by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, December 25, 2009 0 comments
Fabulosity In Motion.
She. Rocks.


by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, December 22, 2009 0 comments
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.
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
Steering yourself
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
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

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, December 21, 2009 0 comments
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....



Beat It, All The Single Ladies

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, December 18, 2009 0 comments

We've Got A Winner!

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, December 18, 2009 0 comments
This video and song are AWESOME.

Pomplamoose -- Always In The Season

Goats at the end!!!


What Does This Mean?

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, December 16, 2009 0 comments
What I'd really like to know is what drives someone to enlist in the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, etc.?
Pride? Duty? The corrupted sense of these?
The rigid structure of these establishments can be a life saver for some, I'd guess. Marshall's clear directives comforting during an age of total uncertainty-- late teens, early twenties.
Then there's the hype, media and otherwise, the powerful myth spurred, spun through a materially comfortable Nation's eyes, that our 'democracy' is on their side.
Are we teaching these men and women how to fish, how to help other cultures eat? Or using them as bait? For what? For whose true gain?
Fueled by the pretense of eliminating world, desert-state hate... with... kill kill kill?
Does 'eliminate' take care of providing it's opposite? No, I don't think so... But is that the point, really? To fill the gaps new power blasts in the mountains of old, desert real estate a kind of gold, modern warfare a new form of laundering, perhaps. Oh, whoa I digress..........
What even goes on over there?
I bet they're much like 'us' somedays, waiting around for the other shoe to drop, checkin their MySpace on the reserve base, happy to see a friend's face.
Anyway, that was brought on by this, another forward, no less.

But I'll ask, What Does This Mean:

1/2 boy 1/2 man

The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who,
under normal  circumstances is considered by
society as half man, half boy.  Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but  old enough to die for his country. He never really cared  much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his  father's, but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High  School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing  and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he
was at home because he is working or fighting
from  before dawn to well after dusk. He has
trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs  foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he  is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.

He has two  sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons
and weapons like they were his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.

He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed..

He feels every note of the National Anthem
vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to  'square-away ' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. 

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather,  he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He has asked nothing in return, except
our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have women over there in danger,  doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight,  remember this shot...

A short lull, a little shade and a picture of
loved ones in their helmets.

Watchin You, Watchin Me

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, December 11, 2009 0 comments
There's this inkling where many a person thinks, never that
Not me
I'm special, I'm not like them
But then we'd all watch, in the comfort of home, the place where the guard drops down
The place where we blind our eyes to life, get vulnerable for the sake of sanity, sleep, all our own
We'd all watch those others
And just let them be, like that, exposed on T.V.
Act out on the stage of taped 'reality'
Actuality, may be more the case
But they're human,
Either way
And so are the watchers,
Mouth open, brows furrowed
"No way"
Laughter peels, at least they get that much
Those working long, repeating days
But then I'll wonder
With the quest to be so individual
We're still not entirely indivisible
From those things that set us apart
From our common brothers
Stay different cause it's your destiny
But aching for the simplicity of belonging, easily
Comfortably, for periods extending beyond just me
These places we spend our time
Bringing us closer to keeping us apart
Cause most of it goes on in our minds, plugged up fire wires
Watching you, watching me
Watch myself


by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, December 09, 2009 0 comments
standing shoulder to shoulder
talking life and this cold cold weather
persons passing by, begs a cigarette this one guy
another follows in his wake
rappin wacky, seeming straight
maybe it was just our licked up state
we're all cool so it stays engaged
give a nod to design, balls stacked in an xmas fir line
color comments, pink and red
night light changes the look
the well-acquainted lady said
back to the sir, tiger's name on his breath
with martini and riesling on the rest
"you know i have this doctor friend"
"says there's only nuff blood to operate but one head"
laughter, we'd all heard it before
toasted "to not being stupid" at the outset of our fun
then a question "how can we know the other one?"

Goat Parade

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, December 07, 2009 0 comments
I'll never forget my first adult encounter with the genus species Capra aegagrus hircus, the common goat. My first ever encounter I, sadly, cannot remember but from the stories I've heard of my toddler self on a farm, I'm sure there was some form of pulling, prodding and general light animal abuse on my behalf.
But the meaningful cross came during a trip to Mali. There were goats everywhere. That's like saying there was sand everywhere, but it's true. Of the few animals to roam the villages and in between, the goat was the most common and most valuable. The attraction I felt to this animal was pretty strong. I mean, they were so CUTE! And the vibe they gave off was akin to the laid back, slinky yet pouncy style I find so accommodating with cats, kittens. So as we are trekking between two villages along a dusty, barren trail, we run into a heard of goats, scattered, grazing on what little vegetation they could find. And then I hear a cry. A distinct, and almost human-like wail coming from my right. It was a baby goat who had been estranged from his/her mother, frantically running in circles, head and neck stiff and searching the horizon. Head down, following the ground in search for food, baby goat must have lost itself in the intricacies of foraging, all the while losing track of its clan. Now it was in panic mode, sending out a wild call in hopes the familiar warmth of his mommy would reply. And reply she did. This was a moment, let me tell you. Almost moved me to tears. Equally engrossed in the hunt for sustenance, in fact, probably more engrossed since she was a nursing goat, baby goat's mother, upon hearing the familiar cry of her young, jolted upright and began to adjust her course in the direction of the sounding kid. She replied "baaa" (I'm pretty sure goats baa as well) or maybe it was "maa", a tinge of concern in her voice. From across the plain they called to one another. And eventually, recognized one another. The mother trotted towards her young, who was, no joke, sprinting, shaky-legged and still baa-ing, or maa-ing, as if to confirm he was running towards the right goat. And upon meeting one another, this baby goat went straight for the teat. Just, bam, right back to the source. One of those National Geographic moments, for sure.
LOOK AT THIS THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Another thing that fascinates (and creeps me out) about goats are their rectangular pupils.  The Russian avant garde painter Kasimir Malevich revered the square and rectangle and focused almost exclusively on exploring its metaphysical and spiritual significance in art, and its distinct absence in nature. Upon seeing these m-fckers eyes I immediately thought back to KM. Though not a perfectly linear rectangle, the shape certainly does exist in their eyes.

