Choose Your Own Adventure Starts Now

Artists see patterns in Numbers and Nature. They’re...

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 19:50:00 -0500

Artists see patterns in Numbers and Nature. They’re comfortable interacting with and gaining insight from both. They trust that the immense power of these related mediums can be harnessed (but also never really be controlled).

Artists see and allow multiple perspectives because they know that truth has multiple perspectives.

Artists honor time. (Its length, brevity, and mystery.)

Artists see masks and what’s behind them; they look through illusions and borders in order to uncover the common threads or missing links.

Artists build and maintain bridges. They also know when to rebuild them.

Artists find meaning in the meaningless.

Artists operate from a sense of fullness (because ‘if you are not FULL, you will have nothing to give away’).

Artists find beauty and strength in joy and pain because they know that both are a part of life.

Artists love to ask questions and make art (even though both can sometimes seem uncomfortable, scary, or dangerous to them or those around them).

Artists know that results are rarely immediate, but if they focus on the process of questioning and making art, they’re more likely to reap the fruits of their labor.

Artists take focused and purposeful action to resolve wrongs and reimagine how to make rights.

Artists live to understand and express both the known and unknown within and without.

Artists collaborate. (They also sometimes need space to explore, think, or work alone.)

Artists know that purely quantitative understanding and measurement is important, but when that’s used as the sole ‘value currency’ (in governments, economies, boardrooms, labs, classrooms, relationships—life in general), the result is myopia and ultimately value destruction.

Artists think it’s time to start valuing greater balance and many perspectives. (They’re 99.9% certain that denial of this is at the crux of many of our modern challenges—er, opportunities, but they know that can’t be quantified with 100% certainty.)

Artists don’t wait for permission to make art.

Artists take responsibility.

Artists know that STEAM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, Math) is a set of tools for how we live, educate, learn, imagine, and create the world we all want to be living in.

Artists believe that never has the world more deeply needed all of us to make conscious, collective art. (To be read: NOW.)

Whether or not we choose to say it is irrelevant:

We Are All Artists.

Being an Artist isn’t just a class, career, or label. (Artists have a healthy dislike for labels anyway since they find them to be pretty fleeting and often limiting.) Being an Artist is a way of looking at the world, believing in it, and making it a better place for all. But that’s enough talki……[leaves to go make and eat some sandwich ART!]

life is exciting its ups and downs and times in between that...

Sat, 10 Nov 2012 16:26:00 -0500

life is
exciting
its ups and downs
and times in between
that end
and begin
at points unknown
like paintings
with sketches
and blends
of color on canvas
or paint on paint
bold and subdued hues
each pigment and part
important
visible on the surface
or perceived under layers
all contributing
to the masterpiece
never finished
ART

‘let’s just jump right in’ you say ...

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 14:59:00 -0500

‘let’s just jump right in’ you say

you’ve had time to think move play

show and tell your life away

‘iphone meet india’

‘hey’

senses alert namaste

guest is god dogs chai honk hay

sacred temples cows goats pray

traffic flows heads bobble sway

cricket smiling eyes betray

spirits bright fort tiger clay

billion beings underway

contradiction sweet array

color spice black white green-grey

water air caste plastic fray

new clear power sari bay

post-colonial display

dowry loud machines swerve spray

life looks on beauty blasé

class womb voice earth under a

curse question tradition may

unmask truth see false say nay

system soot clean up today

info action must unlay

we know more than yesterday

past to present breakaway

keep the best the rest allay

pale blue dot beyond a ray

connect dots suspend dismay

wisdom will step out someday

mother maze she’ll make her way

picture perfEct night or day

worth more words than just a ’k’

eye phone i trust it’s okay

india your grace touched mE

ldr . hyderabad . india . 15/5/12

Photo

Sun, 26 Aug 2012 18:33:00 -0400

Matobo Hills, Zimbabwe Tall blades of grass reach up on either...

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 05:04:00 -0400

Matobo Hills, Zimbabwe

Tall blades of grass reach up on either side of the road to indicate new territory. You squint your eyes and see the jagged ocean of yellow meet a softer sea of blue. A dark line cuts divisively through the blur and you assertively track it, leaving a faint cloud of dust in your trail.

