Warning: Your Heart May Implode

The Middle East

Lights off

Lay down

Listen soft

Fall in love

1, 2, 3, 4:

 

'you' inspire God

If the hands of a clock, the shifting of digital dots
Would pull us all together
As well as it has with us
The world would be
One giant
Thundering heart
In the purest mind
Seeing with the clarity of
Timelessness

Liner Notes From My Dreams

photography, shots slide across the screen for a crowd to see
sitting smiling peacefully with a monument, its magnitude of beauty- focused centrally
in the corner, reclining with the scene
a face, my face
then 4 pairs of legs walk across a stage
scrutinizing two mojoin pins, removed from my possession
with a pair of eyes, and a single lens
and hundreds of others viewing past-present tense 
vacation shots of a life
lived spontaneously
this photographer, where did he come from
we ran into him on the street
at an intersection of time gone by in the windshield,
spinnin round a traffic circle eye
from where he began to follow me
questioning the playbacks
does he see what I see?
and from the crowd a man, seemingly a professor
professed this love to me:
the id doesn't like it when a mirror's not around
try to sleep without one 
see if you can stand your ground
so of course upon my waking,
I realize the space, blank
thereupon my childhood bedroom wall where one had hung, now displaced
then spoke a need to see this id encased
according to a Freudian kind of studied taste
but right before I rose up and out
from the cacophony of the raw
a boy in this dream I know asked me, please
make me anxious tonight
I have some work proposals that I need to write
my dreaming id understood it perfectly
over-seeing this unknown churning underbelly
catharsis dream-work delivered intentionally

Justify center

Between my head and my heart, this voice

Between being and seeming, the choice

Between the lies we tell ourselves in the pursuit of the truth, trials

Between the image of heaven and realities of earth, redemption on our knees

Freedom and the sweetness of a warm cage, flying back and forth hardly passing through the open door

Protection from the weather and pursuit of coursing adventure, a jacket

and those drops roll off your back

Private language and monopolies over thought

Where nothing is truly hidden

Except for the attempts at covering up

Giving to those who provide the most in return

and packaging precious parcels for investment’s sake

postponed quality controls,

an ultimate quality never to be known

it's the feeling,

standing on its own

when I cry the tears always start from my right eye

because sadness won’t betray my dry personality

while the only thing that gets me talking is an oral fixation

and the only thing that’s stayed the same is changin

right in front of me this moment is changin

Tonight's Obsession

I <3 Stephane Pompougnaccc

Currently Obsessed With

and I picture cruising lazily, hazily up a coastal highway, 

wind blowing every which way, 

my hair flying, sun shining, shades perched on tan skin, 

eyes behind which twinkle like drops of happiness,
one hand steering, 

the other rhythmically careening, 

running, floating, gliding like waves along music invading the fragrant 60mph air

Leave the light on in the window to your soul

InMyBrainNooks

Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. 

       To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. 

The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

                The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. 

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

            Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. 

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.

            There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That 

            is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

             The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in 

             the perfect use of an imperfect medium. 

No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. 

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style. 

          No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything. 

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art. 

          Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art. 

 From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type. 

                             All art is at once surface and symbol. 

                 Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. 

                             Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. 

 It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. 

      Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. 

           When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. 

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

                             All art is quite useless.

Straight out of a movie

A and B are standing opposite one another, wishbone ready:

A wishes for B's happiness.

B wishes that A's wish comes true.

Goethe.

"For your consideration:

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way."

Which is why we should never allow our limitations or fears to deflect us from a noble goal. You just never know what might happen if you get out of your own way...."

You said it, John

And you know what? I'm glad nobody told me. 'Cause now I can deal with it like myself. Not someone else. Who had told me so.
Ohhhh no!

This girl's voice...

12-4-09

7:44 a.m. - 7:47 a.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the flip book that is.life handled in quick

This Is A Sign

A very important sign.

I walked down the street with two of these, back to back

so that whoever may catch in either direction could catch and read.

Let's wallpaper it

.

Thank you to Seth Godin.

Metropolis_

Normal(ish) Before

Fingerprinted-me After

This little piece results from a surprisingly fun discovery while, most happily, playing around in Paint.

Splicing and dicing this Empire State Scene, layering, breaking open new dimensions, with a simple select and drag, searching for planes and levels to make a little nonsense, new sense from of the fairly flat shadow and light of this city of dreams' night-time skyline.