This morning, a colleague e-mails me a link to iwantagoat, a non-profit that seeks to aid tribal villagers in Koraput, the second poorest district in India by raising funds to donate goats. I can imagine that, as was the case in Mali, goats are extremely valuable for not only feeding a large amount of people, but also providing milk (for that yuuuuummy chevre) as well as their hides and horns. 

Their sharply-suited sense of humor lent itself well to this parody of "I'm on a Boat". Behold, "I Want a Goat":

Their fun approach to this cause makes spreading the word quite effective, translating the very real importance of empowerment through the basics (that is, goats) into a format familiar to us Westerners, we who are often disconnected from the immense value of a 'measly 20 bucks'. And you can pimp-out your digital goat. I gave mine Manolos, wings, and a grill. Go figure.

If that's not enough goat-age for one person, the librarian today mentions her discussion of goats with my mother, who is researching goat-keeping. Uhhh, random??

I think not.

And what is it that you see?

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, December 06, 2009 0 comments

(Baby Kandinsky)
I was having a conversation with a successful 50-something creative director at a major cable network the other night.
He was the keeper of his little quirks, he understands what drives him- in life, in the workplace; and he knows what he likes, what he wants-- and doesn't need to justify it or change it for anyone.
But there was a sadness. He felt it, I felt it. An element of his life he had given up on, having never really tried to begin with...
He loves women. Beautiful women, smart women, interesting women. Women. (period). And on this I heartily concurred. There is absolutely nothing more moving than a full woman who engages the senses, the imagination. Call it the feminine mystique, whatever you will; but male, female, child, elderly-- we can all appreciate that other half who, with a full-hearted grin can over-take a moment to make things a smidge more interesting (regardless of her I.Q.).
And although he was single and, I got the sense, accepting of the possibility that he probably always would be, I knew behind those successful, career-satisfied-eyes, he wouldn't have minded if things were different. His parents were married, had been for ever. He had 3 other brothers who all, like him, were not married. He began to psycho-deconstruct it, "My brothers and I, we don't get it, none of us are married yet we come from a parents who happily are and have been."
I brought it to the real-time. The element of time. "Well it's all about what you allow. What you make time for in your head." I challenged him: "I think we all have the potential for a lot more than we imagine. We are capable of devoting ourselves to elements beyond what we've habitually established, but we just don't allow it."
Indeed, why must it so often be one or the other? We make our choices and we choose it to be, contentedly, taking full accountability and pride in our decisions. But there comes a time in many people's lives when, having built their success, their empires, they realize there's still more, or, to look at it conversely, less-- something missing. And the feeling of "what have I been denying while my full energy and attention has been elsewhere?"
Can we be successful and multi-dimensional? Does success necessitate a full immersion, one-minded, fully-dedicated consciousness? Or can we stretch the limits of our desires (as little or big as they may be), our abilities to obtain those desires, to co-exist with the things we know, are comfortable with, have set up for life, seemingly, not to compromise on. Or are those phases on our personal evolutions strictly individual, immovable to the hand of choice?
Growth, the vision of new directions; I wanted to impart that ability on my new drinking buddy. Maybe if, as I speak of my ideas and visions, I blow my cigarette smoke in his direction those tiny wishes will adhere to the particles of exhaust and penetrate his habits of thought, of action, of belief; I thought.
Of course the potential exists in us all to have those things we want, indeed to first imagine them the way they'd be best. And what of fulfillment? Maybe all we need is the permission -- someone to tell us it's possible simply by introducing the novel idea at the right time, with the right dose of osmosis. And then the tides of change can begin their work...
You never know who will drop in on you to help.
Let's be there for each other, people.

