Sometimes, you just have to drink your cappuccino.

I Finally have a means to post things! I have something I wrote from the perspective of a struggling male writer and some pictures to share. There is one of my friend that I love.

"Beautiful I see. She Is beautiful. She has soft looking lips adorned and thickly coated with rich lipstick the colour of stawberries, and keen blue eyes matched with her porcelain skin… she is the symbol of the U.S flag. Red, white and blue. Wow, shes gorgeous.

But she wont see me. Shell strut along, the slut. No, no I don’t know her enough. How am I to know she is not an animal loving, outdoorsy gal? I make those assumptions. I made the assumption that she is a slut. I just figure… shes drawing so much attention to her lips… its like she wants me to look there. And, she walks right past me, wow. The slut.
And what am I doing? Sitting on a park bench writing a story about another world that I can disappear into. I mean, I see no problem with that, Eh? Better living then that slut. Who, by the by just started making out with an Italian fellow a couple benches down. Jeesh.
I’m writing another one page story like always. That’s all I can think of I suppose."


I also guess I'm doing a series with these Rotweiler photos. I love them. Very candid?

"And how he loved her apple pies, how he loved her meatloaf, how he loved her chicken breasts. how he loved her pudding..." - Regina Spektor

I have started what is going to be a short story type thing of just dialogue mostly called A Goblin and the Sun: a Nonsensical tale and take on life.

I am extremely excited to start AND finish it.... hopefully I get it done before school starts so that I insert my most creative flourishes.. hard to do when school is occurring (the happiness and creativeness are drained from me).

So I am posting some pictures I took last night of my room. I realize that my room is my center for ideas and so it has become a very eclectic place. I have an obsession with taking pictures of my chandelier( FROM IKEA!). So here are some! and others of bibelot-like things in my abode.
I forgot to post the excerpt of that book because I have been distracted by my lack of internet. I've been searching for it like a lover looks for a lover for the past two weeks. BUT I WILL post something I wrote next time.

I also have been wondering something: for HOW LONG have humans taken care of the hair in between our eyebrows? I wonder this only because nowadays most people do (its fine either way I 'spose, freedom of expression), and so I thought how long has this gone back? I then thought of the paintings from the 1600's and so on that I saw at the Met and do not recollect most kings and fair maidens having uni-brows. Does it throw off symmetry in the face? I know that humans crave/ are attracted to symmetry so maybe... But I really do wonder.


*there is a close up of a menu that is from the 1920's-40's from a Lloyd's shipping... I stare at them, for I have a few, in awe.
** the line that isn't finished says "Depp pines for the old iconoclasts" Yes, Johnny Depp.

Can you photograph a soul?

Just here to post some pictures of Upstate New York adventure. Enjoy!
*Some are from a house that is being torn down that was built in 1901 and others are from Sharon Springs...
will post more later... Internet these days is horrible... maybe it has a cold.

"Copying Shazam"

It's one:fifty six, and I have been waiting for my iPod to sync and back up for an hour... thought I'd post some of last year's sketches probably done in math.
Oh, let me also introduce you to the band the Features... my number one song right now is Lions and Temporary Blues.

ARE you a yeuk?

