Friday, August 1, 2014

Design Nerds, hola!

Everyday is inspiration for design nerds.
Today I woke up feeling calm, yet with this strange buzz.
I put on the most oriental colours I own and floated around the house for a bit (my day off) and halted near the shelf where I stash my paint brushes and watercolours.

At that very moment, if you sliced open my mind and spilled the viscera on a sheet, this is exactly what it would look like:


However, since these two fish here are already part of a commissioned artwork of Christy Freeman's, I decided to google around for more inspiration to paint when I stumbled upon this piece of art:



My frenzied brain was awash with wave after wave of excitement at the detail on this one - the scales - WOW. The barbels and mouth deserve a hat tip.
Further reading revealed 'Moneygami' was indeed the bomb, and this artist - Won Park - has created more such delightful works of art using world currency.


Wicked skills! And yet we are barely getting to the cool part:

This cool idea was lapped up by a design studio in Seattle and used for the rebranding of a payment technology and software providing firm. Such a stunning idea.
Gotta love design! Speaking of it, Behance.net is rapidly becoming one of my favourite places on the worldwide web to check out the work of vizcom artists. It's a treat for the eyes.

Parting shot today - it's an installation idea found on the web:


Colour + transparent string + a third dimension = absolute WOW.

Stay inspired :)

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Things I meant to say

...but couldn't quite:
  • You there, creepy Twitter follower. Will you climb out of my ass? And stop being the ONLY person favourite-ing every damned tweet. Gaaaah! #sheriffonspeeddial Also whats up with all these bots.
  • Hallo, random Indian man on street. Your instinctive+unsupressable itch to offer parking advice to a car pulling over, with a woman behind wheel - yeah, fucking KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS. And fuck you. Twice.
  • I like to talk like dem African-American people do. Finger -snap and everything. I love it. Actually I love speaking in all sorts of accents that aren't my own. I listen and study and practice - a lot. I'm not weird at all.
  • I can't keep in touch for nuts. But I love you guys. Honestly. Many miss. Wow. Such feels.
That's all for now.
PS: Latest issue of the magazine that every stylish dog should read
#gottaloveDoge

PPS: Hey if you are on the web and bored as fuck (seeing as they are never mutually exclusive, I feel sorry for you) however, here's a place you can go and add some *awesome* to your day! Follow the link and keep jamming that pink box for interactive websites as they've been described.
Now some of the said sites work better on mobile browsing and for some you might just need the mouse.

Ok bored soul, go have a blast!
You're welcome.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Finding our feet

These long and awful days at the plant are protracting still.
9 pm and I am just about done for the day.

Me, my mild OCD and my wife - we live without complaints in our 900 square foot flat that smells of incense
and earthy, vegetarian fare on most days.
Neat, tidy.

"I'm home."
A tall glass of orange-y Tang.
A few moments of unfamiliar silence while you nervously flit from room to room.

You gesture me to follow while I relive a strange anecdote starring my boss.
You are discreet as you arrange strewn-about things the particular way I wish them to be - distracting me with animated facial expressions for every twist in the tale I'm telling you.

I'm careful not to let my eyes follow your hands and what it is they are doing.
You're encouraged; you know your diversions are working.

You smooth out the sheets and fold our blanket when it's your turn to engage me in a wide-eyed narration of the day's events.

The items of clothing that hang suicidally from your shoulder tell me you've just picked 'em up off the floor and other places. Into the machine they go - out of sight and mind.

You're relieved when you look at me - you're beaming.
How well you know me, darling.
Yes, absolutely nothing is out of place to tick me off today.
Not a thing to point out to you... yet I notice...

The blades of every ceiling fan in the house,
presently spinning to a halt, in concert,
even as I nod away, at your exploits in the supermarket.

Empty bottles stashed by the water purifier.
All emptied out, then left unattended
till mere moments ago.

Flyaway paper bits, scribbled notes, print-outs
- your academic pursuits -
peeking from underneath today's daily.

Two turkey towels shoved hastily,
still damp from your late shower,
into the guest room cupboard.

How well I know you, my beloved.
You are disarray, come alive.
You are chaos, in the flesh.
Yet you are the yin to my yang and you're making me better.
And how I thank you, for trying so sincerely.
So tirelessly.

I'll fill these eight empty bottles and continue talking... dissolve that guilt on your face with more accounts of my coworkers... dissolve some of my own, while at it.
I'll leave your notes untouched, like I never saw them.
As for your towels, I hope you will find a less weird hiding place next time.


Well done, Times Of India! [slow clap]

I wanted to get to the sports page. Yup. That's ALL I wanted. But, no. Not before making a forced stop at a gaudy jewellery store first! 

This ad should come with a warning for the photosensitive. I have softened the blow for your benefit.


My eyyyyyes!

Late post.
Ooops I did it again? *sheepish*


Friday, April 11, 2014

Vignette

The haze of brown that I was not really looking at thus far, slid all of a sudden into focus. Before my eyes, a tacky frame, crammed with fake croton plants. My entire being ached to remain in the bittersweetness of the reverie playing in my head.
I let my eyelids fall.



Yellow rain.
Tens of thousands of tiny yellow leaves. Dried out... yet soft when they fall on your face.
A long stretch of street, dotted with houses the kind that are not occupied for most parts of the year but look tremendously inviting.
Sparing a mason in the distance, the street is dead.

Muffled sounds of barely intelligible words. Two voices; arbitrary excited cries. In progress, a game of 'catch me, won't you?'. 
Much running, dodging and the sweaty foreheads of lovers, far too much in love.
Alas, their last day together.

Two young, absolutely clueless kids. Scruffy.
With leaflets in their hair like yellow snowflakes.
He was always too quick for her. 
So, with the winner of the contest now declared, they sit down. 
He takes her hand and puts it to his burning forehead. 
She puts on a great show of courage and pats his arm. 
Wordlessly, they mourn their togetherness.

A brief passage of time before they are up and facing each other.
Walking away without looking back even once was agreed upon after much rational "talk".
Seemed doable at the time. 

The parting shot: sign language for "All systems go" and a couple of brave smiles.

When, after a bit, he couldn't hear her footfalls anymore - he ran his hands desperately over his mismatched clothes for something she may have forgotten or left behind on his person... 
Zilch.
And there she was, walking cheerlessly, like a child who had let the heartless wind snatch her favourite coloured balloon away.
She bawled as she sat in a tuk-tuk. She covered her entire face in her scarf and bawled loudly. The unbearable noise of the vehicle was drowning out every last one of her cries of protest.
For reasons he couldn't understand he felt angry. It wasn't the ground that was shaking beneath his running shoes. He knew it was him. 
She wouldn't hear him now even if he bellowed.
She never once could.

It was over for these two.
Because life is cruel and fate is...well... such.

***

I open my eyes I and I see the constituents of the fake garden - the pride of my workplace - are all but a blur. I look down at my notepad and with an uncontrolled immediacy, two large teardrops crash onto the graffiti and splash against my elbows that extend all the way to my forehead - my moist fingertips quivering against my rapidly pulsing temples.
Tear-free, my eyes see clearly once more.

Autumn, again.
How many years has it been?

I need coffee.

Bad, pantry coffee. The sugar content, its only plus.
16 floors above the ground, I meditate on an idea. A powerful one that, at best, has you wishing for a time machine; and at its worst, chips away at you from the inside, out.
The weak paper cup I had been sipping coffee out of, had left a stain beneath.
With the blunt end of the pencil I compulsively carry everywhere, I tortured that bulging ringlet of coffee at the base of my cup into spelling out a word

NOSTALGIA