A reel of line
A hank of rope
A ball of twine
A keg of nails
A bushel of apples
A ream of paper
A box of chalk
A cord of wood
--- Quoted from Charles Eames
S*
2008.04.30
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
On Swallowing Dictionaries
I sometimes wonder if the fact that as a young student, my Mother's insistence on the use of a thesaurus in equal or greater volume than a dictionary has anything to do with my persistent neutrality? I am much more comfortable in highlighting the likenesses in life than in pinpointing and isolating their definitions. Somehow, the faster, essed outside of the stream -- with its variability and current --proves more reassuring that the inner banks, catching the fertility of sediment and the comfort of solidifying ground.
Or perhaps I am looking at it inversely: are synonyms not definitions in and of themselves when using one idea or word as a point of reference? Is a thesaurus not a more extensive dictionary of sorts? Assuming one understands the initial definition of the idea for which one is seeking alternative names, does one then not exponentially expand one's use of a single meaning into myriad others?
Though possibly quite true, we must nonetheless remind ourselves when debating such hypotheses, that the first manuals of words were dictionaries whose goal was not only to establish then perpetuate the use of "the right word" but to make it known to other languages and those of all caste. Only once concreted could the thesaurus even be pondered, and itself created, defined.
From here to there,
S*
2008.04.22
Or perhaps I am looking at it inversely: are synonyms not definitions in and of themselves when using one idea or word as a point of reference? Is a thesaurus not a more extensive dictionary of sorts? Assuming one understands the initial definition of the idea for which one is seeking alternative names, does one then not exponentially expand one's use of a single meaning into myriad others?
Though possibly quite true, we must nonetheless remind ourselves when debating such hypotheses, that the first manuals of words were dictionaries whose goal was not only to establish then perpetuate the use of "the right word" but to make it known to other languages and those of all caste. Only once concreted could the thesaurus even be pondered, and itself created, defined.
From here to there,
S*
2008.04.22
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
"On Single Men"
The following is an excerpt from a brief but pertinent collection of short essays.
----------
There are no greater romantics than those who don't have anyone to be romantic with. It is when we are in the depths of loneliness, without the distraction of work or friends, that we are in a position to grasp the nature and necessity of love. It is after a weekend in which the phone has not stirred, in which every meal was prised from a can and consumed in the unconsoling presence of a gravel-voiced BBC narrator -- outlining the mating habits of the Kenyan antelope -- that we can appreciate why Plato should have declared (The Symposium, 416 BC) that a man without love is like a creature with only half its limbs.
Daydreams that arise in such deserted moments could hardly be termed mature, in so far as one associates the word with an awareness of the dangers of idealization and romantic excess. On a train to Edinburgh, I am assigned a seat across from a young woman reading what may be a company report, sucking her way through a carton of apple juice. As we shuttle northwards, I feign a concern for the scenery (parched fields, industrial debris), while remaining glued to the angel. Short brown hair, pale skin, blue-grey eyes, a set of freckles on the nose, a striped sailor top with a small but undeniable splash of what might have been lunch's macaroni. After Manchester, Juliet puts away the company report and takes out a cookbook. The Food of the Middle East. Concentration across her brow. Stuffed aubergines. Also, falafel, tabouleh and something that looks like guruko, which requires much spinach. Notes taken in curled, concentrated handwriting.
How little is takes to fall in love. Or at least to fall into the kind of heightened enthusiasm for another person that might be called love, but also crush, sickness or illusion, depending on temperament. By the time the train is past Newcastle, I have though of marriage, a house in a cherry-tree-lined street, Sunday evenings where she will lay her head beside me and my hand will comb her chestnut strands and we will quietly digest the middle-eastern something-or-other that she made and I will at long last, and for ever more and with infinite gratitude, feel that I have a place in the world.
Such moments punctuate the life of the single male, unfolding without any outward sign, in the presence of faces glimpsed on the Edinburgh train, the lunchtime sandwich line or airport concourse. Pathetic, no doubt, but vital to the institution of the couple. Women should be grateful for the despair of unattached men, for it is the foundation of future loyalty and selflessness -- another reason, perhaps, to be suspicious of the romantically successful types, whose charms have left them unacquainted with the tragicomic process of aching for days for a woman they were too shy to address and who stepped off at the next station leaving behind a carton of apple juice and plans for marriage.
