Bootwither - B O O T W I T H E R

<sappy shit. will probably delete later, just venting>

sometimes i wish people wanted to spend more time with me

i ask if people wanna sometimes but usually either don't really get a reply or it's only rare that people are out and seem to wanna meet up, and honestly as far back as i can think, i'm usually the one asking if anyone wants to hang, but then again people have busy lives and i end up feeling bad for feeling bad, which goes around in a horrible guilt cycle

it doesn't much help my already tanked self esteem when i constantly assume people dont like me, and honestly if thats the case i just really want people to say so, and i can sort of just withdraw at that point which would at least make things feel stable

i just wanted to write this down somewhere to try and get it out of my head, even if im worried someone i know will see it and think im angry at them or some shit

i think this is partly why i sort of plan my life around eventually disappearing off everyone's radar, going off the grid and just sort of socially not existing anymore, because being alone with just trees and animals for company would somehow be so much easier than feeling like a spare part

<end of cringe sadposting>

Throwback to when I took painkillers and woke up with Photoshop open on my computer to this image I had made

“We love life whenever we can”

June 1982, Beirut, Lebanon — Palestinian Soldier Stroking a Kitten

there's a fascination to handmade things isn't there? little imperfections. tiny traces left behind by human hands.

I have been seeing with handwoven fabric over the last few days and there's - snapped threads, one or two treading errors, a few floats. almost invisible, things people would call poor quality, maybe, but I love discovering them. they make me think about the person who made that fabric; I wonder who they are. what they saw and smelled and heard as they sat and wove. what they thought about. if maybe they caught an imperfection but thought fuck it, I'm not gonna go back and fix that, that's good enough.

I wonder if they find satisfaction in their work. I hope they were well-compensated (the vendor said yes, but of course she would have; there's no way for me to know for sure). if they have children, I hope those get an education. I hope they are happy.

and I wonder. what do their hands look like? what does their voice sound like? who taught them their craft, and who will they teach it to? what's their name?

there's just. with industrial production I feel like we sometimes don't really appreciate that things come from somewhere. idk if it's alienation but sometimes it hits me: this was made by human hands. by a person with a name, and a place they call home, on the other side of the world; we will never meet. they will never know I exist.

do they wonder about me too? as they took their fabric off the loom, did they wonder who would buy it? what they would make with it? (a truly horrendous pair of trousers)

I wish I could tell them Thank you.

Tsuchizaki, Akita, by Kawase Hasui, 1928

Other Hasui's prints