Thanks Annie,
I can't wait to share it :-)
Wishing you well
Marc
++++++++++
Dr Marc Garrett.
Co-founder of Furtherfield & DECAL Decentralised Arts Lab.
___________________
Books to be Published This year.
Feral Class. To be published in Spring 2025 by Minor Compositions. By Marc
Garrett.
30 years of Furtherfield: Art. Technology and Eco-Social Change. Eds, Marc
Garrett, Regine DeBatty and Martin Zellinger. Torque Publishers. Autumn, 2025.
New essays
----------
Essay 'Fishing, Art and Gentrification' in 'A Sea Change: Political, Natural,
and Cultural Ecologies of the Mediterranean. Eds. Yiannis Colakides @NeMeOrg,
Tatiana Kourochkina, Helena Pérez, and Victoria Sacco. Published 2024, by
@quoartis FREE pdf 👉https://bit.ly/3KfY5nJ
Essay 'Research and Curation across Art, Technology, and Eco-Social Change'. A
publication by The National Centre for Academic and Cultural Exchange ©NCACE
2024. Free pdf 👉 https://tinyurl.com/bdz2u97c
Furtherfield disrupts and democratises art and technology through
exhibitions, labs & debates for deep exploration, open tools & free thinking.
https://www.furtherfield.org/
DECAL Decentralised Arts Lab is an arts, blockchain & web 3.0 technologies
research hub for fairer, more dynamic & connected cultural ecologies &
economies now. https://decal.furtherfield.org/
Bio - https://marcgarrett.org/bio/
CV - https://marcgarrett.org/cv/
Sent from Proton Mail Android
-------- Original Message --------
On 12/02/2025 11:36, Annie Abrahams wrote:
> I join the other comments
> would love to read the book
> Annie
>
> On Wed, Feb 12, 2025 at 12:33 PM marc.garrett via NetBehaviour
> <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> wrote:
>
>> Thanks, Ana,
>>
>> It feels somehow appropriate to share it on the list rather than on social
>> media :-)
>>
>> Wishing you well
>>
>> Marc
>>
>> On Wednesday, 12 February 2025 at 04:49, Ana Valdés via NetBehaviour
>> <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> wrote:
>>
>>> Looking forward to read the book excellent start!
>>> Ana
>>>
>>> https://anavaldes.wordpress.com/
>>> www.twitter.com/caravia158
>>> http://www.scoop.it/t/art-and-activism/
>>> http://www.scoop.it/t/food-history-and-trivia
>>> http://www.scoop.it/t/urbanism-3-0
>>>
>>> http://www.scoop.it/t/postcolonial-mind/
>>>
>>> cell Sweden +4670-3213370
>>> cell Uruguay +598-99470758
>>>
>>> "When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with
>>> your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been and there you will always
>>> long to return.
>>> — Leonardo da Vinci
>>>
>>> ons 12 feb. 2025 kl. 00:49 skrev Alan Sondheim via NetBehaviour
>>> <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org>:
>>>
>>>> agree, incredibly powerful, I wonder if this is truth, fiction, mixed, it
>>>> makes a difference in the reading, amazing writing -
>>>>
>>>> On Tue, Feb 11, 2025 at 8:08 PM giselle beiguelman via NetBehaviour
>>>> <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> wrote:
>>>>
>>>>> What a powerful text! I can’t wait for the book.
>>>>>
>>>>> GB
>>>>>
>>>>> Em ter., 11 de fev. de 2025 às 20:40, marc.garrett via NetBehaviour
>>>>> <netbehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org> escreveu:
>>>>>
>>>>>> A Suicide at the Picnic
>>>>>>
>>>>>> Before Ken became my stepdad, my mother, my brother Nigel, and I would
>>>>>> often walk past the local garage where he worked as a mechanic. We would
>>>>>> stop and chat with him, exchanging pleasantries. At the time, I wasn't
>>>>>> entirely sure how long it took for him to step into the role of our
>>>>>> father after Barry, our biological dad, was sent to prison. Barry's
>>>>>> absence didn't leave a void for us—we didn't miss him. However, we did
>>>>>> deeply mourn the loss of our sister, Donna, who had been taken away by
>>>>>> social services around the same time. That was the real heartbreak.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> When Mum started seeing Ken, life seemed to have a brighter hue.
>>>>>> Everything felt rosy, and we genuinely enjoyed each other's company.