----------
de Botton, Alain. "On Single Men." On Seeing and Noticing. Penguin Books, 2005. 38-39.
----------
There are no greater romantics than those who don't have anyone to be romantic with. It is when we are in the depths of loneliness, without the distraction of work or friends, that we are in a position to grasp the nature and necessity of love. It is after a weekend in which the phone has not stirred, in which every meal was prised from a can and consumed in the unconsoling presence of a gravel-voiced BBC narrator -- outlining the mating habits of the Kenyan antelope -- that we can appreciate why Plato should have declared (The Symposium, 416 BC) that a man without love is like a creature with only half its limbs.
Daydreams that arise in such deserted moments could hardly be termed mature, in so far as one associates the word with an awareness of the dangers of idealization and romantic excess. On a train to Edinburgh, I am assigned a seat across from a young woman reading what may be a company report, sucking her way through a carton of apple juice. As we shuttle northwards, I feign a concern for the scenery (parched fields, industrial debris), while remaining glued to the angel. Short brown hair, pale skin, blue-grey eyes, a set of freckles on the nose, a striped sailor top with a small but undeniable splash of what might have been lunch's macaroni. After Manchester, Juliet puts away the company report and takes out a cookbook. The Food of the Middle East. Concentration across her brow. Stuffed aubergines. Also, falafel, tabouleh and something that looks like guruko, which requires much spinach. Notes taken in curled, concentrated handwriting.
How little is takes to fall in love. Or at least to fall into the kind of heightened enthusiasm for another person that might be called love, but also crush, sickness or illusion, depending on temperament. By the time the train is past Newcastle, I have though of marriage, a house in a cherry-tree-lined street, Sunday evenings where she will lay her head beside me and my hand will comb her chestnut strands and we will quietly digest the middle-eastern something-or-other that she made and I will at long last, and for ever more and with infinite gratitude, feel that I have a place in the world.
Such moments punctuate the life of the single male, unfolding without any outward sign, in the presence of faces glimpsed on the Edinburgh train, the lunchtime sandwich line or airport concourse. Pathetic, no doubt, but vital to the institution of the couple. Women should be grateful for the despair of unattached men, for it is the foundation of future loyalty and selflessness -- another reason, perhaps, to be suspicious of the romantically successful types, whose charms have left them unacquainted with the tragicomic process of aching for days for a woman they were too shy to address and who stepped off at the next station leaving behind a carton of apple juice and plans for marriage.
----------
de Botton, Alain. "On Single Men." On Seeing and Noticing. Penguin Books, 2005. 38-39.
Design Education and the Teen-agers Fair
The following is a passage in a book I'm current enjoying:
----------
All design is an education of a sort. it may be education by studying or teaching at a school or university, or it may be education through design. In the latter case the designer attempts to educate his manufacturer-client and the people at the market place. Because in most cases the designer has been relegated (or, more often, relegated himself) to the production of "toys for adults" and a whole potpourri of gleaming, glistening, useless gadgets, the question of responsibility is a difficult one to raise. Young people, teenagers, and pre-pubescents have been propagandized into buying, collecting, and soon discarding useless, expensive trash. It is only rarely that young people overcome this indoctrination.
One notable rebellion against it, however, did occur in Sweden a few years ago when a 10-day "Teen-agers' Fair" attempting to promote products for a teen-age market was boycotted so thoroughly it nearly got put out of business. According to a report in Sweden NOW (Vol. 2, No. 12, 1968), a good number of youths resisted what they considered over-consumption by holding their own "Anti-Fair," where the slogan of the day was "Hell, no, we won't buy!" On the big day, buses collected teens from all over Stockholm and drove them to the experimental theatres where special programs of politically engagé films and plays were scheduled and such subjects as world hunger, pollution, and drugs were discussed in workshop sessions. In the kids' opinion, the "Teen-agers' Fair" was just the beginning of a systematic plan to exploit young Europeans by enticing them to want more clothes, cars and "status junk."
