The Sensuous

"The animate earth – this moody terrain that we experience differently in anger and in joy, in grief and in love – is both the soil in which all our sciences are rooted and the rich humus into which their results ultimately return, whether as nutrients or as poisons. Our spontaneous experience of the world, charged with subjective, emotional, and intuitive content, remains the vital and dark ground of all our objectivity."

t show you what was inside but it was even sweeter #valentines #imaluckylady

Wallpaper --Sri Yantra

Happy ((Belated)) Birthday Week, Dolly!

Stop and Smell The Roses

Everything is coming out roses. Or it can if you want it to. Newly filling the air of the world beauty market is a Perfume Candy that will give your taste-buds extra sweet internal attention, while your externals attract and receive the same. Inspired by ongoing oral fixations with floral-flavored confections, addictions to that which can perform double-duty, olfactive affairs with the timeless scent of the geranium flower (a Victorian-era obsession), and modern perfume's most notorious confidant: the rose. And more specifically, the scent of the rose, the Bulgarian company Deo created a candy that will (post-consumption) leave you smelling like a walk in the garden. How does this all work? The candy contains the ingredient Gerniol, a chemical that after ingestion, and most importantly, the lack of digestion, emits itself (and in this case in a blossoming, aromatic sort of way) out of your pores. I admit I am tempted to try it. Who doesn't to eat their candy and smell like it too?! 

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the days of our mastadon/dillinger escape plan/red fang tour-lives are presently trickling out of their swollen ampoules through slimming glass necks, pouring the past straight into the future. 

and while there will be plenty merriment to salt the last two days with, i can't help but be sprinkled with a little sadness.

Schulz

My mind today -and in recent days flocking behind me- 

has been fixated on and simultaneously carried away

by the words of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz.

Schulz was an artist, painter and illustrator whose work combined an evocative, poetic 

mix of autobiographical and fantastical elements bursting with life and imagination even in the dampened, lifeless grayness of the shadows and the typically mundane. 

“Can you understand,' asked my father, 'the deep meaning of that weakness, that passion for colored tissue, for papier-mache, for distemper, for oakum and sawdust? This is,' he continued with a pained smile, 'the proof of our love for matter as such, for its fluffiness or porosity, for its unique mystical consistency. Demiurge, that great master and artist, made matter invisible, made it disappear under the surface of life. We, on the contrary, love its creaking, its resistance, its clumsiness. We like to see behind each gesture, behind each move, its inertia, its heavy effort, its bearlike awkwardness.” 

I have officially fallen prey to the entrancement of his brood, 

still lingering in precious printed nests and digital dens.

(if you've grown acquiescent you will continue on behind these words)

Schulz

My mind today -and in recent days flocking behind me- 

has been fixated on and simultaneously carried away

by the words of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz.

Schulz was an artist, painter and illustrator whose work combined an evocative, poetic 

mix of autobiographical and fantastical elements bursting with life and imagination even in the dampened, 

lifeless grayness of the shadows and the typically mundane. 

"As we manipulate everyday words, we forget that they are fragments of ancient and eternal stories, that we are building our houses with broken pieces of sculptures and ruined statues of gods as the barbarians did. "

I have officially fallen prey to the entrancement of his brood, 

still lingering in precious printed nests and digital dens.

“Can you understand,' asked my father, 'the deep meaning of that weakness, that passion for colored tissue, for papier-mache, for distemper, for oakum and sawdust? This is,' he continued with a pained smile, 'the proof of our love for matter as such, for its fluffiness or porosity, for its unique mystical consistency. Demiurge, that great master and artist, made matter invisible, made it disappear under the surface of life. We, on the contrary, love its creaking, its resistance, its clumsiness. 

We like to see behind each gesture, behind each move, its inertia, its heavy effort, its bearlike awkwardness.” 

_________

(if you've grown acquiescent you will continue on behind these words)

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While today is a good day to be thankful and celebrate the blessings in your life with the sharing of an autumnal feast of warm delights, tradition and love, be sure to pay your respects and remember the falsehoods tied to the actual inception of this 'holiday'. Take a minute to remember those who lost their lives and land pre the 1637 declaration of "Thanksgiving Day"; Who suffered at the hands of the pilgrims. There will be a time where this day becomes solely a day of gratitude and stops being intertwined with the myths of the union of the indigenous people of America and that of religious dissidents of England that moved in on their land, and took a lot of their 'blessings' away. 

Lunartic

Yesterday, as my night moved methodicaly past midnight into the early-morning witching hours before dawn, I noticed the swelling of the moon in the inky Denver sky. As the breath of myself, and my company, filled the cold air, my thoughts flipped through files as I tried to recall the given identity of this particular full moon that I once read about in the pages of a book on Pagan ritual. Full moons are known to various Pagans, Native Americans and various cultures around the globe by their epithet. The November moon's most commonly known in the Northern Hemisphere as The Beaver Moon, The Frost Moon or The Hunter's Moon. Each name bestowed is indicative of what happenings are unfolding during the month as the seasonal progressions continue, and for the conjoining intentions set by the tribes that turned to these moons, these measures of calendric time, for guidance. In addition, and for centuries expanding continents, it has been thought that the time of the full moon is a time to work on your own growth, personal and spirutal lessons and enlightment. In other words it is an excellent time to set intentions. As I type with still-cold, stiffened fingers from the air filling the city of Omaha Nebraska, and think what November means in terms of fall slowly growing colder to meet winter, and the preparation of most to build and collect materials for warmth, I set protective intentions for myself and those I love. Protection from the 'cold' that could try to sweep in and seemingly freeze one's personal/spirtual/creative (and so on) evolution. I set these intentions with a deep inhale and a soft howling exhale at the moon. I suggest you should too.

Occupy My Mind

I am currently on tour with Mastodon / Dillinger Escape Plan / Red Fang. Occupying cities throughout the U.S. and Canadialand. ||||||||||| At blast off I started filling boxes with galactical dust, incandescent ideas, illustrious inspiration, extractions, ephemera and euphoric-renderings. I hope to adorn myself and others with what becomes of these cosmic collections post-tour. Until then I work with what I have, dreaming night into day of metallic geometrics under winter-white warmth and black, patterned interwoven fabric danier --forty three percent and more. Triangles and squares beneath daybreak spiked with color circling hips and falling like feather-light streams, and glowing embers, to the floor. Headdresses that would please the likes of Cleopatra to Clara Bow. I have been cloaked in mostly black, a precious rose-gold planchette hanging around my neck and dust from the days and cities anterior to the one my fingers are currently tracing maps on. The season is rolling by hiding its characteristic-charm, seemingly every other day, leaving me in a perpetual (day to state to city to state) state of weather submittance ::: tights on // tights off, but always smiling. As we head deeper into the U.S., I can feel that winter is creeping in with the time-zone transitions. It does make tucked-in, radiating home  call a little louder (even amidst a stellar time out here). Thankfully I have thickly-spun cozy cotton hoods, layers of black beefy blankets, tea-lit tight spaces breathing warmth, body heat, L O V E and photo inspiration like this to keep me warm.