Wednesday, September 28, 2011
❝ There are no real boundaries, atomic or other, between self and not-self; it is all heat and intention. A ripple expands, becomes multi-dimensionally sensate, sprouts amoeboid rivulets, vibrates in feelers across a room, anastomoses through a house and out walls, then radiates with growing confidence beyond the city like a psychic octopus, an octoblob extending fractal arms along each tendril to a tingly pod, traveling, reaching, always following sensation, always in touch, across the stars and into their worlds. What initially felt like a faint fluctuating trickle or a muffled pulse becomes exponentially more penetrating than a radio telescope, more precise than a cyclotron, stickier than electromagnetism and more seminal than an atomic bomb. On Earth we have not begun to tap sentient potential. ❞
-Richard Grossinger
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Anne Wardrope Brigman
In 1869, Anne Wardrope Brigman along with her family of 8 lived on the then remote island of Honolulu, to which they moved on a Missionary quest. When Anne was 16 her family returned to the States where Anne married a sea captain, whom she accompanied on countless adventures across the seven seas. It is rumoured that it was on one of those long voyages that she fell and injured herself to the extent of having to remove one of her breasts. Gypsy slippers tired and worn, she eventually settled in San Francisco to bequeath her knowledge and skill to the ever expanding, local bohemian community. She kept company with people such as Jack London and naturalistic poet, Charles Keeler.
Anne was not one to merely bask in the presence of greatness so she pursued her own interest in photography. She joined the Photo-Secession movement, adopting their radical perception that photography must not be restricted to portray reality alone but should rather reflect the inner vision of the photographer. Through photography she defied social norms by placing naked women in wild scenic landscapes in possess reminiscent of pagan rituals.
Images by Baerer and A Polar Bear's Tale
Monday, September 5, 2011
e.e cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands |
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