I feel all GRRR! on the inside, endless hours in front of a PC and Mac.
Life is like a relay race, children begin where their parents left off sprinting forward with hope and anguish to go further.
About to walk out into the darkness at 6pm, thanks Autumn, Daylight Savings and the universe. This is sarcasm.
The other night I dreamt I was running up hill without a destination. Weirdness.
ALL MY LOVE IS TRANSFORMING, LIKE LIQUID TO STEAM.
Pondering if feeling horrible and amazing simultaneously is mutually exclusive, while drinking Schweppes Ginger Ale, since 1783…
One of scariest sounds is hearing the ICE CREAM TRUCK jingle in the middle of winter. Turn and walk in the opposite direction.
Frosted flakes at midnight.
Steeped in sentimentalism. If I wrote a novel about this moment I would appropriately title it, A Serious Case of the Feels: The Romantic Journey.
lol I’m very serious.
I close my eyes take a deep breath, then it’s morning again.
Tight hugs from the kids who love you.
Certains douceur mélangée avec amères, plus de rires, puis fronce les sourcils. Globalement, je veux vivre dans ma vérité et d’être fier de moi.
Ideas about ideas and ideals about ideas, thoughts and notes on growing. A state of being…
Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm… JURY DUTY.
Recreating my graphic design portfolio to match my creativity. Right now it’s not what it should be…
The Philosophical Approach
Everyday when I wake up, while I’m brushing my teeth, before I fall asleep, while walking, sitting, on the train never forgetting. Wracking my brain about design. The process of development, and progress. The organic flow of concepts or versus hasty attempts. I’ am choosing the former.
I want to dream, literally. Dreams of giant overexposed buildings reflecting the sun, a enchanted forest or beautiful mountains.
We’ve worn thin the separation of things from their meaning and seek out places that others felt like leaving, and battles aren’t won with prolonged patience. I’m too eager for the change of any season and I know.
Sometimes when my dog barks at me I bark back. Then it turns into a barking contest and I lose : )
One thing about memory is the present is much stronger than the past. The visualization of the past is reconstructed and is subjective but the present is concrete.
I’m so obvious it borders on embarrassment, my face shows everything my words don’t say.
ON PRESENT & FUTURE
The visual is the concept of ideas composition, colors, copy, imagery and purpose. The arrangement of thoughtful content for the intentions of advertising, illustration, graphic design and entertainment to establish or strengthen a brand I believe this is the role of visual designer. — Exposure to all things, art and design is my current endeavor.
Je laisse une cadence rythmique Partout où je vais. MOUVEMENT de mots de votre présence.
THE WORDS THAT WERE CLICHÉ HAVE RISEN AGAIN.
LATELY: LAYOUT: THE DESIGN OF THE PRINTED PAGE BY ALLAN HURBURT. DRAWING . WINTER WEATHER. OLD FLAUNT MAGAZINE. TEA WITHOUT SUGAR. LONG WALKS TOWARD THE COLD BREEZE. SINGING TO MY YORKIE. SENTIMENTAL WONDERING.
TRAVERSE THIS CITY IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, AND REMEMBER THE PRESENT WITH GREAT DETAIL.
A symphony, orchestra, without the conductor; gracefully carries on.
THE LENGTHS OF FOREVER OR NOT AT ALL.
SHARP ANGLES AND CLOSE SEPARATION, WE WILL CALL IT WHAT WE WANT, AND CALL IT WHAT WE MUST.
I wrote a draft then I erased it , stretching the folded, unfurling north of regression. The space between thoughts and words,- and I view water as a abstract but forever moving, within its quality sums of energy.
. SPARK .
Movement of the gleaming lights, the city at night. Valleys and plateaus, enough to witness with hungry eyes; the days of days and the ravishing nights. Passing in a endless evolving motion all that was and notions. In these hours all is filled with space, empty streets before the northeast wakes and reserved time eager to waste.
“SUBSTRATE, MARKINGS, AND PUNCTUATED LEXICONS.”
FALL-WINTER IS BACK
Cold nights, cold days. I’m starting to like winter again.
“THE WHATEVER BEING”
The whatever being coming forth is not defined by its similarities or differences but by its singularities and indifference’s to shared properties. The whatever being can be an all-inclusive term, meaning it all matters equally and all classification aren’t necessary. Without classifications and labels the whatever being only belongs to itself and consequently is free to be. An example from The Coming Community that describes common properties of belonging is “ color, nationality, religion” these common properties limit and define. “Thus being-such, which remains constantly hidden in the condition of belonging” (Agamben p.2). The association of real predicate and love are different qualities that exist but shouldn’t limit the amount of love or control things that are lovable. Predicates aren’t the basis for love. In ethics not belonging to a common property doesn’t subject humans to beings to nothingness nor does it assign task for human experience. In order to have an ethical experience the options and choices has to be made based upon freewill or thinking, the philosophy of potentially and impotentially. The actions of ethics based on potentially and impotentially are moral judgments devoid of belonging to one group or another but based on whatever being singularities. “Whatever singularity, which wants to appropriate belong-ing itself, its own being-in language, and thus rejects all identity and every condition of belonging, is the principal enemy of the State” (Agamben p.7). I interpreted the Tiananmen to mean and describe the lack of classifications of groups based on ethnicity, orientation, age, gender, social status, and etc. The inclusion of whatever singularities in a civil struggle for human rights on the behalf of all humans beings.SLEEP LATE / WAKE EARLY
“OUT OF CONTEXT”
Nostalgia for five minutes ago. It reaches, like time is never enough and bends at its edges then collapses. Kernels budding to grow loose.