But Sweden (once again) is the exception rather than the rule.
----------
Papanek, Victor. "Snake Oil and Thalomide: Mass Leisure, and Phony Fads in the Abundant Society." Design For The Real World. Pantheon Books, 1970. 87.
----------
All design is an education of a sort. it may be education by studying or teaching at a school or university, or it may be education through design. In the latter case the designer attempts to educate his manufacturer-client and the people at the market place. Because in most cases the designer has been relegated (or, more often, relegated himself) to the production of "toys for adults" and a whole potpourri of gleaming, glistening, useless gadgets, the question of responsibility is a difficult one to raise. Young people, teenagers, and pre-pubescents have been propagandized into buying, collecting, and soon discarding useless, expensive trash. It is only rarely that young people overcome this indoctrination.
One notable rebellion against it, however, did occur in Sweden a few years ago when a 10-day "Teen-agers' Fair" attempting to promote products for a teen-age market was boycotted so thoroughly it nearly got put out of business. According to a report in Sweden NOW (Vol. 2, No. 12, 1968), a good number of youths resisted what they considered over-consumption by holding their own "Anti-Fair," where the slogan of the day was "Hell, no, we won't buy!" On the big day, buses collected teens from all over Stockholm and drove them to the experimental theatres where special programs of politically engagé films and plays were scheduled and such subjects as world hunger, pollution, and drugs were discussed in workshop sessions. In the kids' opinion, the "Teen-agers' Fair" was just the beginning of a systematic plan to exploit young Europeans by enticing them to want more clothes, cars and "status junk."
But Sweden (once again) is the exception rather than the rule.
----------
Papanek, Victor. "Snake Oil and Thalomide: Mass Leisure, and Phony Fads in the Abundant Society." Design For The Real World. Pantheon Books, 1970. 87.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Responsibility, Innate Creativity and the Masses
As designers, we create product architecture, imbuing each of them with the pieces of ourselves in the process. We create items that, ideally, make lives "better" whether that be more efficient, cleaner, simpler (read: less wasteful), more comfortable and at the end of the road, altogether a more interesting day-to-day experience. We put sentience into our objects, we give them form, flow, malleability, adaptability, aesthetic characteristics and an opportunity for everyone from buyers to users the ability to use something as, as it were,
their own.
So, we make nice things. And we're nice people. Nice people making nice things for more nice people. Nice people making nice things to make more nice people happy. And for the people who aren't nice or happy, we design so that we cause these people to see how nice our things are, use them and, by means of this, become happy. In the end, us nice people are happy makers of nice things for more nice people who are all nice and happy. Finally, a unifying theory!
Yes, and in comes marketing. Marketing shows us what's new, beautiful, special and especially what we don't yet have. So marketing steps up and hits a collective home-run in the name of showing everyone (nice and non-nice people) what's now available to make their lives even more beautiful, efficient, simpler, comfortable and interesting.
And there's no question. Us happy designers want people to see what we've created for them, in the name of ourselves, expressing our values, the things inside us, come full circle into each creative and mechanical step behind our objects. And this is the happiness and effort and honesty with which we will imbue each and every thing we make so that you, the user, will see these qualities and in you, their reflection. We will make honest and beautiful and interesting products because we are honest and beautiful and interesting and you will see these products and know that you too are honest and beautiful and interesting. You will see your capacity as an individual gain strength and importance with your fellow happy, honest and interesting peers as they too are happy, honest and beautiful, not to mention interesting. In the end, we have given the world beauty by means of honesty and selflessness and you drink from this refreshing, cold tap because you too are honest and selfless.
After all is said and done, we seek your association with us, with one another, through the intermediary of things created, shared, exhibited and made for you to buy and own. Designers seek to express unique qualities via their ideas and the things they create and in doing so, nudge a shift in the collective parallax. Designers do not intend to make that perspective identical; designing for fish in a proverbial barrel is too easy: this is herd design.