I am thoroughly discontented right now. I cannot manage to find my camera chord that plugs into my computer to put the pictures on.
I have very strange, ghostly pictures to post... although maybe I shouldn't. I am a strong believer in spirits, I mean, why not? Today, I had my first walk- in into the office of horror.
Ah ah ah, too dramatic. Really what I mean is that I walked into, found a way in, aka made a way in, to a bath house made in 1850's or so. This exploration was in Sharon Springs, Up state New York. I cleared some brush, stepped over some rotting pieces of wood, and stepped through a hole in the wall. *Looks behind shoulder in paranoia*
Eerie, blue, and old the building was. Those descriptions, along with rotting, absolutely inspiring/ mysterious, and chipping also rammed into my mind, now hidden behind a sheath of awe. My mind suddenly took on the mentality of someone walking into a trap/ museum.
Instantly, as instantaneous as instant-ality can be, I though of ghost hunters, Supernatural, and all those shows that debut on Discovery and other channels during the daytime. Why was I here?
Then I saw the antiquity of it all, and a new image swept into my mind, of my 10th grade History teacher, a fanatic one might say. He once said that he was in the proximity of Napoleon's death-curtains. "Posted: DO NOT TOUCH", meant little to the man who gets thrills by touching history. So, he did. Touch it that is. His interpretation was funny.
But I wasn't in a safe gaurded place, I was near fading history, history that I was convinced held death.
But a bath-house... really? Did someone drown? All quite possible, not out of the ordinary, I'd say.
We were in a strip of hall way lined with doors every couple of feet and in these small rooms were angular old bathtubs, just sitting there. I didn't expect them to be floating but, still, they were just sitting.
And then, mind you I need to go lock my shutters now, - I walked down the hall and stared into a bigger room while my friend was the opposite way taking pictures, and looked down.
Hair, from a broom, no that's not fur why would that be fur? Hm looks like wool. Oh, is that a duck head? What? Why would a duck head have hooves as a face? Oh.
"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. HEY. HEY LOOK AT THIS... COME HERE!" stumbled out of my mouth as I took in the site of a discarded deer leg with the shoulder bone, white, still sharp edged and potruding, as if to be re-connected with a body some day in the future. A little ahead, the spine and ribs. The latter material was indeed animal skin, much to my wide-eyed recognition.
I backed away, although I was still, strangely captivated. Lemme say, if someone is telling you to go to something they're backing away from, do not go.
I did not get a picture of that and we left soon after.


I am considering, though, to delete my photos of that place if something doesn't delete them for me... mysteriously you know? I can imagine looking at my photos of the day and seeing them file into the trash can of their own accord. Or maybe, a face will show up in the picture, just floating along by.

I have something to post from one of my favorite books this week, but as I have posted a story already, and people these days seldom take the time to read long things, I will wait until tomorrow.
In the mean time, I highly recommend the book My Life and Hard Times, by James Thurber. It is hilarious, published in '33. It is the funniest take on human error and common sense I have ever read.

A hatching of notions; a history.

I am wide awake. This is due, I think, to my love of the hours from 9:30 pm to 12 am, and the cup of coffee I drank a couple hours ago which is strange because I have mostly built up a tolerance to caffeinated coffee induced awakeness. I have a picture to share and some words on indirectness quoted from something I'm writing. Please, for anyone reading and who likes it, do not take it without asking me (then quote it!)

Indirectness in the real world is something that we all exert and dread. For instance, one might see to it that what they say to another lacks a sense of directness because of fear out of what might ensue after his commentary such as a flying dish or a very direct comment back. Or, for the most frightful people in our civilization, indirectness plays as a type of coping. If one is indirect in emotion and thought inside oneself, the crisis of understanding and accepting what is really going on, is averted. But really, no one these days acknowledges these people and are therefore indirect in themselves.

The dread of incoming indirectness is truly an everyday notion. Dread may be the perfect word for what a man feels when a medical examiner will not go beyond the words of “Stay with her through the night” or what goes through the mind of a cafe goer who hears from behind his shoulder “You may want to watch your wife over there” when that wife indeed is chatting rather arduously about coffee with the man behind the counter. It is the mask for an underlying message, which, if one is competent to recognize, goes deeper into ones ear than a simple meaning intended.
Do I quote it if I wrote it? Hmm... No.. Oh well.

"How about music? Most of humanity enjoys it"

For lack of people who look at my blog, I'll just post minimal things for a while. Probably just pictures and random writings of mine. I hope whoever is looking at my blog enjoys! All I could find for today is two pictures of my dog, Mota. She's the most photogenic in my family.
The other day an elderly woman was talking about her son. This situation is pretty humorous. She said that she was going slowly and that her son kept ushering her along. "If you do this" he was claimed to have said, "we'll get there faster."
"Where are we going?" she said.
"We're not going anywhere, but we're getting there faster." he replied.
Funny humans, always trying to rush things. Or maybe that's just America.
I've been studying for my leaners permit and this is substantially how it has been going:
"What does a flashing red light mean?"
Me: "The light is broken?"