a case for creating, regardless

"Scenario work shows that the future is usually a combination off all the stories you can construct to anticipate it." 

... Joel Garreau

Just a little something gleaned from studying on an otherwise dreary and bright Monday morning while trudging through ideas I wish I had more time and space to explore. 

Someday.

Soon.

Even though I should be doing so now.

Or maybe we are 

always

without realizing it.

Yes, I think so.

"One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon--instead of enjoying the roses blooming outside of our windows today."

... Dale Carnegie 

So

"Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings."

... Victor Hugo

my kind of weather service.

Today

Tomorrow

For wherever you are

And wherever you want to be

That is not off the predetermined

List

Of desired cities

theory

Thinking again about the optimism of existentialism. Of the Saphir-Whorf hypothesis, of systems theory. 

And about transitions, the distinctly muddy spaces of the in-between, filled with change and pain and death of once cultural figures and  re-framing of the self in a certain context. 

Like the salon culture of the Enlightenment, moving people to cultivate their individuality. 

Away from hierarchy of the royal few. 

Coinciding with the death of Madame de Pompadour. 

And welcoming the day-to-day--the artistic possibility of apple placed by human hand on simple platter on thick, worn, wood table.

I wonder what she would think now, of this life. 

...

In my communication theory course this spring I have a particularly vibrant professor who would rather the cognizant beings before her be called 'scholars in residence' than 'students.'

 Exiting this primary foray into academia, I'm simultaneously pushed away by such forces and pulled by those on the other side of sidewalk fissures operating as boundary between theory and practice. Though perhaps it shouldn't be so, this boundary. 

The lithograph, Escher's Bond of Union, was dramatically and proudly unveiled as encapsulating this professor's--or rather, scholar's-- theory of communication. 

Very, very apt.

 

gpoyw.

In a fit of nostalgia for backs against sunny floors next to sprawled records, one finding its home on a turntable, eyes lazily gaze on ceiling or wall, nothing in particular but wandering mind. 

This would be a lovely wednesday, indeed.

reaction.

To Read:

finish, begin

finish, begin

to finish and to begin

But it doesn't always happen that way

Does it? 

In fact, it rarely does

if ever

at all

Though we may not know it

If ever

At all.

It wasn't so very late, that night at home. Somehow it always seems later when away from the life that fills in moments of silence found alone. Alone at home, even though another moved through unoccupied rooms. So I began to think about closing books. 

What if reading the book is like the process of birth--like being born--and closing the book like taking the first breaths of air? Those few seconds from the moment you eye and grasp the book with a view to open it to the moment you do--reading, eyeing, mouthing, whispering, speaking that first word--is like the act of consummation. Deciding whether to open the book at all, to consider it even, is like the dance of choosing a partner. And depending on pre-meditation, how long you've waited for this book, could even be naive falling in love. 

Huh, well. Nary a page of this sort read over the break. And now, once again but for the final time, come the textbooks. 

again.

I can’t take the credit for coming across this song by Megan Washington, which contained the first harmonic notes to greet my ears upon settling down on my bedroom floor. They had grown used to the steady tread of tires flying 75 MPH down dampened highways, Seattle to Portland.

And I walked through the door of my childhood home... don’t know if I can say home without a qualifier right now.

I felt as if melting into the shadowy 7 pm wooden floors, yes, right on the Oriental rug. Smelling by breathing so deep as to full my whole self with the place that is care and comfort and the sort of love, elusive, mother and daughter. So I began to listen to this song and watch this story. I listened some more and then turned around, looking up for some air and some sky. It had, in fact, ruptured. The sun was leaving for some tomorrow elsewhere and night was rolling along. But in between was a sky left layered violet and fuchsia. And now it is so coal black that my city tamed eyes widen at the shock of suburban night.

So back to this song. It’s buoyant, so that through one’s eyes shapes melt into one another and so do people, because suddenly you’re smiling so. The stripped down singing to you quality is such a catalyst for this.

Plus, there is tilt-shift, which I first came across here. An unlikely combination of trippy and charming, which I've never seen in motion... until now.