You finally turn up a long and narrow road in the direction of the gate. Shuna stops once to get the permit. She’s a naturally elegant, petite, and calmly strong Zimbabwean-born woman of British descent. With the permit in hand, she pulls away, leaving the lone pair of gun-packing guards tucked in the shade of their hut. No other cars are in sight. More accurately, aside from those in your truck, no other humans are in sight. Only wilderness.

Dry grassland rolls seamlessly into granite hills that were formed millions of years ago. The oldest park in Zimbabwe, Matobo is considered a sacred land for many African groups and also serves as the burial place of Cecil John Rhodes, among others. You begin to spot balancing boulders like the ones you flew over a few days prior. They’re now towering above and showing off as larger-than-life sculptural forms.

The three of you eventually get out from behind the metal and glass and emerge onto the scene. The new perspective is appreciated: it’s one thing to move around something and quite another to enter into it.

Boneface leads through the brush to the base of a whaleback dwala (a local name for a bald-faced granite hill). He’s a native to the region of Matabeleland, knowledgeable guide, and friend of Shuna and family. He’s also a humble and soft-spoken man who demonstrates click language with powerful presence. You hike up the rock’s side, cross its surface, and look out at a vast and hauntingly beautiful expanse of protected land. It’s very still.

You learn that poachers are alive and well and have had their way with the area in recent years. Unlike the other side of the park, which has been seeded with game, this side has experienced steady population decline. You gather that a few hired to protect the land and its inhabitants often allow these mercenary crimes to be committed in exchange for personal profit. Seems consistent with allegations against those charged with ruling the country. So it goes.

You follow Boneface down a path toward a jutting rock. Under its shade, you look up and see your first cave paintings made by the San bush people who inhabited this land over 2,000 years ago. There are over 3,000 cave art sites here. Many of these shelters have been intermittently occupied from the early Stone Age right up until today. In fact, the San are one of the oldest populations still in existence on the planet. Wisely, they’ve always prized water in this semi-arid climate which has gotten increasingly dry over time. Their art is detailed and surprisingly intact. Bold red stick-figured hunters, giraffes, rhinoceros, and other wild creatures proudly dance across the rock in plentiful numbers. You study the story for a few minutes.

Back in the truck driving through the lowland, Shuna spots a large raptor up ahead. As you approach, it abandons its kill and flies to a nearby tree. The truck is thrown in reverse and you sit back to watch. Boneface quickly flips through his book and identifies the hunter as the Martial Eagle. At that moment, you spy another swoop down, steal the briefly deserted carcass, and stealthily fly off down the road with its prize dangling in tow. Its wingspan stretches the width of your vehicle.

After the unexpected show, you and Boneface step out. He locates the kill spot. Not much remains. He picks up a few limp tubes of wet intestines with a stick and holds them out for you to take a closer look.

You get back in the car and drive away. Behind you, the original predator flies back down and surveys what remains of the scene. So it goes.

You continue the drive through this uniquely impressive blend of vegetation and ancient geology while spotting the occasional warthog, baboon, duiker, and bird as you go. Eventually you park the car on a winding and slanted dirt road about halfway up a hillside. The three of you hop out and begin to hike.

You ascend a steep incline toward Nswatugi cave. At the top is the opening. It’s spacious inside. On the main wall is a life-size frieze of giraffes, kudu, and elephants partaking in yet another wonderful and wild ballet around you. High above is an aptly situated hole for letting in light and letting out smoke. You close your eyes. You can imagine the semi-nomadic San passing their time in here performing ritual, making art, dancing, eating, and observing the valley below.

On your descent, you pass a round boulder audaciously sunning itself on a sloping rock face that stretches down to the valley floor below. The three of you stop and stand at an angle for a while. You listen to the sound of silence, watch an eagle soar in circles high above, and contemplate the existence of this erratic boulder. You try to imagine the scene that led it to its current position and wonder what might cause this sleeping giant to move once more. A weathering of the earth? An angering of the ancestors? Who knows. So it goes.

Harare, Zimbabwe, 19/05/2012 Touchdown Harare. The turbulent...

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 02:21:00 -0400

Harare, Zimbabwe, 19/05/2012

Touchdown Harare. The turbulent history of this country advances to the front of your mind like the overhead luggage that boldly escapes and strikes the seat ahead of you as your wheels jerk to the runway.

Despite your awareness of what was and generally still is a rocky environment, Zimbabwe possesses a natural mystique that’s long summoned you and others to explore and study it. Home to a thundering world wonder, it hosts expanses of relatively untouched wilderness and a thriving creative culture.

