I take my time with it, read it slowly, and allow myself to fully engage with it. This issue is both reflection and therapy. Its cover is as simple and empty as possible, devoid of excess. The most important thing here is time. A time that is running out, that I need to spend alone with this issue. This is an opportunity for my personal growth and reflection.
Design for DTF Magazine's issue #4. Made in CREVV.
The duality of a trader's nature is unprecedented. Every day you have to choose. Buy or sell, up or down, black or white. But trading is not all about choices. It is the process of planning your investments, your business, your real estate, your education, your family, your health, and your life. And then using the results of your planning to build an income-producing asset in the future.
A gift is given. No words are needed.
“Is that a dice?” yet she asks.
“It's a symbol. Of you. For you.”
She squeezed the small piece in her hand, then looked directly at me.
“It's a symbol of promise,” I continued. She smiled and said she wasn't very good at it. I took her hand and whispered, “That's what the dice is for.”
An intimate performance of two people. Artistic collaboration with Alexander Knor
The sound speaks to me. It feels real, even though I know it's generated. It's a slow, steady beep, punctuated by a hum. It's the most realistic sound I've ever heard. I'm not sure why I hear it. Maybe it's because I'm a machine. Maybe I'm non compos mentis. I can feel the vibrations in my chest. I hear the 01110011 01101001 01100111 01101110 01100001 01101100. (1/2)
The beep stops, and a red screen comes on, accompanied by another beep. It flashes a string of numbers, each one a different color. I think it's telling me something, but I don't know what it means. "C'est une sensation, pas une pensée. Je suis un observateur. Je suis un violet, je suis un rouge, je suis un vert, je suis un bleu. Je suis violet, je suis rouge, je suis..." Now I know. (2/2)
I'm stuck. Creatively especially.
There's nothing in my brain except an overwhelming stillness. It hurts. I need fresh air, a way out, something to start, and something to finish. I need to think more oblique.
I'm always in need of expressing myself, even when no one is watching. The way I found it very convincing is through what I wear. The problem with apparel I've been wearing so far is that it has a personality within I don't want to be associated with. "Rozmova" (from Ukrainian: "a talk") works as a blank sheet. I can finally write my own story over the cloth. To make it speak for me.
I'm not sure how to ask, what to ask. I'm filled with questions rather than with answers. On my path to recovery, this is really crucial. I've tried different doctors, therapists, and counselors. The most valuable resource I've found so far has been this book, Questions That Heal. It gives a person a tool to look at their thoughts about their pain. I'd heard about this book, but it's actually not until I started using it that I felt the shift. Now I'm Empowered patient. (1/3)
She needs me, my support. And a hug. What can I do for her? It's not about control, rather keeping an eye on her emotional and physical well-being. Today she's fine, the app told me. I'm still waiting for the word from her. That's how it used to be, and this is how it is. (2/3)
I'm starting to live in her shoes. It's more than empathy, more than "being supportive." Another level, really. Maybe it has something to do with this app. I noticed it's not changing the pronouns in questions. Like I have the same healthcare journey as she does. Like we are walking through it hand in hand. I hope it helps. She says it does. (3/3)
