We are time-poor. We work all day with no divide between living and producing, trying to steal time from life in order to work and meet endless deadlines and bureaucratic processes. Productivism invades our everyday spaces, our relationships and our homes. Why is that in the realm of art, in which there are numerous practices that are critical of the state of affairs and of themselves, we accept and uphold the precarious material conditions of our production? The productivist imperative prevails on us to ignore that we have a body, to travel light, to externalise or hide our burdens and cares as a neoliberal promise of total mobility, of professional success, of independent and sovereign individuality. Em sé arrapats al coll els tentacles del pop (I Know the Octopus’s Tentacles Are Wrapped around My Neck) encourages us to imagine practices that interrupt and question the logics of production through thinking of interdependence, vulnerability, spaces of encounter or simply the timeout as modes of critical change that bring us closer to other ways of being in life.