eatsleepdraw: HEART BEARPOD SEEN IN VANCOUVER SKIES http://fubear.tumblr.com/http://www.fubearstudios.com/ If I disappeared tomorrow I’d leave behind the expansive, exhausting matrix of my internet wandering to the great search engine in the sky.  On secret sites and password protected forums my future followers will attempt to prove or disprove my multiple identities and trade info on where to find authentic, TRUE bits and pieces as they revel in the eternally fleeting nature of my insight—the genius gift of Secret Rockstar Knowledge bestowed upon me by @hena, Goddess of cool hunting, who smiled on me from up in the clouds as I smoked the wild green grass and body surfed between the lyrics and the beat.  She gave me the ability to drop critical pearls into the viral swineflu of the internets. Character limits in comment boxes and on Twitter were turned into creative catalysts—it was mind blowing to realize that the most complicated, impossible to explain things came across as succinct and well-put in140 characters or less.  It was like taking a Polaroid of an architectural masterpiece. Auras of ghost light and other magical ephermera that get filtered out as mistakes by supposedly state of the art equipment are captured in a spur of the moment SNAP. In the end, the art of living and the art of dying are all about the simple joy of pressing a button and pressing it NOW.

eatsleepdraw:

HEART BEARPOD SEEN IN VANCOUVER SKIES

http://fubear.tumblr.com/
http://www.fubearstudios.com/

If I disappeared tomorrow I’d leave behind the expansive, exhausting matrix of my internet wandering to the great search engine in the sky.  On secret sites and password protected forums my future followers will attempt to prove or disprove my multiple identities and trade info on where to find authentic, TRUE bits and pieces as they revel in the eternally fleeting nature of my insight—the genius gift of Secret Rockstar Knowledge bestowed upon me by @hena, Goddess of cool hunting, who smiled on me from up in the clouds as I smoked the wild green grass and body surfed between the lyrics and the beat.  She gave me the ability to drop critical pearls into the viral swineflu of the internets. Character limits in comment boxes and on Twitter were turned into creative catalysts—it was mind blowing to realize that the most complicated, impossible to explain things came across as succinct and well-put in140 characters or less.  It was like taking a Polaroid of an architectural masterpiece. Auras of ghost light and other magical ephermera that get filtered out as mistakes by supposedly state of the art equipment are captured in a spur of the moment SNAP.

In the end, the art of living and the art of dying are all about the simple joy of pressing a button and pressing it NOW.

(via youngmanhattanite) A quick surf thru my internets confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who found the sky over Manhattan last Friday nite (6/26) to be astoundingly beautiful—perhaps supernaturally so—with thick dabs of clouds gathered together in a sunset set of purple and pink.  When I look at them I think of the Ezra Pound poem, “In a Station of the Metro”: The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough. The first version of that poem was several pages long, but it didn’t convey the image that Pound wanted, and so he cut it back to a page, which he eventually whittled down to 14 words and a single silhouette with all of existence glowing against it.

(via youngmanhattanite)

A quick surf thru my internets confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who found the sky over Manhattan last Friday nite (6/26) to be astoundingly beautiful—perhaps supernaturally so—with thick dabs of clouds gathered together in a sunset set of purple and pink.  When I look at them I think of the Ezra Pound poem, “In a Station of the Metro”:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

The first version of that poem was several pages long, but it didn’t convey the image that Pound wanted, and so he cut it back to a page, which he eventually whittled down to 14 words and a single silhouette with all of existence glowing against it.

Here’s another SEVERYN based remixed design:  this one-of-a-kind #FTW Shirt is called “Mona-Dusa”.  It was made specifically for someone, based on the information in their Twitter feed. The idea of #FTW Shirts is to create the most personalized version of a company imaginable.  I design and create the stencil graffitied t-shirts based on the info and vibe I get from your Twitter feed…

Here’s another SEVERYN based remixed design:  this one-of-a-kind #FTW Shirt is called “Mona-Dusa”.  It was made specifically for someone, based on the information in their Twitter feed.

The idea of #FTW Shirts is to create the most personalized version of a company imaginable.  I design and create the stencil graffitied t-shirts based on the info and vibe I get from your Twitter feed…

“My example concerns a young woman patient who, in spite of efforts made on both sides, proved to be psychologically inaccessible. The difficulty lay in the fact that she always knew better about everything. Her excellent education had provided her with a weapon ideally suited to this purpose, namely a highly polished Cartesian rationalism with an impeccably “geometrical” idea of reality. After several fruitless attempts to sweeten her rationalism with a somewhat more human understanding, I had to confine myself to the hope that something unexpected and irrational would turn up, something that would burst the intellectual retort into which she had sealed herself. Well, I was sitting opposite her one day, with my back to the window, listening to the flow of rhetoric. She had had an impressive dream the night before, in which someone had given her a golden scarab—a costly piece of jewelry. While she was still telling me this dream, I heard something behind me gently tapping on the window. I turned round and saw that it was a fairly large flying insect that was knocking against the window-pane from outside in the obvious effort to get into the dark room. This seemed to me very strange. I opened the window immediately and caught the insect in the air as it flew in. It was a scarabaeid beetle, or common rose-chafer (Cetonia aurata), whose gold-green colour most nearly resembles that of a golden scarab. I handed the beetle to my patient with the words, “Here is your scarab.” This experience punctured the desired hole in her rationalism and broke the ice of her intellectual resistance. The treatment could now be continued with satisfactory results.”

CG Jung, On Synchronicity, pgs 109-110