On your flight in, you observe a flat savanna and occasional geometric crop formations punctuated by well-balanced granite boulder piles and smoke swirling up from burning trash heaps.

It’s Saturday evening and the sun’s setting. You’re tired after a day of travel and ready to settle. Cross-border transit days are challenging: you leave one foreign environment, culture, language, and currency – and must rapidly adapt to another. To this end, you’re grateful to have reserved your accommodation for the night and your bus ticket for the following morning.

The airport feels small and local, despite being the primary port for this landlocked country. It takes a while to clear immigration and exit to the main hall. Shops are closed and passengers from your flight have mostly vacated, leaving it dusty and quiet. You wheel your bags past a row of signs advertising the now-defunct Air Zimbabwe and realize you need cash. This is a developing nation where cash is critical, so you roll up to the lone ATM in the hopes of getting USD (the primary currency after the hyperinflation and collapse of the Zimbabwean dollar in 2008-09). You pop in your card and go through the usual steps. All is well until the screen flickers and then flashes you the blue screen of death. Fail. You press ‘cancel’ multiple times and watch in anticipation as the machine slowly reboots in safe mode. Eject! No.

The room is hot, or you are. Of all scenarios invoked for travel prep, this one always left you feeling exposed. You mentally review the obvious: You’re barely an hour inside a foreign country that made you equally apprehensive and motivated when you added it to your itinerary. You’re alone with limited dollars and you just lost your debit card to a machine. You have no cell signal, it’s the weekend, night’s approaching, businesses are closed, and the closest person you know is more than 275 miles away. So this is what this feels like.

The unconstructive words of solo travel naysayers come bubbling to the surface, but you set them aside. This isn’t the end of the world, but it’s a setback that requires all of your attention. You slow your mind with breath and change the game from fear to focus. You can’t solve this by yourself – you need help. You walk away while keeping the hungry chomper and your bags in sight. The only people in the immediate area are painters finishing up for the day and a youthful security guard playing with a pen cap. You approach.

‘Mhoro. The ATM over there just ate my card. Can you or a supervisor help me figure out how to get it back?’

He looks from you to the machine, gives an uncertain shrug, and mumbles something apologetic. You thank him.

You turn and intercept a pair of employees on their way out. They walk up to the ATM, press every button, and whack its side a few times as if attempting to liberate a purchased candy bar that’s still clinging to its vending machine. You laugh. They do too. (Although likely for different reasons.) After some head scratching, they share that you’ll need to wait until next week when people are back to work. You thank them.

Others pass on their way out, but are unable to offer help. You know you need to quickly locate an airport supervisor before your options become very limited. You take down a toll free number, grab your bags, and head in the opposite direction. Down the hall, you spot a purse atop an information desk and decide to wait next to it. Minutes later, a young woman wanders over. You explain your situation, but it falls on deaf ears because she’s getting ready to leave. As she packs up, she echoes that your only option is to wait until next week. You pause, look her in the eyes and tell her that you need her help. She reflects for a few moments and then asks you to wait while she places a call. She flips through a sizable book with well-worn pages and picks up a receiver; within moments, she hands it to you.

‘Mhoro,’ you start.

On the other end of the line is a booming voice. Its owner, Edmore, asks how you’re doing. You say you’re okay, but promptly summarize your situation. He asks you to stay where you are.

Time passes and a rather large man approaches. He’s smiling and walks up with his hand outstretched. You shake hands and feel more at ease when he introduces himself as the head of airport operations. He says that getting your card will be a real challenge, but it’s worth a try because he thinks the airport should be operational for travelers 24/7.

For the next half hour, you both stand at the information desk as calls are placed. Eventually, he reaches a woman in the bank’s corporate PR division who is leaving her office, but says she’ll try to get a local contact. With this, he gives her his desk number and proposes you wait in his office in the meantime.

Together, you reenter the security area that you cleared over an hour prior. You zig zag your way to a wood-paneled interior office which contains a man and woman surrounded by books and binders: Edmore’s Master’s degree study group. The four of you sit for the next two and a half hours and discuss everything ranging from national leaders to entrepreneurship to motivational psychology (inspired by a quote on Edmore’s wall). Every few minutes, a call comes in or goes out in an attempt to locate someone who can retrieve your card. Edmore suggests crossing fingers.