Though pure from thought to intent, from mind to hand, design's genesis quickly fades to the machinations of the herd: mass production, mass marketing and mass consumers bleating for what's next. In the end, no parties remain happy. Or nice. Ironically, dashing from one thing to another, we come to collectively lack the efficiency, cleanliness and comfortability embodied by simple, malleable and interesting things. Herein lies the dichotomy of design.
From here to there,
S*
2007.11.27
their own.
So, we make nice things. And we're nice people. Nice people making nice things for more nice people. Nice people making nice things to make more nice people happy. And for the people who aren't nice or happy, we design so that we cause these people to see how nice our things are, use them and, by means of this, become happy. In the end, us nice people are happy makers of nice things for more nice people who are all nice and happy. Finally, a unifying theory!
Yes, and in comes marketing. Marketing shows us what's new, beautiful, special and especially what we don't yet have. So marketing steps up and hits a collective home-run in the name of showing everyone (nice and non-nice people) what's now available to make their lives even more beautiful, efficient, simpler, comfortable and interesting.
And there's no question. Us happy designers want people to see what we've created for them, in the name of ourselves, expressing our values, the things inside us, come full circle into each creative and mechanical step behind our objects. And this is the happiness and effort and honesty with which we will imbue each and every thing we make so that you, the user, will see these qualities and in you, their reflection. We will make honest and beautiful and interesting products because we are honest and beautiful and interesting and you will see these products and know that you too are honest and beautiful and interesting. You will see your capacity as an individual gain strength and importance with your fellow happy, honest and interesting peers as they too are happy, honest and beautiful, not to mention interesting. In the end, we have given the world beauty by means of honesty and selflessness and you drink from this refreshing, cold tap because you too are honest and selfless.
After all is said and done, we seek your association with us, with one another, through the intermediary of things created, shared, exhibited and made for you to buy and own. Designers seek to express unique qualities via their ideas and the things they create and in doing so, nudge a shift in the collective parallax. Designers do not intend to make that perspective identical; designing for fish in a proverbial barrel is too easy: this is herd design.
Though pure from thought to intent, from mind to hand, design's genesis quickly fades to the machinations of the herd: mass production, mass marketing and mass consumers bleating for what's next. In the end, no parties remain happy. Or nice. Ironically, dashing from one thing to another, we come to collectively lack the efficiency, cleanliness and comfortability embodied by simple, malleable and interesting things. Herein lies the dichotomy of design.
From here to there,
S*
2007.11.27
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Gifts
The equation of trust is a tricky one, harbouring both the present and the unknown future. If we are to live the minute seconds with their incandescent turns and esses, we swim in their immediacy, stopping to think about what comes next while stopping was the next.
Asking questions is selfish. Never stop.
S*
2007.06.30
Asking questions is selfish. Never stop.
S*
2007.06.30
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Ace Poem Find
PEACEOFMIND: deep feed coma find maid foe idea mind cape need dim die cede mead made deem cope code amino acid dope demi med men man nap mad mode dome dame mope poem
[11 = 4,4,3. 3,3,5. 3,3,2,3. 3,2,1,2,2,1. 3,3,3,1,1. 3,3,4,1. 5,4,2. 5,3,2,1.]
S*
2007.04.08
[11 = 4,4,3. 3,3,5. 3,3,2,3. 3,2,1,2,2,1. 3,3,3,1,1. 3,3,4,1. 5,4,2. 5,3,2,1.]
S*
2007.04.08
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Friday, January 05, 2007
Life: The Crazies and the Weak.
I reworked a friend's old canvas (1'x 4') and found myself - after the usual scribbling, splashing and scratching - with three distinct sections: one texted, one blobbed, one textured. A disjointed, disenfranchised mess really. The text got buried in repeated attempts to blend and unify the whole (not to worry, the original is pasted on the canvas' back). Two names and some time later, with the help of bright orange and beautiful gold spray, the end resulted in a striking vanishing point style of exercise, combining my love of exact geometry, underlying darkness and confusion. Meshing was also used to add texture to the sides and a hive-like dimensionality to some parts. As it was meant to turn out, the product is a pastiche of naturalism (sunshine), measurements (progressive, incremental spacing) and optical draw (vanishing point), the totality of which I am thoroughly pleased.
