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.
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.
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 éffort time
One Year
365 Entries
Here.
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
But
I doubt it.
And even if I have to post-date; I'll pretend like the past can still be had.
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.
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- Understand 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 Ooh!
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- Appetite
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
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
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."
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.
http://www.synergydrinks.com/ 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.
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."
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."
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
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
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 ! !
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...
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
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.
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.
Timely.
Now.
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
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."
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.
by
trulymadlydeeply
On
Sunday, April 12, 2009
1 comments
In the hidden annex of winding, short but uplifting, engulfingly protective streets, cobblestoned neighborhoods, stood a perfectly nondescript batiment. Beyond the dark-papered facade, a hushed room, lighted low. Burgundy velvet banquettes line the periphery, nouveau-baroque tables, glinting at the edges and centered with reflective black Plexiglas stand between the benches and various upholstered chairs. Thin, delicate white plates are neatly lined for tonight's dinner. Glasses of wine sit emptied, catching flickers in crystal, twinkles of tea lights. Table setting. The air, it's lent a light fragrance from the lush vegitation, plants and flowers selected specifically for sensuous qualities, for the muffled huddles offered to separate eventual rolling conversations. Of groups of six, to eight, to twelve. Parties. Have filled this space. A space often rent of emptiness in spirit.
And corners of the room are made to bend, as mirrors are placed to reflect the smiles of unknowns facing angles of soon-to-be acquaintances. That is, when the champagne starts to flow, members' brains allow an engaging show. A drum kit sits. Piano perpendicular to it. Mic stand, awaiting perhaps a jazz band. The manager makes it a point to adjust the volume of style parallel to mood. Of the food. Menu dreamed up of ingredients complementing a most personal touch. Those invited are well aware, tonight's mantra is 'get ready to share.'
by
trulymadlydeeply
On
Monday, March 23, 2009
1 comments
Oftentimes it is said "It is the journey, not the destination" that counts. But I wonder, does a journey not have an almost all-decisive impact upon a destination? And what about the starting point? In a way similar to first impressions and automatic intuitions that shape and determine the course of relationships or events, the 'starting point' seems to me to entirely dictate the initial direction of a journey, which, effectively, determines the potential paths available further down the road...How much of it is under our control and what is merely (I say 'merely' but, in using the word, do not intend to lessen the importance of...) a fortuitous coming-together of the right place, the right time, the right conditions? This question's answer ultimately depends upon perspective, something to be understood after the fact...
Whereupon one may pause along a long enough stretch of road to consider that, this and the next.
Turn left, go ahead, pass jail, collect.
Pick up, drop off, car wash, trade-in.
Map blown out the window, lost yet loving it, pulled over- too fast.
Slow down, can't back track- one-way highway
Missed exit, re-route
Driving yourself crazy
Pancakes at dawn to ride out the storm
...
Just a little mind bite for March. 23rd, Two Thousand and Nine.
by
trulymadlydeeply
On
Monday, March 09, 2009
0
comments
proclaimed the subject of junk e-mail sitting, face facing the window on a little street's world to my right window on a binary black white code of IT in the driveway stands a postman not yet ready to deposit today's not-so-holy grail his life interrupts what would digitally dictate sans hesitation because a computer doesn't get off on the latest Victoria's Secret catalog. So there Mr. Postman stands, with a dozen well-shaped girls in his hand and some great new cotton, silk, satin Very Sexy, demi-cup, Our New Tech Patent for firmer looking hardware he can't help but stare... flips to pages of warm, hot sands tropical waters lapping at the shore of models baring the best of this season next season swimsuit season almost at the border of sunny days yet still standing in a filmy, rainy haze that's ok his government job keeps him warm and then: "Don't forget to order before upgraded shipping is over!" "Naw, that's alright by me, I just got my kicks for free," he moves on to his daily trail sticks in the day's letters, delivers my mail.
by
trulymadlydeeply
On
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
0
comments
don't be fooled by the milky way between the lines it's not the road, it's the bridge. and the destination, as always, is unknown. knowing is not possible. read between the lines and you will find.......... more lines. feel between the lines and they will wrap around _ . _ non-linear answers
this screenshot is not enough. but the colors mesh well today
"Furthermore, the highest attainment is the event of one of many individual selves discovering itself"
Je suis une fille qui sais que d'aimer trop sauve la vie. Je suis, je serai toujours, entraine d'etre sauvé pendant cette vie. Pourtant, la balance se cherche en tous que je touche. Mais pour l'amour, y aura jamais moins que tous.
C'est ça, blank blank fullness
"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." 
