Thursday, December 15, 2011

part of the

"Every person I interact with is part of the person I am becoming."
— Patricia Moreno

Friday, November 18, 2011

These are the contents of my head




This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head

Sunday, November 13, 2011

32

Things I Feel I Know, Being 32:

1. Nobody gets everything.

 2. Life is still pretty amazing.

 taken from Even*Cleveland

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Friday, October 14, 2011

Apropos


Sea Horse Seashell Party




Trade signs date back to 14th Century Europe. These first signs usually only featured an emblem to designate the trade for the unreading public. Nautical trade signs...would have designated a bar, hotel or restaurant.


"We stared into the tanks - or tanks just like the tanks - that Kafka had stared into.  I was particularly taken by the sight of sea horses - those strange, chessman-like creatures that are a favorite of the popular animal imaginaire.  Sea horses come not only in the chessman variety, but also in soda straw and plantlike shapes, and range in size from one to eleven inches...Sea horses are the extreme of the extreme.

Sea horses, more than most animals, inspire wonder - they draw our attention to the astonishing similarities and discontinuities between each kind of creature and every other.  They can change color to blend in with their surroundings, and beat their dorsal fins nearly as fast as a hummingbird beats its wings....Not terribly good swimmers, they can die of exhaustion when caught in even small currents, so they prefer to anchor themselves to sea grasses or coral, or to each other - they like to swim in pairs, linked by their prehensile tails.  Sea horses have complicated routines for courtship, making musical sounds while doing so."  Johnathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals


Source: claytongrayhome.com via Lauren on Pinterest


Saturday, October 8, 2011

Home

Reportedly titled "Home," the banjo-led ballad stands as a love letter to the people the band left behind while touring the world.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Tropic of Cancer





I love everything that flows,” said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences. I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with its painful gallstones, its gravel and what-not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul; I love the great rivers like the Amazon and the Orinoco, where crazy men like Moravagine float on through the dream and legend in an open boat and drown in the blind mouths of the river. I love everything that flows, even the menstrual flow that carries away the seed unfecund. I love scripts that flow, be they hieratic, esoteric, perverse, polymorph, or unilateral. I love everything that flows, everything that has time in it and becoming, that brings us back to the beginning where there is never end: the violence of the prophets, the obscenity that is ecstasy, the wisdom of the fanatic, the priest with his rubber litany, the foul words of the whore, the spittle that floats away in the gutter, the milk of the breast and the bitter honey that pours from the womb, all that is fluid, melting, dissolute and dissolvent, all the pus and dirt that in flowing is purified, that loses its sense of origin, that makes the great circuit toward death and dissolution. The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought.
-Henry Miller

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

double feet-ure

"All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking." Friedrich Nietzsche

MONDAY, SEPT 19, 2011 Have you been doing a lot of walking lately? If so, Scorpio, your feet may be sore. This could affect your energy level considerably, not to mention your ability to get any work done. Concentrate on routine tasks that require little thought and can be done sitting down. Stay out of any squabbles! Relax in a hot bath tonight.