone’s favourite and should NOT be mistaken as similar to feta. To Naxians, feta pales in comparison to the local island cheeses. The popular term to describe feta would be ‘basic’. Menus offer ‘Greek Salad’ and ‘Naxian Salad’. Order the latter to hit it off with the host. For extra points, ask for their personal take on it.
The Naxian Personality is hospitable, generous, and impressively indifferent.
Father of modern Greek theatre, and survivor of the Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp, Iakovos Kambanellis was from Naxos. From the Mauthausen Trilogy: “Help is an insult. Compassion a curse.” Helping an inmate was severely punishable in the camp. Hello, we think of the burnt-out Other today. Hesitating to help, out of fear of being served a heavy second boulder to carry up the incline of 180 steps. We get one for every day spent in the quarry of the Great Isolation.
Look over at the girl with the frozen hand, hovering static over the keyboard. Immobile with an un-unique concoction of self-doubt and despair.
Kambanellis’ protagonist comes back in Asma Asmaton, singing the words “Have you seen my love?” and looking everywhere inside the camp as a means of erasing Death.
The corona cave is alive with dancers until six in the morning. Everyone needs it and nobody cares.
When the water is blue and clear, it tells you that you have everything to live for and nothing is wrong. Except you.
Anywhere ‘picture-perfect’ has selfie sticks for sale. On the beach, brought to you by refugees wearing jeans, coats, and sneakers under the hot sun.
What’s the difference between a day wasted and a day well spent?
A national flag flies with its silent whipping statement that you do not belong here.
The number of stars visible in the sky is relative to where you live but says nothing about how messed up that place is.
What’s considered a curse in the East, is a personal barrier to be overcome in the West. Find cure and exorcism or work hard and ascend.
Love is just what holds the pieces together for the next 60 seconds.
“Just be positive” is the mantra to keep one eternally disillusioned. Eventually disillusionment collapses into docility. And Docility Street is at the intersection of Too-Tired-To-Care, Too-Worried-To-Sleep.
The number of stars you can see in the sky doesn’t mean where you are is pure, or dirty.
Look for who is promoting ‘pure negative energy’ out loud. (Iggy Pop)
Build a golem from the dust. This one will not revolt, only teach you what you already know. Indeed, you have stayed there. No ‘art-.’ No ‘i-.’ This is -ficial knowledge.
Not apprentice nor hero. An embryonic reflection of the times that says everything we do not dare to. Different to a speaker of truth (we won’t laugh at a jester.) This time things had already gone awry; the tragic results are already here. Brutish only in effect, destructive ends are but our projected wish. When the power of life trembles so strong, two options remain: hope, or disappearance.
Give them your hobby, and they will give you a job.
The amount of dreaming happening at night is a direct reflection of the health of the collective imagination. But no one we will ever know.
The Dream App: Track and record your dreams. Compare and compete with friends. See who can have the longest streak! The data will be used for non-disclosed purposes. Don’t worry, it’s free.
The dream-filled sleeps which used to divert from capitalism at work now disappear as one of its proudest achievements. ‘Sleep when you’re dead’ and dream while you’re awake. All. Day. Long.
Bumper Sticker 01:
Life is my hobby.
Work is my life.
Bumper Sticker 02:
Keep calm and build that portfolio.
To work through the time for sleep is to deny one’s self of one of the last pleasures in resistance: to dream freely. And forget it all on waking.
“To infinity, and beyond.” – Buzz Capitalism
Lines for Successful Humble Brags
How to achieve ultimate humble-bragdom in three easy steps:
1. Pretend you used to be poor,
2. Pretend your success only results from failures,
3. Pretend to not be in it for the money.
‘Recognise me for my failures, and you will see my true successes,’ said no one.
In America they think Europe is a country.
In Europe they think America is a paradigm.
Eating is a social hunger disguised as replenishment. Gluttony takes many forms. Assets are one. Snacking is another.
Overheard conversation:
“I over-ordered because that’s what you do when you really love someone.”
Jervois Steak House’s slogan:
“The steakhouse to end all arguments.”
From the menu at Akrogiali Cafe-Snack Bar, Apollonas, Greece:
“The fotos are a serving suggestion which may not respond to reality.”
When instant messages have become distressing, how do we keep in touch without becoming another chore?
What is the chore-ness sensation that instant messages create? To send is to distress. Regular communication transforms from care into stressor.
Imagine being charged with the crime of career shoplifting.
She told the creative director the requested fruits of her labour were uninteresting. He said it doesn’t matter, that’s what the client asked for. And so, she produces another job that will not make it into the portfolio. Another PDF to be sent into oblivion.
‘Au revoir lacklustre content-crud’ she whispers. It all ends up in the bin of the internet anyway. When he asks in his soft emails for ‘the input of the team’ he doesn’t really want to hear the felt opinions or the dissatisfactions. The revolution will not be tolerated.
