Something

Sometimes I think that I'm going to tattoo a third eye on my cheek next to my happy wrinkles, cut my hair that it would be as short as well trimmed lawn and move in back with my parents in the province town. Everybody would be asking "what happened?" or even be too scared to ask. Awkward silence and frightened looks in shops, banks and parks. And if somebody would ask "what happened?" I'd just answer "Nothing". Massive confusion and maybe at some point everybody would just get tired and get used to me. And the explanation would be just Nothing. Because nothing would have had happened. Nothing. Nothing feels better than saying truth and still surprising people. 

The very Zen moment of Nothing. 

Grace Cho illustration

Prada Candy: more like an eyecandy

And she walks just like a marshmallow melts in your mouth. Cursed by doubts and absolutely resisting to chose. "You have to look at your best" tells her horoscope and she closes down the book, flips it vertically then horizontally and leaves it on the edge of a table. She is sure for the one thing: somebody will touch it and it will fall, and then she'll be able to shout out her temper that's been sitting in her for the past few weeks. She resist to drink wine and writes down her allure thoughts, nobody has to know that. She is weak at keeping her own secrets, she's better at others. She hides her books and forgets where did she hide them. And then simply pretends that nothing really matters. She is waiting for a call, but calls first. She likes writing mail to herself. And more she sits in front of the sun - wider her smile gets. She bounces not walks. She runs out of ideas the minute she gets excited about her ideas. And slightly blushing she says "Ouhh.." She loves touching bodies and making people feel uncomfortable. Reviewing this habit sometime after, she feels uncomfortable herself. She smiles, she smiles and she smiles. She wants flowers, but gets a glass of beer. She doesn't want anything and gets what she would want. Surprise! She is scared to be happy due not to spook happiness away. She's afraid to share happiness, but does that anyway, because when wine flows her secrets flow as well. It doesn't take long and she creates new secrets. Because when she walks marshmallows melt in your mouth.

"Julius has the brains of a scientist, but the intelligence of a gorilla. Gene, of course, is every girl's dream, but a woman's nightmare" complains Léa Seydoux in the new Prada commercial for the Candy L'Eau. New Roman Coppola's and Wes Anderson's collaboration for a short movie for Italian fashion house. Very French and very stubborn, very light and highlighted with Jacques Dutronc musical point. Something that has a power to get you running down the street with no actual reason. Maybe to get that Candy. Candy - the one that got away.

 

Keep on drooling

With the second batch of snowy dough, spring is trying to get to our souls and kill gently hypnotizing and freezing. However, not everybody is willing to give up and doesn't matter how loud I would scream "There is no point!", I'll still manage to find teeny tiny point in actual moving forward.

Four months or even five months of winter is just trying to scare the shit out and getting boring as constantly repeated phrase "the winter is coming" in game of thrones. Advice: Nevertheless, instead of giving up on a minor mistake or obstactle continue training your strength. Wax your shoes that they wouldn't get soaked, wear your mittens, read books or at least read your labels, feed your ego. 

As talking about emotional harmonization and feeding ego. If sexual treatment is hiding deep under snow piles there is old good women beloved way to the fulfillment. Ice cream. I'm not a big fan of ice cream, though, I am a big fan of Mr. Boonstra's, Wyne Veen's and Zack McDonald's baked advertising campaign for Frozen Dutch.

Dripping, melting and vividly exposed. Unusual assortment of visual and textual quality resemblance of the guilty pleasures. And the lack of romance and hot air whispers are being changed by admiration towards subtle and tasty advertising. I think it is flirting with me.

 

Sensitivity and Sun

Sensitivity and Sun.
Sensitivity and Sun.

Sensitivity and Sun.

  Circulating around and exercising body. Sensitivity and Sun. Stretching skin, kissing whispers of eyelashes, planting smile all over mysterious lands, singing in a romantic melody and whistling while I try to fall asleep. 

Sensitivity and Sun.

So much love to give, just come and ask for it.

Sensitivity and Sun.

I exhale those words as ocean exhales waves and splashes, as mountains exhale avalanches. 

Slowly spreading mist in your ear and getting lost in arms of forest and thoughts of fields.

Sensitivity and Sun.