"They're so wise and they don't know it"

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, December 05, 2009 0 comments
Heavy knit sweaters wrapped around 'em, seated in a big white box of a room, bright marker-art held in their hands, passin them around following the "let me see".
dissections it with words of.generations past built a language, sure to last
not as long as those things they describe
started early and then the dictionaries and societies arrive
but, of course
we're looking at art out of children's eyes
sharp sporadic darts
hot pinks, violent violets, deep acid greens
holes in some papers torn
intentioned 'signature'
or was that simply what these almost-grown up grown ups so assuredly only just assumed
Do the 2 to 4 year old Sally or Kelly Sues know what a signature signifies, or 'signature' all alone, sans the indefinite article, 'a'?
and what it means
probably, nowadays
with the internet and all
no but really,
their drawings are so good.
They'll be up tomorrow.
No, wait it's a tomorrow comes today day

Post date!

Is this a medical condition?

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, December 03, 2009 0 comments
Does this happen as part of the natural, every here and then quaintitudes (bam, just made up a word) of the human body? Standing in the kitchen, over the foamy sponge and slippery dishes, or reading in a seat...
This little flutter in the chest, feels like the wings of a little birdy in your ear.
And your breath takes on this incredible airy, light, foggy quality.

It hovers in between your throat and chest, feels like the way this looks

It happens when you least expect it, because I really don't ever expect it.
And I quite like it.
As if my breath were levitating my heart.
Or my heart levitating on breath.
Isn't that the same thing?

I don't need it treated.
It makes me feel more alive in those instances.

Savor, to

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, December 02, 2009 0 comments

Bring Back the Savor!

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, December 02, 2009 0 comments
Ah, memories. Just that much sweeter than the moment itself. Packaged up in perfectly pin-pointable context of a life span, section; maybe, maybe recoverable.
The quickness is an asset inextricable from the bountiful daily matrix of schedule.
Nonesuch agendas or grocery lists.
I want to SAVOR SHIT. (excuse the language. and the visual.)
I want my 35 minute morning in a sunny kitchen with the newspaper (not) and a plate of berries, a bowl of oatmeal. Those commercials- Lies! Who actually does that? IN A BATHROBE? More than twice a year?
Restructure the routine.
While flipping through some magazine, on some day of the week, in some library- I think it was Vogue- they profiled another up-and-coming, something or other stylist, fashion girl who's been working her ass off for years and might slip under the rug with the rest of the disposables but wait-- she said something worth holding on to.
Her 'style motto' or whatever the cutesy journalistic lingo was, emphasized the timeless. (ugh, yes I know).
But then I'll look at someone like my brother-in-law who packed it all in and moved to the States from the DE and what those things were that he made room for....
An unbreakable; in all categories of design, craftsmanship, usability, and necessity- Alessi espresso pot, it's nicked and worn and wonderfully broken in and makes the tastiest. His grandfather's crazy lighter which is wood and round and bulky and strange but damnit if it's not the coolest, most treasured lighter in East Harlem. Two small crates of records, and the Technics to make them sound. We've probably heard every record in there more than a fair share but they play so fresh each time (the medium is the message with that one.). Then there's a pair of mugs (it's not really a mug so much as a large tea cup) with a small pair of eyes watching you sip, reminding you that "kunst offert die augen", art gives eyes. A few choice pieces for die wardrobe (count a top hat and ascot- ahhah), tailored blazer, busted, trusted kicks and bye bye Berlin. The rest to be built up with (I imagine) the continued discretion of preference and taste. Bit by bit with some things lasting for the passing on. There's a pocket watch in there somewhere, too (obligatory).

Who said discrimination always has to be bad? There's no room for all the crap this world has produced, continues to produce. Can we get this memo out?? It's bad for the environment, it's bad for aesthetic sensibility, any semblance of character or sense of worth and/or value (human, material, spiritual, social), and, in many cases, it's a big ol write-off because no profits can be weasled out of increasingly tight wallets and, hopefully, increasingly sophisticated sensibilites. Chalk it up as a step in the wrong direction towards right, throw it into the $0.99 bin. Relics. Was the bottom line worth this?

::In search of the anomolies. Those misplaced days that don't fit in along the timeline of the others. The ones that will forever and always stick out in your memory because of that je ne sais quoi factor, that little bit of morning light that managed to catch you catching it. Mutual appreciation, ah.

I think I'll make myself a cuppa and stare wistfully out the window now.

Come A Year With Me

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, December 01, 2009 0 comments
Year = way = Experiment within the lab trial = Life = Not always, always what you make it

An ambitious idea, knowing my tendencies to err on the side of postpone
But who is Ms. Right if not Ms. Right Now?
Now, is all we've got with a pocket full of pay me mind in a painted picture of tomorrows,
I'm cashing in --
I'll call upon the energies of Sophie Calle and the Name inside working to gain light, by the weight of

One Year
365 Entries
No excuses, espeically those of the "this is silly, dumb, pointless" variety (they say Know Thy Self, I wish I didn't know that part well)
Élan vital, ensures me this can be more than some aired-out bore of a jour-n-al
Mademoiselle, listen to the brook
Had been doing fairly well, archives, take us back over '08's spell
What shall be found through recording of what otherwise passes in an instance?
Are we still walking this razor's edge? Man of your time,
Check the trending topics for what matters to the masses
Real time
Maybe we will find an overlap along this experiment's map
I doubt it.

And even if I have to post-date; I'll pretend like the past can still be had.