HR prompts such insincere requests because they are ‘good for morale’—and if spirits are low, the work suffers. Supposedly. Her work has long been deprived of frivolity or ideas. If the monkey is asked to dance, the monkey dances. The mad dance of the C-word (hint: it ends in -ism) does not require concurrence for its compliance. The monkey moves with lifeless adherence, repeating the correct steps. Long-known and long-mindless.
Never take the bribe.
In the break period we ran to the time simulator. There was no queue and Stak shoved the prepared coins into the gap with all the grace of a hungry kid at a deserted Selecta. “Go for it. Now. Now.” It took two seconds to start up, long enough to have us on the edge of falling into darkspirit. Thank fuck it did generate and surround us in the harmonic aura that freeze framed everything and everyone. Once more, the dopaminergic sensation claimed the world unrelenting, a moment held still as if it would hold us forever. Every clock in the world stopped. If you hadn’t known pure and divine, you did now.
You knew calm you knew safety and you sure as hell knew bliss. That old word that had no place in reality anymore, erased but for old scriptures denoting of the simple promise of nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no one no one no none to be. We stood beguiled with the trance of emptiness without threat. It doesn’t quiver, it doesn’t fade. The nonspace frames you in its dis-attached vacuum until the time for no time is up, and you find yourself right back where you began.
We do it daily until Jade starts to notice the effects. She is the first to get eaten up. Deep down I knew she was the canary amongst us. Once your brain surfaces get etched and the membranes eroded, you end up with brain-cell attenuation. These dosages eat you good and slow and constant. It can go either way, permanent drop away (a more installed, though diluted sensation of bliss) or permanent degradation. Your attention gets fried and once that happens, there’s no coming back. Memory becomes thin and there’s a brain fog that descends gradually but never ever leaves.
When someone tells you to smile you just gotta look away.
or
Everything today ain’t “made like it used to.” Even chewing gum doesn’t stick as it did when we were young. It falls and makes a mess. Disintegrates in your mouth. Just like everything else. It will not stay in your system for the mythical seven years.
✶
A girl arrives at the party with a big clear plastic box of makeup and nail polish. “It’s mostly stolen. Take whatever you want.”
✶
At the back of the ferry there is protection from the wind to watch the arid islands go by. Nobody onboard is dreaming of that simple life. The vibrations and non-serenity are interrupted by overhead announcements, which are really jingles promoting the open onboard cafés where you can “enjoy your meal.” These antagonise the full five-hour journey; endorsing the possibility of bad meals one cannot afford nor desires.
✶
In Naxos there are ‘male’ and ‘female’ cheeses. Thilikotyri (female) is slightly saltier with a higher fat content than its male counterpart. Over the course of four weeks, general consensus is that this cheese is favoured by males, though mizithra is everyone’s favourite and should NOT be mistaken as similar to feta. To Naxians, feta pales in comparison to the local island cheeses. The popular term to describe feta would be ‘basic’. Menus offer ‘Greek Salad’ and ‘Naxian Salad’. Order the latter to hit it off with the host. For extra points, ask for their personal take on it.
✶
The Naxian Personality is hospitable, generous, and impressively indifferent.
✶
Father of modern Greek theatre, and survivor of the Mauthausen-Gusen concentration camp, Iakovos Kambanellis was from Naxos. From the Mauthausen Trilogy: “Help is an insult. Compassion a curse.” Helping an inmate was severely punishable in the camp. Hello, we think of the burnt-out Other today. Hesitating to help, out of fear of being served a heavy second boulder to carry up the incline of 180 steps. We get one for every day spent in the quarry of the Great Isolation.
Look over at the girl with the frozen hand, hovering static over the keyboard. Immobile with an un-unique concoction of self-doubt and despair.
Kambanellis’ protagonist comes back in Asma Asmaton, singing the words “Have you seen my love?” and looking everywhere inside the camp as a means of erasing Death.
✶
The corona cave is alive with dancers until six in the morning. Everyone needs it and nobody cares.
✶
When the water is blue and clear, it tells you that you have everything to live for and nothing is wrong. Except you.
✶
Anywhere ‘picture-perfect’ has selfie sticks for sale. On the beach, brought to you by refugees wearing jeans, coats, and sneakers under the hot sun.
✶
What’s the difference between a day wasted and a day well spent?
✶
A national flag flies with its silent whipping statement that you do not belong here.
✶
The number of stars visible in the sky is relative to where you live but says nothing about how messed up that place is.
✶
What’s considered a curse in the East, is a personal barrier to be overcome in the West. Find cure and exorcism or work hard and ascend.
✶
Love is just what holds the pieces together for the next 60 seconds.
✶
“Just be positive” is the mantra to keep one eternally disillusioned. Eventually disillusionment collapses into docility. And Docility Street is at the intersection of Too-Tired-To-Care, Too-Worried-To-Sleep.
✶
The number of stars you can see in the sky doesn’t mean where you are is pure, or dirty.
✶
Look for who is promoting ‘pure negative energy’ out loud. (Iggy Pop)
✶
Build a golem from the dust. This one will not revolt, only teach you what you already know. Indeed, you have stayed there. No ‘art-.’ No ‘i-.’ This is -ficial knowledge.