Take me

Where you can be Sensitive and I can be Sunny

Structure me

Again, floating with no actual need to float, I'd better sink down. Freakishly hard to state anything yet. It is like waiting for a diagnosis. Nor there, nor here. And the problem is - one couldn't say that the mood is bad or joyful. Either way, that would be just a lie. The mood is inconsistent. Unstable. Something annoying is hurting with little spikes. Hurting my back and at the same time spreading small impulses through my neurons and getting deeper in my muscles. But it never causes not even a slight sense of anger. No anger... too bad.

One minute body is standing still with a thought of a sudden collapse. However, that collapse never comes. It's been a long long time and nothing had changed. Nothing was triggered to change. Nothing was made differently to change. The structure just standing waiting to collapse, disseminate. Clutter collectively gathers around and ones body becomes a waste yard. 

Really, haven't figured out how a person can be so disappointed of ones life line and still be a life lover at the same time. It happens. But nothing changes and I am pretty sure it is just because one haven't made a proper step to change it. Structure me because one step forward and two back don't work anymore. Nor body nor brain learn from mistakes. Especially heart. What a heck is matter with that muscle? It supposed to work properly but when head is tricking heart and other way round I have to wait for diagnosis. Impatiently. I packed my bags already, I left, I came back. Why?

And yet trying to calm down magically repeating "You'll be just fine, You'll be just fine, I'm not gonna do anything about it". That must be it. I'm not doing anything about it. Act or forget, you'd say. Bullshit, nor action nor trying to forget helps. I'll take another chance and screw all the opportunities I had, I have or I will have. If I can't get anger naturally I'll build it up. I couldn't be mad on you. But that's not the issue. I couldn't be mad on myself. The tender and carrying heart. Fuck it, really. Why?

It's all because of that book by Ayn Rand.

I don't know if anybody feels the same way. I don't know what the way it is. But god help me to figure out if it is just my silly head or it is a usual thing. Neither way would help me, but at least I could try to compete and get it all straight. And clear, and clean. That's how I like it. Please, structure me. In all positive ways.

CHRIS ROUND pertinent structure photography. You can find and learn more about it here

Flip the page

The universe is made of stories, not atoms. —Muriel Rukeyser

As time is passing by and bringing cooler and more humid weather I start to think that addiction to books might serve me good this time. I live in a basement in the house on the peak of the hill. Sun rays conquer my cell between 9 and 12 in the morning, the time when I sleep. The rest of the day crawls in the shadow. Warm tea and bunch of unread books just gives me a time to relieve the stress, not that I have something to stress about, but just because I am very good at making up problems. And yes, bunch of unread books, just because I'm collecting books more passionately than reading them . However the thing is, it is a perfect time to read. And go for a beer in the evening. And read while riding a bus. And read while riding a bus back to the top of the hill. 

Just got out of Castaneda's peyote delusional hallucinations and long hours trying to "see" and feel the seeing as a shamanistic power. Not long after that Herman Hesse's "The Glass Bead Game"  dragged me into the marbles rolling in the musical environment of a growing genius Joseph Knecht. I'll stay here for a bit. And like somebody said "God made man because he loves stories", if it is too cold to go out and create a story by yourself, get a book. 

Good Books has a brilliant campaign and brilliant sense when to publish it as well. 

Mystified and soaked black Metamorphosis animation of a harrying need to have Kafka...

...and boiling blood hot Havana Heat for ladies who are still counting the shades of grey autumn skies...

When I'll finish reading Hesse, maybe you'd recommend something for me?

If not, meet you in bed. Here's the most comfortable place to read for now. 

Bridget Collins

Flaws and jaws

Actually it has been hard to put words in places but easy to make meaningless sentences.

A construction worker with no attested experience pouring grout in nano-scale cracks - trying to fix you. Trying to vanish old paint from facade. Trying to. To try. Physically exhausted and spiritually drained to the last drop - gained a spacious gap between tiles, which is filled with that admiration leftover that is leaking and soaking into passengers', strangers', buddies' bodies. Ripped up by the winds and blurred out from the blinding rays - it was tricked into the innocent white appearance. 

Relaxed muscles after the hopeless work, and an assured thought "I am just an insecure mess", in doubt to make any step that would lead further from the wretched remains of the previous temples. As someone said, you'll have to sweep all the dust and debris away to start putting up new things in a place instead. You're allowed to make mistakes, you are allowed to try to fix you, in case that doesn't happen I'll help to take care of wreckage. 