THREADING ALL ITS REMNANTS AND SWEETNESS, THE POTTERY MADE FOR FLOWERS AND THE FLOWERS BOUGHT TO LIVE, AND OPEN AIR TO BREATHE IN. AMONG THE FICKLE THOUGHTS THERE LIES A PERMANENT STATION, A RUN ON SENTENCE ABOUT LOVING.
“OUT OF CONTEXT”
No moon sightings, observations of the sun, its hovering in a different part of the heavens in disparity to the spring and summer, casting an overcast shine on what were the seasons before. Blame autumn and the approach of winter.
“He who see’s senses that he is seeing, he who hears senses that he is hearing, he who walks, senses that he is walking, and thus for all the other activities there is something that senses that we are exerting them (Agambenp32)”. Sensation is vital to a good quality of life. It is a link that we experience the world and the world experiences each individual. Living well is a conscious effort when behaving in ways that exert high levels of energy, in metaphorical conscious state engaging with others, listening, talking, sitting still and being aren’t actions done in auto pilot. They’re actions that should be done with great detail and awareness of intentions and consequences. Awareness of one’s own existences is sweet when lived with depth and ethics, in relation to the world, universe, people, animals and objects. Life isn’t the mere happenstance of birth its meaning is individual determined by each person but the quality of it should be good and fulfilling. The constant sensation of existence within a good person reinforces a place within the earth and a humble need to improve ones being. I think when people forget to live like their alive is when things go awry, because it means to forget your power and what it means to exist with purpose. Shared sensation of being is another concept that attaches individuals’ to each other in a more bonded way; to be conscious of others and what their existence means to you. My antidotal experience with shared sensation of being is non-awkward silence. In the event of only the atmosphere creating sound while being able to be comfortable with the silence and not feel the impulse to distract from the moment of quiet. Knowing both parties are alive, exist and share time and space willingly.
“OUT OF CONTEXT”
Wait for the water to rise or wait for it to subside; it’s a matter of matter turning material from objects to subjects. Without nouns and verbs to decide their will or ideals. Rather the plight of circumstances forcing forth new developments. If the vice lingers we linger in its estrangement. In through partitions reachable agreements or in indifference we cement the eternal forfeit.
EVERY DAY CHANGES YOU EVEN WHEN YOU DON’T WANT IT TO.
Kodak Paper are on backs of my memories, I don’t hold any allegiance to any film brand but if I did it would be to Kodak, I found a photograph of me at nine or so on a chestnut brown horse, I remember being happy…
DEEP LUSH AND DARK GREEN, WOOD AND STEMS GROWING UP AND UNDER THAMES, LAKES OF SURE TIME.A Collection of Thoughts (2010 - 11)
Out of Context
I want to be a sailor anchored to my thoughts in the currents. Who will know, studying someone else’s shore on a far off keynote.
For My Niece “m”
Left overs from June,one of my favorite memories from this summer is losing a race, from the entrance of the lawn to the wishing well at The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. I threw all my quarters in, and a gold dollar.
Out Of Context
Sit and settle into the night.
Rephrasing the Cliché
” With the volume and the circumference of my heart.
Out Of Context
Starry eyed staring at the dunes and being taken with time.
The sky and its gradients. Street lights are lit flames. I’m to far to be close, and to close to give this distance a name.
Out Of Context
Drawing deep breaths, thinking about writing a poem but not writing one. (Where would I be with and without desire.)
All things & Nothing
facial muscles working up the courage for a modest smile. With the certainty of reciprocation. Pounding the pavement and carving names in cement. Whispers from the left meant for you, escapes its low pitch and defragment its intent. Dirty palms stretching arms the dirt under shoes. Weary eyes, proving what fleeting infatuation will do. The night is long but longer when thinking for two.
Out Of Context
Before I fall asleep I ruminate about being next to sea. When my thoughts start to drift then I’m unconscious. And bounds are the hours. Salt water sleep. Upon this ocean. Upon this sea.
Sing it into the wind until the fracture give way to meaning. Time selections and seasons. what you want and reasons. The shift.
Everything is beautiful today…
Out Of Context
Its segments, parts, fragments, breaks, basking, reading into loose ends. Tightly knotting the twines…
Forever propelling my line into open waters and ripping currents. Wont steady my thoughts on it. Deeping the shallow end.
Out Of Context
“I wasn’t lost, I was just walking in the wrong direction for an extended amount of time.”I actually said this to someone, seriously.
Out Of Context
Most of the time I dislike long rides on public transportation. So I zone out and listen to music and try not to do those things while blankly staring at someones face.
A mind worth mining, and time to get lost in.
Before it gets to cold to roam the streets in search of a muse and etc. A roll of 36 and limbering up. I want to feel inspired by someone else’s work in person then act on that inspiration. I wish I knew everything I don’t know. Probably travel stag to the seedy outskirts at earliest part of the day.
Pen & Ink
Picking among the words, that have the most difficult meaning to ease upon itself captured feeling. Dirt from the earth pulling sand and shores farther off course and reeling. Let’s walk till its no more land, and wells bow and rise when it pours. Nothing cease, it all persist, vitality is dawning of the morning that insist.
Washington Heights, late days early nights. The quiet stillness of life. In the corners and the far reach of my extremities, veins, arteries - foreignness compelled to hold on to its originality. The concept of who I am and who I alt (ought) to be carries on. It hangs in the damp air like the atmosphere.
Its not always momentary. Felt permanence unweaving before the day is done. Recreating, with its own power and the absence of ill will. The thoughts after collect themselves outside your window sill. Without the angst of day but with unraveling wants. Pebbles thrown at your window
Vertical, diagonals paralleled to everything, symbols playing triangles. Broken instruments serenade, unrest and lemonade. The parade of emotions traveled in the shade. At the highest perch it echoed fate.
Love will be the first and last reason and devotion will be the theme. Exercise in consistency.