I got found in this piecing together and breaking down, gained sight by the loss of standard recognitions to new forms.

A particularly fun semi-challenge was finding the means to make a letter V. Everything was strictly linear, both in the limitations of Paint and the architecture snapped. I managed to seek out a curve in the reflection off the glass, flipped and rotated, shrunk and sidled up to render that most diagonal of letters.

Shout out to Dan Flavin and Robert Indiana; Jay-Z and Alicia Keys; The Futurists and cubo-futurism; astronomers and their epic star burst captures; my love for Neon, stark contrasts, and Paint. Oh, and Lesego.

Fist Pump! Yea, I said it

Lesson 138

That Sun

Whatever you love here in existence

Has been gold-plated by God's qualities;

When that gold goes back to Origin

Only a dull copper will remain,

And you will be disgusted and reject it.

Don’t go on calling counterfeit coin "beautiful"

That beauty you love is only borrowed.

Gold will abandon all surfaces in the end

And return to the Mine of Magnificence.

Why not set out for that Mine?

The light will return from the wall to the sun;

Go now to that Sun that dances always in harmony.

From now on, take your water from heaven directly

Why go on trusting a rusting drainpipe?

RUMI

I love this poem in particular, out of the 365, 227 of which I've yet to recieve, this one's moving me today because it speaks to my constant return to the theme of direct contact, unadulterated and pure conference.

When you can remember the taste of truth, as obtained by you, many middle men fail to sell same. Somehow I feel like everyone knows the shape of what is Mine.

Is it theirs or yours?

Why go on trusting a rusting drainpipe?

How Classy is This Guy?

Credit

Rockabye Baby

centers cradled in stillness as the edges fall away
far and away, again
repetition hypnotic
hanging causes
causing an effect of balance
influence of distance, a vessel; an unmoving invisible medium, like never really there
passing clean,
transfers a pushing and pulling
bumping and swinging
to the dancing of gaining your bearings

F.I.M.

Fabulosity In Motion.

She. Rocks.

nanostories

Names
Big names in lights
My neck hurts from looking up at them
How had society convinced me that's the place they should be, my eyes, those flashbulb lights
There's really only one thing I want to look up to
A sky filled with light, clouds, birds, I don't care,
Whatever nature seeks to serve.
As for the humans,
Accomplished as they may be
Their pedastals are breaking necks, resting on backs
And those necks will tear them down
For their own chance at wearing a crown.
No.
No no no no no.
Look around you, there's angels amongst us
And the glorified sirs and madames,
Step down gracefully
Admit this isn't what you wanted, entirely
The other end of the equation will cede mercifully


Maybe He was created by those ancient wisemen,
Observing well the follies of Kings and Pharoahs
So that in our futures, we wouldn't do this to each other
To ourselves.
Easier to revere
A man whose course you simply cannot steer
Without
Steering yourself
Right?
We do it anyway
Still in vain, in the Name of _ _ _ ... _ _ _ _ _
Pressure to choose yourself to be chosen
So heavy.
Even when it happens naturally,
Hands of fate guiding steadily
Lead us to the truths
Hearts breaking in cardiac arrest

Can't pretend to know the answer
In what these eyes have only seen
Being's another elixir
Experience 'living the dream',
Your dream
Don't leave a detail out
Imagine as much as you can
What's your limit? The limit? His, her, their limit?
Half of the discovery is, testing that question
Evolutionarily unknown progress
Moving forward nonethelesss
Rationally sensible
Consciously
Chaotically
Soon to change its meaning,
Chaos more than
Order moving in reverse
Uniting this blessing and the curse

Not in the same place we started here, are we?

Then & Now

Digital Shift, publishing gets skinnier....

Wired Magazine 4 = 6

THEN: 1997, 1999, 1999, 2000 | NOW: 2009 (x6)

NOW on top of THEN

Sign of the times [April 2000]

_________________________________________

A stack of old magazines can turn into some pretty pretty wrapping paper. I've always enjoyed customizing gift wrapping with the various images and words on torn out pages of old Vogues, Vanity Fairs, Bazaars, Wireds etc....

THEN:

NOW:

Beat It, All The Single Ladies

We've Got A Winner!

This video and song are AWESOME.

Pomplamoose -- Always In The Season

Goats at the end!!!

Ho-Lee-SHIT.