The cleaning period will be over soon. The construction will be put away for a while. Until the spring comes, now the facade and interior as well as exterior are being prepared for the snowy storms and frosty evenings. 

I'll be there. 

Inside. 

Getting cozy under my blankets and you are more than welcome stop by. 

To have a conversation, mhm, meaningful, mhm, with words in places.

Rainstorm

Rainstorm doesn't stop for the third day in a row and you would not stop complaining about it even it would be gone. Small jokes, that this rain is trying to wash off your sins, but apparently you have them too many that's why it is raining so much, are not comic anymore. Overall situation is so sad that it is even funny. With a marble face staring at you. Asking what have you done wrong? Asking what would you do?

My shelter has no holes for water to leak, no gaps for spiders to invade, no... I've sorted out many things and many things still left to sort out. I see things moving and searching for their places. I just levitate. I just flow with the rain, downhill, to the sea, to the tips of grassy hills and then down again. I do not care and I care too much. I waste my time and I plan my schedule thoroughly. I sit there nostalgic and suffering and I sit here melancholic and joyful. 

Rainstorm mixes all four winds and confuses them too much. If I could I would hug them all together and read them a fairy tale about how the winds have chosen their paths, about how the seasons have divided their territory. I would stroke their light and soft hair. And now I am just pouring down on my own shoulders with a marble face, with some confidence and confusion. Very strong in my very own shelter. Very calm.

Shelter from Carl Burton on Vimeo.

Shake and Bake

All those shattered pieces will come back together. Guided meditation cleansing veins and capillaries of tired body and synergy between individuality and personality is flowing drastically into the gaps.

Fox Crime IDs from Plenty on Vimeo.

Directed by Plenty

Winnie Truong

The week is on its midway. Unfortunately, today Wednesday feels like Monday just because I wasn't counting time since Saturday. And the minute when the awareness of the time flow tickled my toes this morning the vision of the future appeared to be sleeping next to me as well. The month is on its midway. The autumn is already putting its coat on and planning to pay a visit no matter where you would be. So if we are counting time - here and now is the time to give a smart advice to style and grow your hair, to prepare a natural fur that would cure you from a bold chilly autumn wind. Or that I could crawl into your hair and sleep until the winter is gone. The moon is in the right position and the day seems to be perfect for a new hair style. For a new activity as well, for new findings too. Winnie Truong a pencil crayon artist, with an amazing ability to expose a vivid attention to details and structure, is my newest finding. The big sized drawings of human Sasquatches and XVI century lady hair styles improved with a bit of nastiness. It is all about counting time and trimming your hair ends. 

Be aware and take care.

Robbie Augspurger

Coming back from a slight mode of depression and shooting it with a salvation burning in ones eyes. One more weird hobby to collect pictures of chicks with guns inspired by one of the Q.T. movies lead me to the little bit blurred out photographer Robbie Augspurger. Robbie Augspurger got his first camera in one of those fast food restaurant kid birthdays when he was twelve, the film was not particularly brilliant but here we have a grown up artist with actual ability to photograph. Or at least an interest to photograph. 

Idiotic and quite random shots of country like looking people, women in universe with animal bones and 3D glasses and more is just putting you into a line where you don't know if it's better laugh or be silent. Either way gives you something to be confused of.

Craving for green

Waking up after some time seems to be something new. 

All month was like a big cupboard stuffed with all kinds of things, stash, cornflake boxes, some of them empty, some of them full, all kinds of spices all kinds of jars and paper bags. Bursting with load of things, that you don't think about. That you don't want to think about. That is not interesting to think about. Waiting for the moment to brake in sides and drop all those things down the floor. 

Yesterday I woke up. And started taking things out of cupboard. Sorting out and recycling carton cornflake boxes. Putting interesting thoughts in my head, cleaning the mess... Waking up seemed to be something new. Something that actually got you new road map. After all these months, when I tried to put more and more stuff in my mental cupboard and it was just overloading and dripping out, I finally got to sort things out. And all I want now is to get lost in those emerald green forests. Feel the moss under my bare feet. Eat wild raspberries. Let that green color hide me. 

Melanie Bonajo photography via Dossier.

TAKE ME TO THE FOREST!