Regards,
S*
2007.01.29
Friday, December 29, 2006
Things You Can't Tell Waitresses
I watched Mom give Dad exercise two days ago and felt that her distribution of power versus result(s) -- albeit effective -- was an exercise in micro management. She required far less commands in order to execute the same task(s). Much like the inefficiency of the sentence explaining it.Repetition is funny and despite being insane....
Re: photo. Had seven co-workers to my pad on Saturday night. Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. They didn't ring until two. I put on tracks and broke out something to drink. Before you know it, we're each into a multispatial conversation within triangulated seating arrangements. Many a thing was said. Soon enough, a male dominance competition is in full swing on my kitchen floor -- at the end of which I took this picture (was that before or after Mary won a free ticket?).
Of the aggression, I criticized it externally (but said nothing) feeling that this was an archaic and ritualistic wonder trophyism largely unnecessary in 2006. Internally, I rooted for the strongest member and wished his success, acknowledging the positive advancement of our kind.
In the end, it was good to see human beings wrestle in a language mutually understood.
S*
Monday, December 11, 2006
Three Ohs Ringing
Hi Hilda,
The language of your request does not compute. Does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compete, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute.
The language of your lesson does not compute.
S*
The language of your request does not compute. Does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compete, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute, does not compute.
The language of your lesson does not compute.
S*
On 11/12/06, Hilda Miles wrote:
Hello,
How are you today and hope you kinda having a great time, I am Hilda , but my chums called me Angel, I am a 27 year old graduate of Yoke and I will be moving down to Canada soon to get a better offer. I am respectful, responsible, and sociable. I am respectful of other's personal lifestyles, belongings, as well as their privacy.All I ask in return is for my future frineds to reciprocate the very same actions that I give to them. I have a very culturally diversed personality, therefore I have the ability to connect to individuals from different
walks of life. I enjoy meeting interesting people and seeking new adventures. In my past times, I like to read, practice the Italian Language, watch some educational channels, such as Discovery, History, Travel, and Court TV etc....I enjoy playing the piano and practicing the violin, going to movies. I am open minded in nature and like to apprehend and appreciate the cultural lifestyles of others. Ultimately, I am always honest and will keep it real with you, but in doing so, I will be respectful and
courteous of the other's feelings. I love travelling, sporting and enjoy meeting people and seldomly party. I am cool headed, pretty laid back and easy going person and would like to have a mate who is very responsible and understanding, someone i can really get along with.
However, I saw your advert and i am sincerely interested in the place advertised as i will like to move in as soon as we're able to reach an accord. Please i'll like to know the total move in cost as well as the picture of the house ( if available ) as i'll not be able to check out
the place until my arrival, so that i can make arrangement for payment
prior to my arrival since i'll be moving down as soon as i'm able to secure a
comfortable place. Thanks as i anxiously await your response
Regards
Hilda
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Where Honey Comes From
On Trimutualism
*I got to debating as to whether flowers give bees their sweet offal, in the form of pollen, with which the latter make honey, or if the bees are participating in a system by which they help a plant function and make the best of the by-product, the whole time nonetheless seeing their side of the equation.
But in a discussion on systems, current society can look to the Internet hive model and see a scrambled media grown out of the progressive and increasingly qualitative communications of the sixties whose future will quite potentially fade over time thanks to over-quartering and over-watering. This causes one to ponder: "On which levels will the bees or even the ants' communication evolve?" Is it by means of a single rhythm or does it benefit from the continual one by which nature evolves?
But when the honey's coming in and simplicity is baseline, where will communication go? And with a premise like that, is the latter question moot?
S*
2006.10.14
*I got to debating as to whether flowers give bees their sweet offal, in the form of pollen, with which the latter make honey, or if the bees are participating in a system by which they help a plant function and make the best of the by-product, the whole time nonetheless seeing their side of the equation.
