Dream.

Last night I had a dream that the world was flooding again. A deep yet bright blue of water came in through my living room, yellow rays of light piercing through the flood so I could see the furniture lifting off. Cream couch like wet dog. Slow motion probably like what surfing is like.
And then I saw in my dream's eye view Niagara Falls, the last hole of air on Earth filling up like a clogged sink and then silence fell as the waters settled and nothing was alive and God broke his promise and there won't be rainbows in heaven.
I looked down at the Earth: a shimmering, dying glass marble that God scooped up and placed in his pocket. We were all home. A man of his word.

B)

A friend of mine brought to my attention that a picture from SamSamland has been posted on the blog, Look At This Fucking Hipster. 

I don't really like the term "hipster," but I see that the flow of "Look At This Fucking Indie" doesn't work, so I can appreciate that. I also am not sure of the tone of the "Fucking" in the title. Does it take  more of a "fucking awesome" or "fucking ass hole" tone? Either is flattering.

I am concerned about those that cut themselves from the cloth of the hip. Cookie Cutter People that go to bed at night only knowing this about themselves: they'll wake up listening to vinyl, trimming their beard, being sexually ambiguous, drinking second rate beer, buying trinkets at thrift stores, taking awful pictures and dating girls that look just like them but that are less angsty. I understand that I am maybe one of those people, but I can't help that I love Helvetica and Fleet Foxes.

These activities may have stemmed originally from actual, honest pleasure that was experienced through them, but they have since created a sort of depraved kitsch seen in Zooey Deschanel films. 

My image that was posted on LATFH was part of a series of images purposed as a critique of the same elitist culture of kitsch that they now sit next to. And I love it.
LATFH has a book that is sold in Urban Outfitters. That's like Tyler Durden selling the rich their asses in luxury soaps.
I can appreciate that. Because white people love irony.

From this very post you can derive your own perception of me. I'm not guaranteeing it's wrong, but I'm giving you two options to make it easier:

A) I am so indie that I don't even realize it and that very act of humbleness only makes me more of a character from a Wes Anderson film. 

Exhaust.

The internet is only a nicely framed mirror that points right back to us and shows the lineaments of our loneliness.

Sheldon is the best ever.

Dear friend Sheldon Sensenig created this video for me as a surprise because he is the greatest. Dang.

Don't Wear Black to My Funeral (2)

It's an Iron & Wine morning.

When I die, place me
In an earthen cradle

Dug deep
Atop some sunny hill

And in my mouth

Place the seed of a great oak

And I will grow taller than mountains

With your rain in my veins.

The Meal of Grace

How do I take the cup?

How do I eat the bread?

There must be something I can do

To deserve it and receive it

Into my inmost parts.

Yet I hear that whisper,

"All is grace

And all is grace

And all is grace,

Amen."

Phila Trip

This past week, I was in Philadelphia for the first time. I made the trip because I had a ticket to see the fantastic Arcade Fire live in concert. Instead of going for the concert and turning my car around, I decided to spend a few days exploring the city with now good friend, Carrie. I say that she is now a good friend because before this trip, Carrie and I knew one another through mutual friends and had never actually hung out together. It was awesome to discover something new with someone new. The car ride out was a great time to get to know one another, seeing as I don't have a sound system in my car...or air conditioning.

After a lovely dinner with two good friends in Feasterville, Carrie and I headed to Manayunk where we would be staying with friends. We spent the next two days exploring the city--thrift store shopping, South Street exploring, and of course, the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I have so many new inspirations after the few hours that we spent in the museum, but it was outside of the museum, on the buildings throughout South Street, Philadelphia that brought the most inspiration.

The mosaic art of Isaiah Zagar covers alleways and abandoned city lots throughout South Street. One area in particular cemented my reflections on this amazing public art. In one alleyway, Carrie and I bgan talking about the two parallel mosaics that we were standing in between. Each of the mosaics had parts of mirrors one of the materials, which created a sort of endless continuim of mosaic. Not only this, but the participant becomes part of the art through his or her reflection upon the mirrors.

The participant becomes the center of the artwork by standing in the center. I found this important because of the quote Zagar employed in most of his works "Art is the center of the real world." The orbiting, circular patterns in the mosaic mimic this idea, as does the participant standing in the center of the alleyway. In this way, the participant becomes the center of the real world, the art world, which backs up Zagar's idea that the viewer should decide the meaning of the piece.

Zagar's public art is brilliant in its ability to give whimsy to the urban sprawl. He gives the meaning of his pieces up for public opinion, allowing for true escape.