Finally, a call comes in from the young man who maintains the airport ATM. He’s in Highfield without a car, but available for the next hour. Edmore hops off the phone and gets his wallet and keys. You’re going to pick him up.

As you leave the airport, you think about your trust in this stranger who actually doesn’t feel like a stranger at all. He’s officially off duty now using his own time and vehicle to help you solve your problem.

For the next half hour, you drive down mostly dirt roads past warehouses, shacks and roadside communities selling goods ranging from hair extensions to cell minutes. Through an open window, you breathe in smoky air from burning tires and learn that Highfield is a historically significant city suburb where Robert Mugabe’s old residence still stands (albeit now filled with bullet holes). Eventually, you locate the ATM technician, Shaun. He hops in the car and Edmore shares with you both that this is where he spent his childhood. The three of you carry on a lively conversation and the return trip goes by quickly.

Five hours and many twists later, you’re back in front of the machine that spawned this unexpected adventure. Within a minute, Shaun hands you your card. You smile and motion to both gentlemen that you’re finally uncrossing your fingers.

‘Mazvita,’ you say with gratitude.

You head back to Edmore’s office to gather belongings. It’s now nighttime and he offers to give everyone a ride home (as yet another example of decency and an ingrained sense of community). Later, when you exit his car, you hand this friend a book of quotes with one highlighted: “During the worst of all my crises, friends appeared. Since then, the first thing I do is ask for help.” You thank him for his generosity, say goodbye to the others in the car as they wish you well on your travels, and continue on your way.

You feel lucky for a positive outcome from what initially presented itself as a bad situation. It certainly could have turned out differently, but it didn’t. Through this experience and others, you learn to appreciate the real Zimbabwe through your own senses. And isn’t that a primary reason for your travel?

You are journeying along an invisible path. You’re confident in your direction, but also...

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 17:59:00 -0400

You are journeying along an invisible path. You’re confident in your direction, but also curious: are you moving forward, backward, up, down or sideways? You don’t know for certain and casting judgement seems premature and superficially subjective at this stage. You might just be completely still, but could even this be an illusion? You’ve a pulse. Your cells are vibrating. You’re on a planet spinning on its axis through space. Your watch seems to indicate time’s steady progression. Despite all common signs of accepted reality, is your existence constantly flowing in the chronological current of time? Physically it seems so, but how about psychologically, when you’re dreaming or remembering? Better yet, how about virtually, when another sees or reads a representation of you in print or through a machine? Or when your embodiment is seen by many whilst distributed in cyberspace? Is this you? Was this you? Who and where are you now? Where are you going? Calling Heisenberg.

As you ponder the notion that a single dimension of time seems infinitely boring, the wind kicks up and a fierce storm heads in your direction. Think fast.

Photo

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 08:51:00 -0400

Audio

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 08:42:11 -0400

Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, 17/6/2012 Standing in a banda on a...

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 08:15:00 -0400

Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, 17/6/2012

Standing in a banda on a hilltop surrounded by thick forest, you’re part of a circle composed of eight humans hailing from countries around the world. Represented are Germany, U.S., Canada, India, and Uganda. There’s a sense of uncertainty and expectancy in the air as everyone prepares to penetrate the great Impenetrable.

Will your attempt be successful after already exerting considerable effort to get to this point? Will there be any casualties, injuries? What is your fate? More pressingly, what is their fate?

A sharp-minded guide (bearing an equally sharp machete) briefs you and introduces a serious guard (bearing an even more serious AK-47). They signal go-time. This could be a very short expedition or a very long one – another unknown. You breathe in the morning and grab a hiking stick crafted by a local villager. (A highly respectable occupation when compared to poaching the remnants of a largely diminished population of unique species found nowhere else in the world.)

You start traversing trodden jungle paths up and down mountainsides. The only casualty in the first half hour is a dropped camera lens belonging to a member of your group. Porters step in to assist and you’re on the move again.

Sun pierces through the tops of the most ancient cathedrals of life – casting shadows and dancing beams of light across the now illuminated jungle floor. Chlorophyll dominates the landscape here and you’re immersed in its abundance.