But in a discussion on systems, current society can look to the Internet hive model and see a scrambled media grown out of the progressive and increasingly qualitative communications of the sixties whose future will quite potentially fade over time thanks to over-quartering and over-watering. This causes one to ponder: "On which levels will the bees or even the ants' communication evolve?" Is it by means of a single rhythm or does it benefit from the continual one by which nature evolves?
But when the honey's coming in and simplicity is baseline, where will communication go? And with a premise like that, is the latter question moot?
S*
2006.10.14
Thursday, September 28, 2006
A Warning
It had recently been brought to his attention that he was constantly at the tremendous, just, geometric and correct pursuit of the accomplishment of banal and pointless ends. And although at the time, they weren't quartering limes -- but halving walnuts and alternating the flavour with the creamy taste of pecans -- the conversation had stumbled upon a few weird paths the length of the later hours, most of which were not left untread.
The following day, successive waves of these memories came to him as he found himself rocking out to something or other about cutting his hair so many times he couldn't even recognize his own face. Maybe it was about shutting down the system and sleeping for a stir but that wasn't happening anytime soon: he wouldn't sleep with walls still bare, area rugs left unadjusted, spoons askew. Plus, there was work and coffee to deal with; the Italian latter being a far more efficient and valuable stimulant than the former.
In life, he knew, there existed a far greater sum of reading and learning than one could imagine to possibly comtemplate yet alone absorb with any relevance and conciseness in order to in turn donate a reasonable mess of thought and correlations to the randomly available ear. He digested this with an ease akin only to his general indifferent achromaticism.
S*
2006.09.28
"Memories can't wait." Talking Heads
"Memories are deceptive because they're coloured with today's events." Einstein
The following day, successive waves of these memories came to him as he found himself rocking out to something or other about cutting his hair so many times he couldn't even recognize his own face. Maybe it was about shutting down the system and sleeping for a stir but that wasn't happening anytime soon: he wouldn't sleep with walls still bare, area rugs left unadjusted, spoons askew. Plus, there was work and coffee to deal with; the Italian latter being a far more efficient and valuable stimulant than the former.
In life, he knew, there existed a far greater sum of reading and learning than one could imagine to possibly comtemplate yet alone absorb with any relevance and conciseness in order to in turn donate a reasonable mess of thought and correlations to the randomly available ear. He digested this with an ease akin only to his general indifferent achromaticism.
S*
2006.09.28
"Memories can't wait." Talking Heads
"Memories are deceptive because they're coloured with today's events." Einstein
Friday, August 11, 2006
You Are Summoned to a Meeting
History --> Observation --> Commentary (subjective to modern interpretation)
This cycle is repetitive. Why?
Civilizations progress, excel, but grow too big:
- run out of power/energy?
- have no means or record keeping (or do, but it falls victim to power/energy-loss)?
- subject to time?
Populations rise in the same way they always have (which, by definition, cannot be pre-programmed or influenced but rather inate). Technology, social structure, availability of resources make the extent of this progress either advance or succumb to itself (e.g., 'bust' or 'fail'). Knowing (or even assuming) this, how can Y exceed X in progress, learning, betterment?
Maybe by putting into question the nature of this cyclidity; perhaps by comparing and contrasting the vehicles of information and communication of these social paradigms can we learn more about them.
Put your nightmares to the collective light; let us see our souls for what their truths speak, allowing us to highlight a common path to something -- if not everything -- better.
S*
2006.08.08
This cycle is repetitive. Why?
Civilizations progress, excel, but grow too big:
- run out of power/energy?
- have no means or record keeping (or do, but it falls victim to power/energy-loss)?
- subject to time?
Populations rise in the same way they always have (which, by definition, cannot be pre-programmed or influenced but rather inate). Technology, social structure, availability of resources make the extent of this progress either advance or succumb to itself (e.g., 'bust' or 'fail'). Knowing (or even assuming) this, how can Y exceed X in progress, learning, betterment?
Maybe by putting into question the nature of this cyclidity; perhaps by comparing and contrasting the vehicles of information and communication of these social paradigms can we learn more about them.