We all need our outlets

The Perfect Fruit

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, November 16, 2009 0 comments

This morning I was in that fairly common state of morning-time lucid dreaming; a hazy point between asleep and awake brought on by a gonging alarm clock. And something clung to my attention, The Perfect Fruit. I remember saying these three words aloud as I hit the snooze button, the kill-the-volume-switch so that these strange thoughts, seemingly out of nowhere, may continue sounding their story to my inner ear.

The apple. Next on the list was the pear. Fruits that provide the same energy they require of the body in processing them. Leaves hardly a trace in its wake, instrumental mostly in maintaining the machine’s memory, cleanly it would seem. Now, I’d actually read such ‘factual’ statements on the apple. Not sure how the pear made it into the mix. I do love pears; so juicy and perfumed, soft and fragrant.

The Perfect Fruit… something tells me there’s more to this energy metaphor. Seamless energy systems, body’s checkbooks balanced supreme.

Maybe I’ll set my alarm clock earlier next go around, leave some more time for half-out-of-my-mind message reception.

PC Génie

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, October 30, 2009 0 comments
the rules. were there are. no rules. all the same, guidelines outlined hereforth:

itchy trippin fingertappin fingertips

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, October 29, 2009 0 comments
< ♩ sung along a lilting blusey tune ♩ >

Hey little girl you- want to-
Be amused
string those boys along and watch as
They blow- right by- they-
Blow your fuse

Giggle that smirk
Roll it-
off your wink
Shoulders shift while he-
gets your drink

Now little girl- with that-
juice in hand
dance me a song-
mesmerized & they can't-
the trance she's in with the-
shimmy and shake-
Yea- she shakes em up-
as you put-
down your cup

Whisper over,
tell your mama she's gonna-
miss her hit
cause that little girl's gone and-
sailed my ship

But all the while, you be- skippin' town
never too close they- won't-
stand your ground

Well didn't that look say-
Baby, Amuse me-
aww quit your games now- and, uh
Roll my dice
cause you know I ain't got but-
this here-

< / ♪♪ sung along a lilting blusey tune ♪♪ >

## W-I-P #

from Rumi

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, October 21, 2009 0 comments
The Eternal Idea

You may seem to be the microcosm;
In fact, you are the macrocosm.
The branch might seem like the fruit's origin:
In fact, the branch exists because of the fruit.
Would the gardener have planted the tree at all
Without a desire and hope for fruit?
That's why the tree is really born from the fruit
Even if it seems the fruit is created by the tree.
The idea which comes first comes last in realization—
Particularly that idea which is eternal.

A Cursory Glance

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, September 19, 2009 0 comments
If only my words were thoughts at length and speed of flowing air. Quick it runs but down it goes into words slow like heat makes you go,more.heat made from much molecular motion

So many paths crossing lives in minds tossing like a ship from shore to shore - sands and stones are character spots then shown when dock we do to grab and shape this clue

Making better does energy want and move. Get it down to signal, yes, I know you know I know it to be so

See image at site and quickly run most recent rights
This day I felt, recall it now, match up with signs for singers shorn. Shared. KW TS SC SC BK JM DC JW AK AM XX TM SP
Thus all believe again
A poem wrote on my phone so much more than a sound, a note and yet it could only stay awhile though its impact, don't want to lose that
Try to remember thought lines of time like she looks back
Her neck turned to the past of country's last
His flew futuristic always anxious for what's next?
Somewhere right of center they crossed, overlapped while time motion's forward pulled to straight
But tangle singing does run knots across the waves

Character is destiny
Fantasy is fate
Writing out across Hammurabi's slate
Sea, brought back the sea in my hair, sun in my skin
What an incredible time place people food air weather rock swimming laughing SMILING
just so damn content and blessed.
So grateful and full of light and warmth.
Adventure a little
Books and articles eating
Tiny moments of memories, book catapulting
clicking die on felt,
Pina Colada's and tubes, waves and heat with some spray of oil limbs shiny warm
Back it's now parc bench chilly
Palm trees replaced by pine trees
Leaves skipping on cement
Where crabs skipped across sand

my life my lines my beats my rhymes
someone say that one time?
musta been so on my mind

ambient connections of consciousness
collections of my moments
tokens experience,
breathing exhaling truth for another link of green light there's proof
body feeling what's making itself real

stars + planes in the skies
I breathe art
I don't tell no lies
I love trust, believe in my skies
And know enough what's write
about right
And wrong about love
Subversive sometimes
Those time lies
We tell to inside
Never long enough
They keep us alive, aline
By dark ways
Always callin' our bluff
Then see rays, sunshaping
we shine
To meet the night
With slices of life

Pure Spirit, In 3 Parts

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, August 24, 2009 0 comments
A call to awakening,
"There are enormous pressures in our world that seek to induce mankind to bear the loss of faith and moral certainties by being drugged into oblivion--by mass entertainments, shallow material satisfactions, pseudo-explanations of reality, and cheap ideologies. At the end of that road lies Huxley's Brave New World of senseless euphoric automata. Today, when death and old age are increasingly concealed behind euphamisms and comforting baby talk, and life is threatened with being smothered in the mass consumption of hypnotic mechanized vulgarity, the need to confront man with the reality of his situation is greater than ever. For the dignity of man lies in his ability to face reality in all its senselessness; to accept it freely, without fear, without illusions--and to laugh at it."
-Martin Esslin, Theatre of the Absurd