More time passes and the terrain takes on a different feel. You’re no longer on a trail well traveled. Rather, you cross over thick mud pits by balancing your weight on the tops of slippery rocks and step quickly through patches of solid ground covered by swarming army ants who bear head-claws practically bigger than their bodies. (You’re grateful to your guide for the advice to thoroughly tuck pants in socks to prevent invasions by these biting soldiers.) There’s slipping, sliding, and the occasional fall, but everyone presses on. When spotted, the guide points out tracking signs: plowed-down grasses, barren shoots, and fresh droppings. You’re getting close. He radios the trackers up ahead to gauge remaining distance and direction; his response to their call is to take his machete directly to the thick bush engulfing you on all sides. You follow, holding back supple branches, leaping across exposed holes, scrambling up crumbling dirt ledges, pulling fellow hikers over and across ravines, skirting downed tree trunks, and ducking under heavy-hanging vines. You feel an incredible urge to swing on a dangling vine and figure there’s never been a better time to do it. One presents itself above your head. You reach out to hold on for a fleeting and joyful ride - and encourage others to do the same. Welcome to the jungle, Jane.

At the two-hour mark, the radio call comes in: you’re within range. The only remaining challenge standing between you and your desired mountainside is a fast-moving river that lacks an area for safe crossing. Porters and guides quickly unite and then disperse to collect large rocks. Bit by bit, they build a link made of stepping-stones. You cautiously cross the gushing waters and clamber up the opposing incline.

It’s here where, after passing through a thicket, you meet the trackers who will take you forth. Bags down, hiking sticks stabbing the earth, cameras ready: you’re prepared to meet your cousin primates. (Your earlier question around ‘their fate’ is an allusion to the mountain gorilla who you are about to meet.)

You start your silent track deeper into the Bwindi bush. It’s not long before a tree forcefully shakes up ahead and distinct thumping sounds emanate from a beaten chest. The guide makes a deep, raspy call signaling to your hosts that you’re here, but they shouldn’t be afraid – you mean them no harm. The machete continues to hack away gnarly and prickly bushes. Then, disrupting the otherwise uninterrupted rolling green landscape, you sight a large, black, shapely form seated discreetly in an overgrown niche. This being slowly turns its head to face you and your gaze is suddenly returned by soft brown eyes. Hello.

Both life forms blink a few times. You examine each other in between breaths that rise and fall from similar-looking chests. What strikes you most is the gentleness of this creature and its undisputable resemblance to… yourself. Judgments are rendered and communicated through neutral body language. Low grunting sounds continue to resonate as guides reassure this patriarch that you’re of no threat to him. He doesn’t seem concerned. His expressive lips start moving again as he resumes chewing on leaves and this new bit of information that distant relatives have decided to show up unannounced during lunchtime. He finishes his mouthful and stretches familiar, fur-covered fingers to scratch where a swarm of flies tickle exposed black skin. You smile in agreement: the flies are a nuisance.

Powerful camera shutters rapidly fire off shots around you producing an effect highly evocative of an automatic weapon, but thankfully not. You immediately feel grateful for the fact that cameras have not only allowed humanity to gain perspective on the world around itself, but also capture life’s beauty without having to maim or kill it.

The imposing, passively hospitable gorilla in repose is Nshongi, the head silverback of the Nshongi gorilla family. After a few minutes, Nshongi decides to relocate a bit further up the hill. Moments later, he’s replaced by Bweza, a younger silverback and potential contender for family dominance. A much stronger and more physically vigilant male, Bweza remains nearby on all fours and observes you through firm eyes. He conveys a knowing look that you’re infringing on his privacy, yet takes this fact in stride. After studying you for a good minute longer in close range, he climbs his way further up the hill as well. Not to be surpassed, replacing both males on center stage is the eldest female, Bwiruka, mother to many of the younger Nshongi family members. She’s small, but her presence is commanding. She looks you in the eye only once, but it’s an acute glance coupled with what appears to be a perceptive smirk. She finds the best path to get beyond the audience and sits near Nshongi to enjoy leaves. There are a few others; you quietly observe them all.

A guide points to a tree further up the mountainside where three juvenile gorillas climb amongst the branches. You follow him as he hacks through the overgrown slope to get within a few meters of the tree base. As if aware of this performance-worthy opportunity, all three gorillas descend from the tree one-by-one and show off their distinct personalities. The closing act belongs to Mureba, who glances back at you, beats the side of the tree trunk a few times like a drum, playfully glides down his wooden slide, and rather ungracefully (but endearingly) sticks his landing in the bush on his round backside. He regains his ground and scampers off to reunite with playmates.

