EU flag designer Rem Koolhaas claims Martha Stewart placemat as inspiration, not barcode as previously reported.
Lunch with my Dad, I refuse to call him 'father', he's such a smart ass, the later title is inappropriate. Lunch consists of Hot Dogs and Cokes while walking down the street. Near the 'Justice Center' we pass a Priest and his lawyer arguing about handwriting samples! The City Mission has been turned into condos, would you even, yes, but I can't stand a colonial style kitchen, all that wood grain makes me ill. We joke, where do you live, the City Mission, only my room isn't AS big anymore and there's a mortgage, He can't understand why people would want to live at the Mission. I go on to explain that the anxiety about the unknown leads us to embrace all things nostalgic. He laughs and calls me a hippie. No, I'm idealistic, I have unlimited bandwidth. He's perplexed but bullshits me for a few more minutes anyway. I must be coming down, I'm starting to formulate ideas again instead of schedules, routine rips away my creativity but then again, in a world that cherishes mediocrity, every fucking daily item is an event.
So much on Blogging today:
1. Blogosphere: A proposed name change
2. Blogs do the corporate watusi
3. Upstart or HOW-TO for professional journalists.
I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesterdays are buried deep�leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished one, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this but, like everyone, I learned it late
Swiped off Readerville, an excellent site for book recommendations. Beryl Markhams 'West With The Night'. A true hidden gem; Born in England in 1902, Markham was taken by her father to East Africa in 1906. She spent her childhood playing with native Maruni children and apprenticing with her father as a trainer and breeder of racehorses. In the 1930s, she became an African bush pilot, and in September 1936, became the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west. Against this backdrop of Africa, an Africa that no longer exists, Markham describes her life as an adventurer, eloquent, warm, funny and an astounding lyrical voice.
8:13 PM :
Tuesday, May 07, 2002
The world of nature and the world of man reflect one another, they are inseparable. I moderate my desires to fit my needs, and everyday a continuance. Everyday, I think, yes, I am afraid/excited by the tattooed muscleman, spontaneous roadside shrines give me the willies; dirty pictures, crosses, rotting stuffed animals -touch what you fear. Suddenly a great surge shoots me through the downtown samba, car horns, voices like gyroscopes. Last day of classes, whew, seconds short of burnout. Bed or bar, I can't decide, perhaps linger on the sidewalk where the neon lights are pretty, have an ice cold gin and tonic. Turbulence is played out every minute in an imaginative metropolis, you see, I just have to come down a bit, nervous energy, a thousand stories high.
7:43 PM :
Sunday, May 05, 2002
Paper plates styrofoam cups of coffee on the Zyrtec allergy medication buffet, replacement for itching and scratching. Summer break, two days and counting, final pages spit out of the printer, I atomic elbow drop the stapler and bam, perfection. Earlier, an update of my Playlist, latest additions at the top. Great to see Kaliber 10000 back up. ((Disquiet)) with some new tunes and a Jockohomo link on Holy Titclamps, Thanks Larry!
8:53 PM :