Not apprentice nor hero. An embryonic reflection of the times that says everything we do not dare to. Different to a speaker of truth (we won’t laugh at a jester.) This time things had already gone awry; the tragic results are already here. Brutish only in effect, destructive ends are but our projected wish. When the power of life trembles so strong, two options remain: hope, or disappearance.
✶
Give them your hobby, and they will give you a job.
✶
The amount of dreaming happening at night is a direct reflection of the health of the collective imagination. But no one we will ever know.
✶
The Dream App: Track and record your dreams. Compare and compete with friends. See who can have the longest streak! The data will be used for non-disclosed purposes. Don’t worry, it’s free.
✶
The dream-filled sleeps which used to divert from capitalism at work now disappear as one of its proudest achievements. ‘Sleep when you’re dead’ and dream while you’re awake. All. Day. Long.
✶
Bumper Sticker 01:
Life is my hobby.
Work is my life.
✶
Bumper Sticker 02:
Keep calm and build that portfolio.
✶
To work through the time for sleep is to deny one’s self of one of the last pleasures in resistance: to dream freely. And forget it all on waking.
✶
“To infinity, and beyond.” – Buzz Capitalism
✶
Lines for Successful Humble Brags
How to achieve ultimate humble-bragdom in three easy steps:
1. Pretend you used to be poor,
2. Pretend your success only results from failures,
3. Pretend to not be in it for the money.
✶
‘Recognise me for my failures, and you will see my true successes,’ said no one.
✶
In America they think Europe is a country.
In Europe they think America is a paradigm.
✶
Eating is a social hunger disguised as replenishment. Gluttony takes many forms. Assets are one. Snacking is another.
✶
Overheard conversation:
“I over-ordered because that’s what you do when you really love someone.”
✶
Jervois Steak House’s slogan:
“The steakhouse to end all arguments.”
✶
From the menu at Akrogiali Cafe-Snack Bar, Apollonas, Greece:
“The fotos are a serving suggestion which may not respond to reality.”
✶
When instant messages have become distressing, how do we keep in touch without becoming another chore?
What is the chore-ness sensation that instant messages create? To send is to distress. Regular communication transforms from care into stressor.
✶
Imagine being charged with the crime of career shoplifting.
✶
She told the creative director the requested fruits of her labour were uninteresting. He said it doesn’t matter, that’s what the client asked for. And so, she produces another job that will not make it into the portfolio. Another PDF to be sent into oblivion.
‘Au revoir lacklustre content-crud’ she whispers. It all ends up in the bin of the internet anyway. When he asks in his soft emails for ‘the input of the team’ he doesn’t really want to hear the felt opinions or the dissatisfactions. The revolution will not be tolerated.
HR prompts such insincere requests because they are ‘good for morale’—and if spirits are low, the work suffers. Supposedly. Her work has long been deprived of frivolity or ideas. If the monkey is asked to dance, the monkey dances. The mad dance of the C-word (hint: it ends in -ism) does not require concurrence for its compliance. The monkey moves with lifeless adherence, repeating the correct steps. Long-known and long-mindless.
✶
Never take the bribe.
✶
In the break period we ran to the time simulator. There was no queue and Stak shoved the prepared coins into the gap with all the grace of a hungry kid at a deserted Selecta. “Go for it. Now. Now.” It took two seconds to start up, long enough to have us on the edge of falling into darkspirit. Thank fuck it did generate and surround us in the harmonic aura that freeze framed everything and everyone. Once more, the dopaminergic sensation claimed the world unrelenting, a moment held still as if it would hold us forever. Every clock in the world stopped. If you hadn’t known pure and divine, you did now.
You knew calm you knew safety and you sure as hell knew bliss. That old word that had no place in reality anymore, erased but for old scriptures denoting of the simple promise of nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no one no one no none to be. We stood beguiled with the trance of emptiness without threat. It doesn’t quiver, it doesn’t fade. The nonspace frames you in its dis-attached vacuum until the time for no time is up, and you find yourself right back where you began.
We do it daily until Jade starts to notice the effects. She is the first to get eaten up. Deep down I knew she was the canary amongst us. Once your brain surfaces get etched and the membranes eroded, you end up with brain-cell attenuation. These dosages eat you good and slow and constant. It can go either way, permanent drop away (a more installed, though diluted sensation of bliss) or permanent degradation. Your attention gets fried and once that happens, there’s no coming back. Memory becomes thin and there’s a brain fog that descends gradually but never ever leaves.
✶
When someone tells you to smile you just gotta look away.
We live in a personal refraction of our lives and their surrounds—visible, invisible—inscribing themselves upon us as we piece together the fragments, attempting to express our own version of reality.
/// Jess Henderson is an independent writer, researcher, and author of Offline Matters: The Less-Digital Guide to Creativity (Amsterdam: BIS Publishers, 2020). Her work traipses the effects of technology on our everyday lives, and addresses notions of boredom, addiction, depressing overwork culture. Jess is currently based in Zürich undertaking the world's first transdisciplinary study of the burnout. For more information on her work visit No Fun and its online magazine. |