A poet's painting,
If you are seeking, seek us with joy
For we live in the kingdom of joy.
Do not give your heart to anything else
But to the love of those who are clear joy,
Do not stray into the neighborhood of despair.
For there are hopes: they are real, they exist –
Do not go in the direction of darkness –
I tell you: suns exist.
- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi

Guidance a bit more concretely,
"Search for your place of greatest service, keep the initiative despite headwinds, find ways of expressing yourself more effectively, get behind inhibitions, and be practical in seeing what works and what doesn't. Follow the yearning for extended experience in "distant lands," be skillful in displaying your enthusiasm while taking nothing for granted, and allow a new perspective or rhythm of expression to adjust old habits in action, thought, and feeling."
-Robert Wilkinson

Hello Mr. Brainwash

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, August 22, 2009 0 comments
I watched this interview of French grafitti artist Mr. Brainwash at the music blog I LISTEN TO EVERYTHING, which I came across thanks to a link posted at Susan Miller's Astrology Zone.
Ah, the chain of linkage!

It's a great interview and inspiring tag-along into the studio and creative process of MBW.

Part I

Carson Daly interview Mr. Brainwash on his show The Last Call [PART 1] from bentzi19 on Vimeo.

Part II

Carson Daly interview Mr. Brainwash on his show The Last Call [PART 2] from bentzi19 on Vimeo.

Notes from my Margin

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, August 17, 2009 0 comments
I've been on a "pump yourself up" kick lately. Getting into gear to break past whatever may or may not hold me back, depending on the day...
While in a trance of totally-fulfilling-the-moment, I took quick rest stops up exit ramps, themselves mini highways; carrying the flow of the main artery into a write-bite.
Reflecting on the creation, the process, the sensation while fully immersed in it makes for some pretty good not-from-concentrate concentration.

"You can't be scared making art, doing you. No mistake is too bad. All mistakes are perfect mistakes. All flaws are only so in the imagined mind.
Once you make the move, action sees no imperfection -- it only sees possibility."

things I like, things I love

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, August 14, 2009 1 comments

Former : Square business cards

Top : Creative Design Agency 23 Suite Studio

Bottom : Bar Breton (highly recommended)

Latter : Kombucha

My first encounter with this beverage happened late last year, while visiting a friend on the arguably more 'crunchy' of our nation's coasts. I cannot say enough about this miracle elixir. Ok, so no miracles have actually manifested as a direct cause of my consuming it (that I'm aware of) but if you love your body, your health - then learn to love this drink. The smell and knowledge of how it's made may be initially a bit off-putting. Get over it. It's worth it. So worth it.
They've happily expanded their product line to include many-a flavors (mis-nomer as there is absolutely nothing artificial about it) ranging from strawberry, lavender & hibiscus infusions, guava, pomegranate blends, etc etc. It's not the easiest to find at your local bodega but I have a feeling more and more will be carrying GT's "Living Food for the Living Body".

Check out some cool scientific information on the...:

"The culture itself looks somewhat like a large pancake, and though often called a mushroom, a mother of vinegar or by the acronym SCOBY (for "Symbiotic Colony of Bacteria and Yeast"). It is scientifically classified as a zoogleal mat."

A ZOOGLEAL MAT? That's pretty coooooooL!

I do realize that to make this sort of "fermented mushroom tea" a priority among the liquids you take in can be off-putting.

Maybe some drank would be better, no?
Water, sugar, purple.

Kombucha culture can dance around in my belly any day!

Because of its fermented nature, there's a slight, slight, %age of alcohol. The teeny little buzz procured from your first few sips of the bubbly adds a nice touch. Guaranteed smile generator.

From the site...
"Each batch is gently placed in a warm and spiritual environment where the walls are painted purple and spiritual music is played. Though it may sound silly, the most important thing that we do when making our batches is to give them LOTS of love. "

UH. That's incredible.

Some fun facts:

In his autobiography, Nobel Prize winner Alexandr Solzhenitsyn wrote that drinking Kombucha helped him survive the Siberian slave camps of the former Soviet Union.

Kombucha has been a health-promoting and life-enhancing wonder food since as early as the Tsin Chinese Dynasty of 221 BC. Its popularity has been documented throughout history in all corners of the world, from Russia to India, Germany to Japan.

The Kombucha organism is a symbiotic colony of yeasts and bacteria that form a strong membrane that covers the liquid/air interface of the vessel it grows in.

Kombucha proponents claim many advantages such as better experience with foods that 'stick' going down such as rice or pasta, increased energy, sharper eyesight, and better skin condition.

Kombucha is delicately cultured - some liken it to fermentation - for 30 days. During this period, essential nutrients form like active enzymes, viable probiotics, amino acids, antioxidants and polyphenols. All of these combine to create an elixir that immediately works with the body to restore balance and vitality.

