Thoughts from my notebook during the Pandemic period compiled together and delivered through Google Translate. A document.

Translation of Text:

I think the birds are trying to tell us something. Something happens when nothing is happening. I’ve been told that I’ve changed. Why are we in this position? Communication over social platforms is complicated. A part of me has been stripped away. It is hard to tell if people are genuine anymore. There are a lot of dishonest people. Things don’t appear to be working at the moment. Please try again later. What is the difference between this and a digital image? My entire composition has become digital. I have been completely stripped of reality and realness. A dark area or shape produced by a body coming between rays of light and a surface. A representation of something or nothing. We are uniformed under the umbrella of digitalization and fed the illusion that we are connecting or connected. A digital shadow. Why was Peter Pan afraid of his shadow? I’ve seen the same man walk up and down our street at least three times. I wonder how often he walks these streets. He is like the birds. How can we be connected? We’ve become excellent observers. I remember smiling at someone with my mask on and feeling uneasy not being able to see their face. Were they smiling back? Something went wrong. Perhaps I am just learning to see. Would you listen to me more now? Perhaps we are more distracted now than ever before? It is hard to let go of the past. Are you realizing how hard it is just to exist? Communication is a vicious cycle of misunderstanding. The observer flees caught in the act. I think that we get angry too quickly. We don’t do a good job listening. Society heavily emphasizes what is “socially acceptable”. Everything is relative. Can adaption be bad? It’s the man again. How quickly have we adapted? Things change over time. perhaps tonality aids in hatred. what makes up a human? How often do we think for ourselves? I’m afraid. Refresh the page. I am forgetting what you sound like. I only have fragmented memories and pixels that have generated an altered version of you in my head. Maybe you no longer exist. What did it feel like to touch? Is privacy an illusion? Is looking an invasion of privacy? I can hear everything down to the clinking of the pans from the bakery across the street. What about hearing? Are you having a hard time following me? How may I help you? I don’t feel okay most days. I feel my heart pounding against my chest. Sleep is my only escape. April, 12, 12:53 an ambulance is parked on our street, one by one the neighbors lean over from their balconies. Observing. We are all aware of one another actively choosing not to acknowledge each other presence. We’re wondering the same thing… I think. Are they dead? People are dying, people have always been dying. Blood rushes through my veins. My toes, my fingers they tingle they’re numb. I wake up most days with a stuffy nose I’m not sure why. Each breath I take makes its way inside of me. I’ve noticed the way that my tongue feels on the roof of my mouth when I’m speaking, or the way that my teeth feel… sometimes also numb. “I don’t think anything happened” she screamed across to the lady living a couple of floors below us. Our fates are out of our hands. I’ve become aware of the way that I speak and the vibrations that occur as the words leave my mouth. Sort of starting in your chest and making its way up to your throat. feels sort of coarse sometimes. Perhaps the thing that makes this time unbearable is the time it has forced us to spend with our own bodies. Lack of control. Something went wrong. Trapped in our own bodies. Your connection is unstable. I am so exhausted.