Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
When you discover something wonderful and then find out it already has over six thousand followers, you don't really feel like you can deem it a "discovery" anymore. Regardless, I was pretty pumped to stumble upon the website Booooooom. Enjoy fresh photography, artwork, and general eye-candy every damn day of the week.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Some things that cheer me up, and will maybe cheer you up, if you (whoever you are) need cheering:
1. Peanut Butter Plan
It's direct action to help the homeless, and it costs relatively little to sandwich-making participants. It's a small-scale good deed that makes an instant impact. And honestly, PBP is fun!
Also, this is my first filmic appearance since age seventeen. The hair-fussing is a physical manifestation of just how uncomfortable I felt in front of a camera. Enjoy my five seconds of awkwardness, please.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
With these hands usually extending down from on high, emerging from a swirling ether, often assisting tiny humans in some industrial process or another, it doesn't take a degree in chemical engineering to appreciate the implication: the might of modern American industry rivaled the power of God.
Monday, August 10, 2009
|intended to ward off evil.|
|1.||an office or position requiring little or no work, esp. one yielding profitable returns.|
|2.||an ecclesiastical benefice without cure of souls.|
|1. of, pertaining to, or characterized by atavism; reverting to or suggesting the characteristics of a remote ancestor or primitive type.|
|a condition in which the neck is twisted and the head inclined to one side, caused by spasmodic contraction of the muscles of the neck.|
|1.||inspiration; an impelling mental force acting from within.|
|2.||divine communication of knowledge.|
|1.||to talk in a rambling, foolish, or meaningless way.|
|2.||to move, go, or act in an aimless, confused manner: He maundered through life without a single ambition.|
|1.||being at leisure; idle; indolent.|
|2.||ineffective or futile.|
|3.||superfluous or useless.|
|2.||(of fungi or algae) prominent; projecting from or bursting through host tissue.|
|1.||a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus.|
|2.||Anatomy. one of the numerous minute cavities in the substance of bone, supposed to contain nucleate cells.|
|3.||Botany. an air space in the cellular tissue of plants.|
|1.||an arrangement of five objects, as trees, in a square or rectangle, one at each corner and one in the middle.|
|2.||Botany. an overlapping arrangement of five petals or leaves, in which two are interior, two are exterior, and one is partly interior and partly exterior.|
The psyche must be at its most vulnerable between two and four a.m. I sort of woke up at 3:36 a couple of night ago, and in my soporous state I gradually became aware of a vibration in my chest that centered around my heart and then jiggled up my throat; you know when a musical note is so low that it’s felt more than heard—like that. I was confused. I’d never been woken up by internal oscillations before. And my first thought wasn’t I’m having a heart attack or Earthquake! The first thing in my head was Someone's playing an organ under my bed.
I lay there a little longer and realized that I wasn’t totally wrong: it was music. Three notes repeating. But it wasn’t coming from my room or anywhere in my house or even on my block. It was coming from miles away, maybe from somewhere in the Bay, maybe a foghorn, but it wasn’t, because foghorns are always that same flat sad sound, and this thing had a melody.
I was so tired that the best I could do was crawl over to the window and stick my head out a little to listen. And I thought all kinds of strange thoughts about torture, and how all it takes to break someone’s mind is: force them to listen to a three-note song for a long time. I wrote a story in my head about musical torture, a la A Clockwork Orange, except totally different. Now I’m trying to transfer the story from brain to fingers to keyboard to page, and it’s like trying to remove a model ship from a narrow necked bottle—I want to take the whole thing out in one go but instead I have to be patient and disassemble it with tweezers and pluck it out piece by piece and then it won’t come back together again as whole, the way it’s supposed to, goddammit.