Put your nightmares to the collective light; let us see our souls for what their truths speak, allowing us to highlight a common path to something -- if not everything -- better.
S*
2006.08.08
Thursday, June 29, 2006
An Open Letter to the Universe (edit)
Apologies for never writing and calling only sporadically. And late, at that. Guess everyone has their communicative niche, eh?
Things are well in Montreal; life moves at a lovely pace in this city, it's a great combination of beautiful, old architecture with long winding avenues lined with green trees, people's balconies and a bevy of all manner of attitude, drive and desire. Interestingly, consistencies develop no matter where I've been: it's the speed at which the urban community moves that always attracts or repels me from a given locale, big or small. And that, I suspect, is a derivative of the internal mechanisms driving each of us -- which are, in this instance, my own. Some people oscillate better in the burbs, others the city, others the countryside; and to be fair, some people might even do fine on a remote piece of rock in the Mediterranean. Nature moulds us where it sees fit.
Nevertheless, this realization has become a very relevant one -- and not for the temporal or environmental realization that that is (i.e., a particular person in a particular space) -- but rather as a affirmation of one's core effervescence, internal machinations and inherent driving forces. This most recent move has served to (re-)confirm something I'd suspected, irregardless of destination, employment or surroundings: that everywhere is anywhere as long as the personal centre is secure and can confide in itself.
More to the point, this latter core has primarily come to embody self and family and the strengths we each derive therein. The well-being derived from the energies of exposure to knowledge, information, beauty, love and everything in between: good food, laughter, provocative ideas over warm beverages and thoroughly erratic chess are secondary complements to life's diet.
The sum of these has served to expose the fruitlessness of worrying about age, status, finances (to a degree) and destiny. And why is that? Because the great magnet has, does and will continue hurling each of us on its whim, and cull when the spectrum requires calibration, balance or a good laugh. Until then, granted we agree -- subconsciously or otherwise -- that the general purpose of this eighty-year orbit is to consciously and continually contribute to the betterment of our very dear and extremely shared civilization, it must be progress in its truest incarnation and most honest inflection toward which we labour. And, at the end of the day, find me here taking notes thereon.
From here to there,
S*
Things are well in Montreal; life moves at a lovely pace in this city, it's a great combination of beautiful, old architecture with long winding avenues lined with green trees, people's balconies and a bevy of all manner of attitude, drive and desire. Interestingly, consistencies develop no matter where I've been: it's the speed at which the urban community moves that always attracts or repels me from a given locale, big or small. And that, I suspect, is a derivative of the internal mechanisms driving each of us -- which are, in this instance, my own. Some people oscillate better in the burbs, others the city, others the countryside; and to be fair, some people might even do fine on a remote piece of rock in the Mediterranean. Nature moulds us where it sees fit.
Nevertheless, this realization has become a very relevant one -- and not for the temporal or environmental realization that that is (i.e., a particular person in a particular space) -- but rather as a affirmation of one's core effervescence, internal machinations and inherent driving forces. This most recent move has served to (re-)confirm something I'd suspected, irregardless of destination, employment or surroundings: that everywhere is anywhere as long as the personal centre is secure and can confide in itself.
More to the point, this latter core has primarily come to embody self and family and the strengths we each derive therein. The well-being derived from the energies of exposure to knowledge, information, beauty, love and everything in between: good food, laughter, provocative ideas over warm beverages and thoroughly erratic chess are secondary complements to life's diet.
The sum of these has served to expose the fruitlessness of worrying about age, status, finances (to a degree) and destiny. And why is that? Because the great magnet has, does and will continue hurling each of us on its whim, and cull when the spectrum requires calibration, balance or a good laugh. Until then, granted we agree -- subconsciously or otherwise -- that the general purpose of this eighty-year orbit is to consciously and continually contribute to the betterment of our very dear and extremely shared civilization, it must be progress in its truest incarnation and most honest inflection toward which we labour. And, at the end of the day, find me here taking notes thereon.
From here to there,
S*
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Ahem...
