Then news arrived

its sheer implausibility chased me across the forest like some hateful spirit. without a sense of 'where to' till my legs gave way. wilderness beyond which nothing. anesthetized by the countless spears of the tiny grass soldiers under my person, i fell. quiet. i prayed desperately for loss of sensation. i am made to subside. Nothing to do, then, but. bide. my. time. closed eyelids did nothing to help. dragging me--by the hair-- back to that nauseating

the chaos within.

i see the big silver sun, is n't. like drops. collected in leaves, like orbs of wet dew, merely warmed by the sun; and not sun herself. she is a million glimmering mirrors instead. web of leaflets overhead. grateful. deeper into the grass, begging for numbness. an insignificant lapse of time. my skull was tightening. the insides of my face an oven. blink. 

The image persists long after. The sun was a million glimmering mirrors instead. Komorebi, the  hardly-accurately-translatable Japanese phrase comes to mind even as the very glimmering orbs of dew swell then well in my eyes. When I let my eyelids fall some break ranks and charge toward the countless spears of the tiny grass soldiers under my person. Pain that tastes like salt is the worst one of them all.

Legs for Trouble

Late at a friend's, with all that Red

Goodnight kisses. Forehead stroking in absentia. 

Awake in the quietest room.
The party outside are breathing their last.

The raging inside my head will spill out of my ears.

*rinnnnng*

Jump out of my skin.
System Updates

bloodshot eyes spot me: glued

*crickets*
make sure we're okay?
I don't like the rapids!
Must. Not. Stop.

But the light begins to ebb and flow. 

Then my rubbish track record comes to mind.

My thoughts have now clotted entirely.

I roll over to cozy up, but I go and meet ice.
This has been my night.

Enough to ruin eagerly anticipated brunch?
Yes
But
sangria

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 :)

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 lyk dis now. Finger -snap and everything. I love it. Listen! You also talk lyk dis and tell me you nah lyk ih.

• I can't keep in touch for nuts. But I love you guys. Honestly. 

That's all for now.

PS: The magazine that every stylish dog should read

#gottaloveDoge

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.