10 October 2008

+ Washington, 1912. +



"Edward Beale McLean with Mrs. McLean." Edward (Ned) would become publisher of the Washington Post; his wife, the mining heiress Evalyn Walsh McLean, was the last private owner of the Hope Diamond. Their tempestuous union would be the fodder for countless headlines leading up to their divorce in 1929.

09 October 2008

+ i'm just gonna pretend i'm her, and she's me +

+ "you were not to blame for" +

when "in rainbows" came out, i was slowly disintegrating into a angry thing yearning to escape in any way i could.
not to say that i am so much different in the way that i felt then, but -- something tells me that i am.
however, nothing changes when i hear this song again.
some innate something in it's lyrics, in york's voice, just SOMETHING about what it is, pulled at me in a way i didn't want it to.
in case you're not one of the million who have already stumbled on this creation, take a good look.

Radiohead - Reckoner - by Clement Picon

07 October 2008

+ here's to copy & pasting! +



GOOGLE'S MAIL GOGGLES PREVENTS DRUNK EMAILING
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Google released a useful new Gmail feature yesterday in its labs, which could help prevent the intoxicated from sending embarrassing late-night emails they might regret in the morning.

When activated, the program will force a user to solve a series of math problems before allowing any message to be sent.

They are not terribly difficult, but do serve as an extra line of defense in what can be a very dangerous habit.

The service is set by default to kick in only on weekend nights, but you can change the settings to apply whenever.

As for drunk dialing and texting, you’re still on your own.


+ + + + + + +

considering the crazy people i know kick back their last drink at 5:45am on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, this MIGHT just come in handy.
although, i'm pretty certain they all are fairly decent at their times-tables.
oh well.
way to go again, google.

06 October 2008

+ art meandering proves so fine +



+ i want to be surrounded +


for miles.
and miles.
until the end reaches even further.
land laying calm.
serpent souls infesting
soiled grounds.
and he
is next to me.
i never knew
i'd ever want to leave the city.
or that the woods
hold much more spectacle
than the LA nights
could even
aspire to.
Photobucket

03 October 2008

+ "In my beginning is my end." +

T.S. Eliot also said, “Let's not be narrow, nasty, and negative.”
It is a sad, sorry time we live in.
Where every corner turns is someone weeping and wanting for the things that have no substance; that hold no great truth for who they are or who they once dreamed they could be.
How has such a life, so many lives, been wasted into the soils of such a grand place?
Or, what was once labeled as grandiose.
And even then, why is this such a negative term?
Were we not taught to have these overbearing, daunting, other-worldly ideas of the maxims our skins could stretch to?
What of the miracles that happened long ago?

“Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”

Just because a man no longer is seen walking on the waters through pure belief…just because he cannot touch a leper and have his skin smoothe over to angel’s dust…
Blindness is an affectation that is frightening. But, isn’t it a gift as well?
Sometimes I wonder how things could be if only I didn’t have to look at them.
More than my body or a lover’s face, or the way dust blows smoothly across the concrete walls.
To FOCUS, and fill myself with the ways of life that I am ignoring.
That EVERYONE is ignoring.

We must collapse.
It is all that is left.
Neutral sunshine is embracing our pupils and wiping away the power to take any sort of action.

I’m not any more frightened to stare straight into the sun, than I am to swim in a frigid lake at 4 o’clock on a first snowfall morning.
Even though I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing the latter; I would do it if I had brought myself there.

The end is here….scratching your backs and letting you all fall into the well.
And, oh! How satisfied they are…with their chiseled faces and golden fingers.
What fools.

“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.”