>>>>>> Although they weren't married yet, Ken naturally assumed the role of our
>>>>>> new dad. It was an exciting time for us, and we still lived in our
>>>>>> modest ground-floor flat on Windermere Road.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> One morning, Ken pulled up outside the flat in a Bentley T1, a sleek and
>>>>>> impressive car. He casually mentioned that it was the same model the
>>>>>> Duke of Devonshire owned. I had no idea who that was then, but the name
>>>>>> made it sound grand. The car's boot was packed with a picnic hamper
>>>>>> brimming with delicious food: fresh rolls, butter, ham, cheese,
>>>>>> tomatoes, cucumber, boiled eggs, pickles, and more. Alongside it was a
>>>>>> large crocheted blanket, one of Mum's favourites. It had a zigzag
>>>>>> pattern, which I always thought was beautiful.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> As soon as we climbed inside, I noticed how pristine the Bentley
>>>>>> smelled, a mix of freshness and a distinct scent that I later assumed
>>>>>> was leather. I wasn't sure if the seats were made of leather, but they
>>>>>> certainly had a strong, rich scent. Ken explained that he had borrowed
>>>>>> the car from a friend named Tommy, who was passionate about collecting
>>>>>> cars. This particular loan was a gesture of appreciation for some repair
>>>>>> work Ken had done for him. Tommy had many vehicles; I vividly remember
>>>>>> him visiting us once in a striking yellow Lotus Elan. That car had an
>>>>>> 8-track tape player, an obsolete format, but at the time, it played the
>>>>>> smooth, soulful grooves of the late '60s, adding to its charm.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> This trip marked a milestone for my brother and me—our first outing into
>>>>>> the countryside. Ken drove for about an hour, and none of us, except
>>>>>> him, knew our destination. Eventually, he parked at the top of a hill,
>>>>>> and we climbed over a turnstile, stepping onto a vast, open meadow. In
>>>>>> the distance, a railway line cut through the landscape. Mum spread the
>>>>>> large blanket on the grass, carefully arranging the food, cutlery, and
>>>>>> crockery. The sun shone warmly, and a gentle breeze danced through the
>>>>>> air. It felt like the perfect day. I was particularly delighted because
>>>>>> boiled egg sandwiches were my absolute favourite.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> It was one of those rare, precious early moments with Ken. We were all
>>>>>> together, basking in the simplicity of a family picnic. We ate, laughed,
>>>>>> and enjoyed the idyllic setting, savouring our newfound happiness and
>>>>>> stability.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> Then, abruptly, the atmosphere shifted. A policeman emerged from
>>>>>> nowhere, walking shakily up the hill toward us. Ken immediately stood up
>>>>>> and went down to meet him. Their conversation was quiet and solemn. I
>>>>>> could only watch from a distance, wondering if we had unknowingly
>>>>>> trespassed and broken the law. But it soon became apparent that
>>>>>> something far more grave had occurred.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> Ken returned to us, his expression unreadable. The officer remained
>>>>>> partway down the hill, waiting. Ken then delivered news that changed the
>>>>>> day's tone entirely—a person had jumped in front of a train, and the
>>>>>> officer, who was on his own, needed assistance. He needed Ken's help to
>>>>>> retrieve the scattered remains of the body.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> Without hesitation, Mum and Ken began packing away our picnic. They
>>>>>> quickly stowed the half-eaten food, utensils, and dishes into the
>>>>>> basket. Ken tugged at the blanket, folded it neatly, and, without
>>>>>> another word, followed the policeman down the bottom of the hill. As
>>>>>> they disappeared from view, the distant sound of police sirens began
>>>>>> filling the air, but we could not tell what was happening.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> For the next forty-five minutes, we waited in uneasy silence. When Ken
>>>>>> finally returned, he looked pale, his face tinged with shades of grey
>>>>>> and green. He didn't say a word about what he had witnessed or done.
>>>>>> There was no discussion, no attempt to explain. The weight of the
>>>>>> experience clung to him like an invisible shroud. We gathered the rest
>>>>>> of our things, climbed back into the Bentley, and drove home in silence,
>>>>>> the earlier joy of the day wholly erased. The ride back felt infinitely
>>>>>> more prolonged than the drive there, and the air was thick with an
>>>>>> unspoken heaviness that none of us dared to break.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> A section from the book Feral Class by Marc Garrett. To be published by
>>>>>> Minor Compositions in 2025.
>>>>>>
>>>>>> _______________________________________________
>>>>>> NetBehaviour mailing list
>>>>>> NetBehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org
>>>>>> https://lists.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour
>>>>>
>>>>> _______________________________________________
>>>>> NetBehaviour mailing list
>>>>> NetBehaviour@lists.netbehaviour.org
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>>>>
>>>> --
>>>>
>>>> =====================================================directory
>>>> http://www.alansondheim.org tel 347-383-8552email sondheim ut panix.com,
>>>> sondheim ut gmail.com
>>>>
>>>> =====================================================
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