punching doors is unnecessary and startling

please refrain sir beanie beard headphone boy

i am you are alone alon e alo ne

depression is so ordinary the ordinariness is the root of all veracity in depression there is one song and it is a very very veryy long song this song

jesus christ you have confused me
cornered, wasted, blessed and used me

i would love to feel despair but i only taste tylonel

Valente, Origami Baby

hmmmm.

etcetera

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Everybody wants everything.

This is a given.

We want the collective “we”

and the infinitive I.

We want our better motives codified

and our worst offenses anthologized.

We want to simply ooze

essential faith.

We want to be lucid when we’re invisible,

delicious even when overcooked.

We want to love,

absolutely love,

the extravagant multitude

of complications

of everything (everything, everything.)

we admire, crave,

or could never hope

to understand.

- (sic)  and i forget

I took the shuttle on a shock-wave ride,
where the people on the pen pull the trigger for accolade
I took a bullet, and I looked inside
Running through my veins
An American masquerade

I think the best part is that he sings like he doesn’t remember why he’s singing at all

It never fails to amaze me when I come across well-written blurbs attempting to induce an audience in some way – whether they want you to click a link or buy a product.  It’s an art in and of itself.  For example, notcot.org, or rather, the artists and agents that submit material need only to conceptualize their otherwise bland or ordinary ‘product’ to get me interested.

This bit of architecture is somewhat average and I’d normally pass it over if not for the tagline:  “House at Lago Rupanco, by Beals Arquitectos in the chilean south forest. It´s made out of wood, painted by black on the outside that makes the house disappear in the forest.”  It doesn’t actually make it blend into the forest but it’s an intriguing concept nevertheless.

Likewise with this photographer’s collection which is just a string of random candid shots of a girl made marginally evocative by the backstory:  “This is the documentation of the 44 days – during the summer of ‘08 – Laura and I spent together in New York before I went to Montreal and didn’t return.” – Mikhail Wassmer.  It’s rather ambiguous and I should wonder why I care at all save the way it was written.

Anyway

I’d like to meet Andrzej Dragan and shake his hand.

A ridiculous prefab design:

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