Bored on Father's day

I had some free time this morning and decided to take one of my favorite quotes and paste it on some polaroid-ish picture. Kundera is the man.

Poetry?

Totally written in a Richard Brautigan style.

Not sure if I really like this or not, but I'll throw it up here just because it' s been so long.

Noise

What happened to whispers? 

Slight permutations in the air,

imperceptible syllables dripping 

off of lips,

words hiding in the spaces between 

you

                           and

 me.

Movement

Things are nice when they tumble and twirl and rise and fall. Bags in the wind playing catch with the skyline. Leaves making miniature cyclones in secluded parking lots. Smoke rising from a cigarette on a stark cold night.

It’s a reminder of motion, fluidity, change. Evidence that things don’t stay static for long. 

food is just a metaphor for connections with people.

Infatuation is a strange feeling. It’s kind of like when you eat something amazing, spectacular, something that makes you want to stuff your mouth full of this wonderful food for the entirety of your lifetime. 

So you go to the stores and raid the shelves.

You buy this dream food, this glorious substance, this impeccable cookery. And you gorge yourself with it whenever you can. Snack time. Dinner time. Lunch time. Breakfast at 5 in the morning. You want it forever, you want it now, you can eat this delicious sustenance until your stomach bursts and your insides spill out all this magnificent food.

And then it stops.

It’s not a sudden stop. It’s a chugging, slow, sort of diminishing slow down. Eventually the cereal you thought was a ladder to nirvana is more a footstool to just being full. The texture is no longer  overflowing your senses, blocking and deflecting all other feelings and emotions. It’s just there to keep you to the next meal.  Maybe the next time you’ll reach for something different in the refrigerator. Maybe this will be your path to ultimate edible transcendence.

It’s an oscillating effect. A nice smooth sine wave from the crest to the trough and back again. 

You’re habituated with the food from knowing. With relationships you’re jaded from commonplace. 

This isn’t a bad emotional state. Up and down, maniacally interested, and back to normalization. The rush of feelings gets to you. It tears you apart and leaves you feeling exhausted and grinning.

And you’re living. Eating and enjoying Loving and moving. Taking it one smooth slope to the other. It’s nice.

Dumpster Inspiration

I found a vegetarian Buddhist (Buddhist vegetarian?) cookbook in a dumpster the other day.

It's not a regular cookbook, though. It encourages experimentation, discovery, creation, and stumbling into great ideas. The book itself says it better than I can.

This is a book to help you actually cook-- a cooking book. The recipes are not for you to follow, they are for you to create, invent, test.
It explains things you need to know, and things to watch out for. There are plenty of things left for you to discover, learn, stumble upon

Blessings.
You're on your own.
Together with everything.

Pretty life-encompassing for a cookbook.

There's nothing better than inspiration in unexpected places.

Stephen!

The Road Not Taken

This is probably my favorite spoken word performance of this poem ever.

Click!

Is it bad that it's an advertisement?

Stephen!

The Butterfly Effect

To contradict (and then support) Stephen's post, I'll say this.

As Steve said, the universe is massive. A baseball feild is gigantic to a seven-year-old, I think being able to play a show at Chicago's The Metro is fucking huge, but seven year olds and I share something, we have not been everywhere and seen everything. Just one planet away is too far away for Mankind to reach. Think of the greatest people you've ever known or heard of. Of all the astounding, momentus achievements they have under their collective belts, not one could even THINK of touching the sands of Mars.

But I digress. There is a thing called the Butterfly Effect. As an offshoot of the Chaos Theory, it states a tiny change can set off a massive reaction at a later time, encapsuled in the statement which is the gust created from a butterfly's wing flap can divert the course of a tornado on the other side of the globe.

Does this mean then, that no matter how big and intimidating the universe is, everything we do or make has a profound effect on the unyeilding cosmos? Yes, absolutely it's possible. The force of every key I hit could be causing planets to crumble in other solar systems billions of light years away.

Does this mean we matter? Not really. Even if this chaos theory is correct, we can't control what we're doing, and there's no proof either way that we're right. So we know we're creating ripples, who cares? It doesn't effect us. And if you believe in existentialism, than these galaxies that we may be creating or destroying don't even exist!


I'll leave you with this quote from one of my favorite books ever. Not a book actually, a graphic novel, and for anyone who's read it, the fact that Rorschach said this will give away the title.

"Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet move under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in the night. Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existance is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach."

It's Watchmen by the way. Go read it, it's astounding.

Love, 

Dustin