PG Pictorial

by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, August 14, 2009 0 comments
For as much as I love words, images have a quality incomprable in their verbage.
For some eye candy on this Friday the 14th, some static dynamic...

Strange Attractors

by trulymadlydeeply On Wednesday, July 29, 2009 2 comments
Just got this awesome book from the library:
Metamagical Themas: Questing for the Essence of Mind and Pattern

The title page presents a gorgeous ambigram, good start.

I've yet to properly crack it open, as it were, but did get a chance to read the inner flap. Which led me to "strange attractors" or, mathematically derived shapes that provide for quite beautiful alternatives to, elaborations upon, the resounding infinity symbol within them.
As M. Hofstadter wrote, "My eye could not help but be strangely attracted by this odd term..."
Take a gander

The artist Nathan Selikoff is responsible for many of these images; drawing from mathematical algorithms into this ephemeral sort of digital abstraction.

Some of them have an inky, smokey osmosis feel.

"...the basic idea hinges on looking at what might be called "mathematical feedback loops"; expressions whose output can be fed back into them as new input, the way a loudspeaker's sounds can cycle back into a microphone and come out again."

Happy discoveries.......

Too Long To Twitter

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, July 28, 2009 1 comments
"...You're grounded. No video games, no Tweetering - nothing electronic. It's desensitizing. Puts you out of touch with your humanity. You can't afford that."

-- Nancy Botwin, Weeds


by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, July 28, 2009 0 comments
...of words, especially

A Tale of Two Cities

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, July 21, 2009 8 comments
I saved you in my digital pocket, image of a yellow brick road
knowing time would show your right mind'd
idea, in words to curl round, unfurl
grow up from out
and now...
golden vines,
towards emerald ends are paved your lines
foundations down versus walls around
roads they're bridges,
between walled edges
within where wizards doctor answers
awaiting wayward footpad travelers

...Threads feeling worn more by today
an invisible tug of heart strings refusing decay
pulls testing resistance to life's little big questions
shots aiming at meanings made therein by weaving
bow looms add achieving derived from believing,
minus grieving over unknowing exactly
what is under.standing for what you're sewing,
that purpose in the fabric of our lives
each day its maintaining,
expanding in surface, structure-enabled non-framing
we upon it blanket leaves of grass déjà en root
for our picnics off the dark they feast.on stars, to them were offered up nursery rhyme dreams
of light, bright, first one I see tonight
North guiding, shifting good tidings from immortal black daughters
pass then through to dots of white sons
as needles in haystacks knit time's golden strings to thread,
each system dependent on the other over.turn does the wheel,
this rock's sun perpetual dial'd up
revolving motion forever once more

Relation Ships

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, July 16, 2009 0 comments
“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping;
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together;
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”

The Die Q Game

by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, July 07, 2009 0 comments

3 Yes
3 Maybe
3 No
16 Questions, thought up on the spot, progressively.
Give a roll, the die responds

Interesting results...

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

1.) Will these questions turn into something more? Yes
2.) Do the answers stem from chance? Maybe
3.) Is random not random? Maybe
4.) Are you always right? Yes
5.) Is this all numerical chance? Maybe
6.) Does 'No' not come up? Maybe
7.) Is 'No' a figment of the imagination? No
8.) Do you like being compared to a Ouija Board? Yes [hahaha]
9.) Am I wasting time right now? The die rolled off the table and landed on its side, with Maybe and Yes facing up.
10.) Is life not a waste of time? No
11.) Are we indeed building nothing? No
12.) Is this a bigger force speaking via the die? No
13.) Is anything possible? No
14.) Is everything possible? Yes
15.) Will we all get what we want? No
16.) Will we all get what we deserve? Yes

I don't mean to jock...

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, June 27, 2009 0 comments
but I wrote this on a whim a few days ago and...

"worn carpets signify well-tread routes.
weave a new one if you love the truth."

I kinda really like it.


by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, June 21, 2009 0 comments
Say hello to Maru.
This little Japanese ball of wondurfur is outrageously talented. And no, that's not an overstatement.
Just watch his acrobatic marvels, and giggle your arse off.

I love a box ! !

Many thanks to Wired magazine!

Face Value

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, June 18, 2009 0 comments
The MTA has taken to posting inspiring quotes amongst the adspace of their buses and trains. "Train of Thought" they call it. Ok, cool.
One of their latest is by the French mathematician and theoretical physicist, Jules Henri Poincaré. The name was familiar to me because I'd lived just off the rue Raymond Poincaré in Paris' 16eme...so I made a mental note to dig a little deeper.
This just in: thanks Wiki, I am now learning M. Raymond Poincaré was a statesman, not to be confused with JH.
Sidenote: every street name, metro station, bus stop, restaurant location/name means something, has a deep and distinct history there (and in other cities too, obviously) - usually tied to a historical event or notable person. I like that. Cuz as cool as "Evergreen Ave." is, there's just something a liiiiitle cooler about a 'secret' history behind your present-day stomping grounds.
So anyways... The "Train of Thought" quote was published as:
"To doubt everything or to believe everything are two equally convenient solutions; both dispense with the necessity of thought."
After a quick search I came to discover that the last word was changed from "reflection" - as it was originally formulated - to "thought" as it appeared on that 5th avenue bus on that fateful Sunday eve.
Is this an honest mistake? Or perhaps a meta-commentary on behalf of the MTA staffer? Because to me, "thought" and "reflection" provide two pretty distinct readings, endings to that train of words.
Someone should inform the MTA: your caboose is too loose. And I'm not talkin about the quote! (Badummchhh)
So basically, what difference does a thought make when reflection is not engaged?
I'd say not much of a difference. Either that or too much of a difference...