In between scenes, you and your fellow human witnesses glance at each other with bright eyes full of wonder at this incredible presence unfolding before you. Time stands still, but it also passes swiftly. Before long, visiting hours are over.

Your departing descent takes you through the same freshly cut trails used for entry. The eldest in your group incurs an ankle twist and is carried forth by porters. Flies swarm during a short lunch break and the normally bothersome buzzing takes a backseat to the satisfaction you feel within. You find yourself taking in more of the details around you – flowers, insects, scarred pink quartz, and symmetrical ferns. More traversing takes you to a place where elephants just crossed with their young. Your group momentarily retreats so as not to irritate this other majestic creature of the jungle.

Two more hours fly by and you’re standing in the same banda from which you initially departed. Sincere thanks are given to the guides and porters as your rite of passage is commemorated with the symbolic group photo.

Leaving the park, you pass back through the local village in a state of awe. You stop to meet a few local craftspeople and purchase a carved gorilla mask before carrying onward. A happy bunch of children join your walk, enthusiastically practicing their English. Hello! You partake in a proper exchange of smiling salutations before waving farewell to them at your turnoff. Goodbye!

It’s on this quiet path where you return to the thought that you just reunited with your not-so-distant animal kingdom relatives. Genetically closer than horses to mules, gorillas share 98-99% DNA with your species. These cousins are naturally shy, intelligent, emotional, peaceful vegetarians who defend their loved ones if provoked and can communicate through sign language. They sound like the model friend. Yet only about 700 mountain gorillas remain in the world. They’re critically endangered. Their biggest threat? You. Humans, leaving them only a pocket of protected land in a small corner of East Africa, have successfully destroyed most of their population and habitat. Even now, the habitat is highly strained by encroachment, as a very dense and poor human population surrounds it on all sides. These neighbors are still dependent on subsistence agriculture and as far as the eye can see, most adjacent land has been cleared to the ground for terrace farming. Change comes slowly. Disturbingly, this story isn’t unique. In fact, you’re watching it play itself out across the globe.

You think more about what this means to you while acknowledging a vexing human tendency to not only fear what you don’t understand, but to devalue it if immediate personal gain isn’t recognized. Throughout time, under the influence of culture, creed, greed, and fear, you’ve fought to separate and elevate yourselves from the rest of life on earth as well as yourselves. With the aid of evolution, you’ve determinedly ascended to the position of ultimate technotool-bearing apex predator. This is an undeniably significant phenomenon. Yet you mustn’t lose sight of the fact that you’re more similar than different from life around you. And your actions produce very real results. You could choose to ignore these facts, but at what cost to you and everything around you, now and in the future? It’s possible an evolution of perspective could be the key to enlightenment of your powerful species.

So what is your fate, you ask? Perhaps your supreme purpose and entitlement is to be the visionary guardians of this fragile planet and all of its inhabitants. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. They’re depending on you. You’re depending on you. If not you, who?

Back at camp, wrapped in the thick blanket of night, you face the fire and stars from your seat deep within the heart of the jungle. Later, you wonder what all of your family members are dreaming about as you peacefully drift off to sleep. Your dreams are rich with unforgettable imagery…

Tue, 15 May 2012 18:14:00 -0400

“If we walk far enough,” says Dorothy, “we...

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 03:43:00 -0400

“If we walk far enough,” says Dorothy, “we shall sometime come to someplace.”

―L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Audio

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 03:42:00 -0400

Photo

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 13:41:00 -0400

Audio

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 00:00:00 -0400

paRADise :)

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:13:00 -0400

paRADise :)

RAD :)

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:06:00 -0400

RAD :)

‘OK, okay,’ you think and say now move a space look...

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 06:59:00 -0500

‘OK, okay,’

you think and say

now move a space

look back in place

a dance with time

hard to define

not foe, a friend

advance, don’t end

but/no order!

but/no borders!

a dream, a rhyme

a race, a mime

it heals, sublime

in thyme, in time.

‘I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this...

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 05:37:00 -0500

‘I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,’ said Alice a little timidly: `but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.’

`Explain all that,’ said the Mock Turtle.

`No, no! The adventures first,’ said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: `explanations take such a dreadful time.’

—Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

Where have you been? Where have you been? Pay...

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 20:06:00 -0500

Where have you been?

Pay attention:

You’ve been

awake and finally dreaming

again.