Ways with words
I sold my soul for something gold
Yet I still long for that something
Out in the woods
In the expanse of the seas
In the middle of the day and night
Where could it possibly be?
Out on my own
Short on luck
Yet I walk.
Yet I walk.
The only time
The only time that I could ever give is mine
For my own, most of the time
It aint right.
Underneath the sands of home
I feel alone
In constant repair
Of an un-fixable state of the head
Its always on my mind.
And I could only give my time.
There are so many things that we want, need, to do and change out there in the world, but we keep on putting it off because we think we are not equipped or supplied enough for it. But I believe we can make something of what we have.
So, with this, we ask:
What’s in Your Hand?
As someone who works with his hands for a living and makes art and all that junk, I learned to appreciate how the option to literally do anything I would like to do is available to me. All because these things happened to be attached to my arms and because Art exists.
I love you, hands. and Art. Art hands.
Also: I shaved my head.
I know, I only colorcorrected, edited the shadow settings and added a few little details to the original image. But that’s not the point.
I wanted to show how little editing can give a picture a whole new perspective.
The happy, old couple sitting on the bench watching the sun going down - now they are looking straight at the end of the world (?) and get dazzled by the spotlight of an extraterrestrial ship.
A whole new scenery.
Original picture by jameschororos
When was super depressed, I wasn’t working—I was always too depressed. Hemingway did his best work when he didn’t drink, then he drank himself to death and blew his head off with a shotgun. Someone asked John Cheever, “What’d you learn from Hemingway?” and he said “I learned not to blow my head off with a shotgun.” I remember going to the Michigan poetry festival, meeting Etheridge Knight there and Robert Creeley. Creeley was so drunk—he was reading and he only had one eye, of course, and had to hold his book like two inches from his face using his one good eye. But you look at somebody like George Saunders—I think he’s the best short story writer in English alive—that’s somebody who tries very hard to live a sane, alert life.
You’re present when you’re not drinking a fifth of Jack Daniel’s every day. It’s probably better for your writing career, you know? I think being tortured as a virtue is a kind of antiquated sense of what it is to be an artist."
In an interview with The Fix, Mary Karr debunks the toxic mythology that it is necessary to be damaged in order to be creative. My own vehement defiance to that mythology is what led me to choose Ray Bradbury – the ultimate epitome of creating from joy rather than suffering – as the subject of my contribution to The New York Times’ The Lives They Lived.
Pair with Karr on why writers write.
I dread this myself, though I don’t really do all that much of actual drawing these days…
Saving Sally (Indie Filipino Animated FIlm)
Please do pass this along. Thanks!
Out of Sight
This is just amazing.
19 Mar 2013 / 0 notes
i really want to learn the piano. it’s funny how i picture the song ideas i have nowadays in a piano-driven way. there should be some sort of invention that translates your ideas into a finished product so there won’t be any problem if you lose those ideas the next day. but that’s just me being lazy. :)) i shall learn it. i will!
10 Mar 2013 / 0 notes