Potential Energy Mattering Consciously

by trulymadlydeeply On Sunday, June 07, 2009 2 comments

Mind Over Matter

Never Escaping
But Always
Wide Open
These Systems
A Token
The Matrix:

Revolutionary Road

by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, June 01, 2009 1 comments
"You know what's so good about the truth? Everyone knows what it is, however long they've lived without it. No one forgets the truth... they just get better at lying."


by trulymadlydeeply On Monday, May 25, 2009 10 comments
This is a story about melting potential hate into glory
mix master me runs the ship over what you cannot see
but take a little time
while speaking eye to eye
to peer deeper past the face
the words of people down the street
take in expression
an aqueous transmission sands slip through
the oasis.of her lips, they speak
queens, goddess alike
from Cleopatra comme une femme fatal
to Jackie, Amelia in the air
she managed to release her heart
Helen adventurous
yet trapped, where no one could ever tell her no
so life was only hers to say yes to
and there further down the river,
frogs they sing
disjointed natural harmony
as this vessel moves through their
turning heads, containing worlds apart
of each other
they're connected by that
2 inch valley in the middle of
all our skulls
past which life shines through
a light-giving first earth mother

Notes from my Margin

by trulymadlydeeply On Saturday, May 23, 2009 0 comments
Art is not about making the best, most perfect and magical thing, image, creation, motion. It's about connecting with yourself: good & bad, impulses, desires, imagination, and the influences you've internalized; and engaging it in any & every way you can dream of. And persisting. And staying focused and inspired, true. Working continuously.
And in that way, magic happens.
The best part of you happens.
By way of impassioned love.

Full Circle and the Buffer of the Third Point

by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, May 21, 2009 0 comments
One year, 3 months and 4 days ago, upon my return to the United States known as America, I began a new chapter in my life. I also began reading a fantastic book by the name of Eat, Pray, Love. Like all things that motivate the best in people- emotion (mountainous and valley-like), inspiration, new sights and new horizons, empathy and relation; the word on the greatness of her work spread fast. It's a quaint thing. I'd wanted to do an entry on the book after I'd read it, while the imprint it left was still fresh, the ink of her words gleaming on my dead-of-winter Caribbean tan. But I didn't. I just never took the time or allowed that inner seed of desire and will toward expression to plant itself into this blog's box. Ah how it works. All in due time, my dear. Methinks the seed was itself still developing.

So sitting here, 456 days later (I'll give a buffer of 3 days for the time it took from landing to me actually obtaining the book in question), surfing these boundless and tangled interwebs, I ran into author Elizabeth Gilbert's February 2009 talk at the TED conference.
Three months later, and not a moment too soon. Not a minute later than it should.

'surprisingly moving', indeed. The point of her thoughts in talk barreled over me in the same way she recounts her encounter with poet Ruth Stone's "thunderous train of air". The air of creation, of inspiration. That 'other', that genius, that 'buffer' between us - creative souls - and the eventual alchemical outcome of its passing through.
Like the holy trilogy, trinity.
The number three and its effectivity in tying together the ends of then, now, there.
It, Me, This.
Genius, Man, Creation.

"One manifests as two.
Two is transformed into three.
And three generates all the myriad entities of the universe."

He is the middle man to us as middle men that does not ask permission and will not be told 'no'.
Tom Waits asked him to wait, for a more practical time at which to create.
But if you've opened that portal, have stepped once through that door, you will know that forever more, the mirror you see in that room cannot but bounce you back to it.
The Room Full of Mirrors has eaten many souls alive. Those tortured artists Gilbert mentions, the ones who fall into the River of their image, not to rise up like a Phoenix, but drown in their thesis...
& I wonder, drawing out the mirror parallel farther...
Have you ever noticed the infinity produced by two mirrors reflecting the space in between? Curving to the side of an ever-shrinking bending of your line of sight.
That space, is it the buffer? Is it the genius fairy-like creature "living in our walls", two mirrored walls perhaps, with the second mirror as the manifestation of our creative efforts, with our being standing as the other mirror?
Or are we the space between? One side delivering through us what is to bounce back on the other, exactly the same but shaped by our standing there, filtered through our abilities, sensibilities, sensitivities...
Going with option number two -- when that second mirror ceases to back us up in our reflections, and we're left facing ourselves, the work perhaps a little more void of the fullness of bending holograms, is it any less valuable?
Any less of a study and capture of that momentary self-fulfilled truth?
This moment after the allah, the olé: she admits the inevitable difficulty, of dealing with just 'me', sans a fairy genie. And so full is this portion (I admit, I teared) that it deserves its own quote:

"Maybe it doesn’t have to be quite so full of anguish
if you never happened to believe in the first place
that the most extraordinary aspects of your being came from you
but maybe if you just believed that they were on loan to you
from some unimaginable source for some exquisite portion of your life
to be passed along when you're finished, to somebody else.
If we think about it this way it starts to change everything...
Don't be afraid, don't be daunted, just do your job.
Continue to show up for your piece of it, whatever that might be...
If the divine cock-eyed genius assigned to your case decides to let some sort of wonderment be glimpsed for just one moment through your efforts, then olé.
And if not, do your dance anyhow.
Olé to you nonetheless just for having
the sheer human love and stubbornness to keep showing up."


by trulymadlydeeply On Thursday, May 21, 2009 0 comments


by trulymadlydeeply On Friday, May 08, 2009 0 comments
"What the eyes represent for most painters, the mouth was for Bacon, the locus of human identity. The mouth is what bites, suckles, and howls at the moon. By contrast, the eyes are likely to be missing entirely or smeared shut or obscured by a milky scrim, as in his portrait of the writer Michel Leiris. With Bacon, the windows of the soul--not that he believed in the soul--always have the curtains drawn."

- Richard Lacayo on Francis Bacon

A moving passage I read on this morning's passage:

"I heard them talking to one another in murmurs and whispers. They talked about illness, money, shabby domestic cares. Their talk painted the walls of the dismal prison in which these men had locked themselves up. And suddenly I had a vision of the face of destiny.

Old bureaucrat, my comrade, it is not you who are to blame. No one ever helped you to escape. You, like a termite, built you peace by blocking up with cement every chink and cranny through which the light might pierce. You rolled yourself up into a ball in your genteel security, in routine, in the stifling conventions of provincial life, raising a modest rampart against the winds and the tides and the stars. You have chosen not to be perturbed by great problems, having trouble enough to forget your own fate as man. You are not the dweller upon an errant planet and do not ask yourself questions to which there are no answers. You are a petty borgeois of Toulouse. Nobody grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time [!]. Now the clay of which you were shaped has dried and hardened, and naught in you will ever awaken the sleeping musician, the poet, the astronomer that possibly inhabited you in the beginning.

The squall has ceased to be a cause of my complaint. The magic of the craft has opened for me a world in which I shall confront, within two hours, the black dragons and the crowned crests of a coma of blue lightnings, and when night has fallen I, delivered, shall read my course in the stars."
- Antoine de Saint Exupéry from Wind, Sand and Stars

Held in Montreal, Expo 67 (The 1967 International and Universal Exposition, a sort of "Worlds Fair") was nicknamed "Man and his World", taken from Antoine de Saint Exupéry's memoir Terre des hommes, (literally "Land of Men"), translated as Wind, Sand and Stars. Housing was one of the main themes of Expo 67. Habitat 67 (above) then became a thematic pavilion visited by thousands of visitors who came from around the world. During Expo 67 it was also the temporary residence of the many dignitaries coming to Montreal.

Nice old-school poster for the Expo 67 :

"It is considered to be the most successful World's Fair of the 20th century, with over 50 million visitors and 62 nations participating. It also set the single-day attendance record for a world's fair with 569,000 visitors on its third day. Expo 67 was Canada's main celebration during its centennial year. The fair was originally intended to be held in Moscow, to help the Soviet Union celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Russian Revolution but, for various reasons, the Soviets decided to cancel, and Canada was awarded it in the fall of 1962."

Knick-knack misc things of the day...


by trulymadlydeeply On Tuesday, May 05, 2009 1 comments
A while back I made an analogy in the typical fashion of me;
all at once, a mini epiphany.

But here it is, encore, walk with me as I stretch it out a little further. Diluting nectar with some water to make juicy juice.

People: we're like shoelaces.
It seems like we're separate. Each end existing independently of the other, hanging out, doing its thing, flopping around. But then you start to trace your way back to, wait, why am I flopping around like this? And you see that you are not, in fact, alone, maybe, even, part of another end. And that you are holding a bigger entity together.
You are not just a cool string with a plastic cap for a head.
You are part of the shoe. An integral factor in the equation of kickin kicks. And so essential, too! And so you keep moving. Weaving in and out you discover the rest of your essence is doing so much more than you'd thought, you, over there flopping around. You, plastic shoelace end.
There are parts which are in constant contact, friction, tension and motion. And so you weave. And bob. And make it to another end. It's like, hitting the shores of the new world (aka the Dominican Republic).
All over again.
But, you know, this plastic end, though it looks just like me, well, it's not, it's flopping on the other side of this shoe and, well, that's a whole different world.
And then someone spills ketchup on you.
Oh, heavens what a nuisance. So you get pulled out, to get ready for a good cleaning (or replacement even) cuz you know they'd be damned if they're not rocking some fresh crispy joints.

And then you realize, stripped of your shoe-home that yea, there are two ends to this shoelace story.

But there is only ever one shoelace.

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