I don't what it is; I feel like I've lost the ability to anachronize and synthesize the life around me. Maybe it's the different city, maybe it's my current lack of reading, maybe I'm getting old and the drag racing outside doesn't interest me anymore. Nonetheless, as I've always said and written, there appears to be little paths of a graceful nature for overcoming or surpassing or climbing past the thirtieth milestone. And to be truthful, I've accorded little importance to this inevitability, this minor hump in the 'road'. This is a result of the paths of others: uneventful, unimportant, unnoticed, underappreciated. These are the insecurities that surround me like an Iroquois fortress, staves pointed to the firmament. With eyes looking upward, few are aware or interested or knowing of what lies ahead, whether that knowledge be substantial or haphazard, whether tools are available to manage, to mitigate, to handle what is to come, what they are predestined to become or what they are pre-programmed to already be. Definitions aren't always known at the start. People wrestle with them: on beaches, in offices, with sore feet and tired minds; we all discover for good or ill what we're here for, what we're good for and who it is we're meant to mean to ourselves. The inside comes eventually out.
S*
2006.06.16
S*
2006.06.16
Friday, June 09, 2006
Subjuntive Tripping
I returned and saw, under the sun, that the race is not to the
swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor
yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but
time and chance happeneth to them all.
Evil falls. But who knows when?
Needles in my eyes won't cripple me tonight alright/
Twisting up my mind please pull me through the light alright.
I feel sleep start out from the tips of my toes and climb up my spine, then nestle warmly against the nape of my neck.
S*
Fave current track: "Needles In My Eyes" - The Beta Band
Current media in progress: Munich, "An Aroma of Coffee" - Dany Laferriere
swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor
yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but
time and chance happeneth to them all.
Evil falls. But who knows when?
Needles in my eyes won't cripple me tonight alright/
Twisting up my mind please pull me through the light alright.
I feel sleep start out from the tips of my toes and climb up my spine, then nestle warmly against the nape of my neck.
S*
Fave current track: "Needles In My Eyes" - The Beta Band
Current media in progress: Munich, "An Aroma of Coffee" - Dany Laferriere
Friday, May 26, 2006
Postcard Refreshment
This place is cool. People are independently-minded and heed their own business as personal soap-operas and daily lives seem important enough to not need to know mine or anyone else's. I've spent a good slice of time trying to demystify my own romanticization of the city, which is largely aided by seeing normal-looking, working-class people about town; but but but, the love is continually reinvigorated as I stroll through block-wide and fountained parks watching Dutch-like beauties breezing by on old-school bikes in skirts, light scarves and spring jean-jackets, hair flowing in purposeful carelessness.
To date, things are much more upbeat than the introductory week as I cruise into a calm rhythm warm enough to keep me optimally bourgeois-bohème. On verra.
Wish you were here.
Essstar
2006.05.26
To date, things are much more upbeat than the introductory week as I cruise into a calm rhythm warm enough to keep me optimally bourgeois-bohème. On verra.
Wish you were here.
Essstar
2006.05.26
Friday, May 19, 2006
Infinite Equilateral
Like how that rolls off the tongue....At any rate, was getting the HB on the walls sometime in the final days of Ottawa and came up with this silliness. A large equilateral triangle containing smaller shapes: namely a hexagon with three smaller equilateral triangles complementing it, filling the initial triangle.
The fun part is that both the hexagon and the smaller triangles can be continually filled with smaller and smaller equilateral triangles -- and this, seemingly ad infinitum. Then I thought about that for a while and that hurt my brain almost as much as does conceptualizing infinity. So I stopped.
Regardless, the 'infinite' scheme is not wholly real because one would eventually run out of space given the size of the initial equilateral triangle. Now where's the fun in that?
Fun times, happy days.
S*
2006.05.19
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Dirty Words
Even coke bores me.
And ecstasy's a nightful.
Mushrooms are forgiveable on special occasions.
Music's always welcome.
Booze: the provider.
People, always.
S*
2006.05.11
And ecstasy's a nightful.
Mushrooms are forgiveable on special occasions.
Music's always welcome.
Booze: the provider.
People, always.
S*
2006.05.11
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
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