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Joan Miró. The Birth of the World. 1925.

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Last Night At The Jetty Dreams that we once had. Did we have them anyway? Seems that we once had. Now we'll have them all the time. Didn't we Didn't we Didn't we have a good time? I know we I know we I know we had a real time. Now, who could say we're Not just as we were? No one could deny my mind. I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I don't want to describe something that I'm not. I don't want to hide the thoughts that I have. I want to enjoy what's meant to enjoy. I tried to? the search to employ. Say what you whish, And I don't really? I know I could not go. Even if I? You have your ways. I have my ways. We have our ways. And I'll call you my friend And I'll call you my friend And I'll call you my friend And I'll call you my friend And I'll call you my Dreamed that I once had. Did I have it anyway? Seems that I once had. Now I'll have it all the time. Didn't I Didn't I Didn't I have a good time? I know I I know I I know I had a real time Now, who could say I'm not just as I was. No one could deny my mind.

Panda Bear

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Took a Flintstone pill Pantry uphill Curtain child within My teens, our dreams Ride through Hyrule fields Roaming, scuffing Mileage on my bike breezing The freedom I enjoyed through flames I owe it Mother and bygones Remember Days that gave me aim So I can feel the same I don’t know about your love I don’t know about your past Things I did have brought me shame, And pride Alas, I don’t know about your past

Men I Trust “SORBITOL”

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NAMASTE

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Take a Look around:

This is closer to reality, but not exactly so. In the Earth incarnation we have lost sight of whom and what we are. We have got so entangled in the game that we have forgotten where we came from and have started associating our sense of self with the personality. In humanity we have become defined by our physical selves, our bodies, our minds, our emotions. We think we are our thoughts. We do not remember…we do not remember that from the oneness we created this planet and the planes. We are the creators, and our mission is to detach from all the chains we imposed upon ourselves and create a bridge to the infinite self. Journey back to where we started.

Ana Rangel Gerry O'Malley

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I honestly wish I could believe that things will end perfectly with one big bright happy ending. But these last few days have taught me that life isn't made up of shiny moments. Life is hard; it's gritty. One day you are filled with joy and the next, you are crawling through the muddy trenches with no inkling of when you might be able to climb your way back up again.

Rebecca Gober, Exposing ELE

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AE-A-003

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The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order, a timetable not necessarily - perhaps not possibly - chronological. The time as we know it subjectively is often the chronology that stories and novels follow: it is the continuous thread of revelation.

Eudora Welty, On Writing

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Berenice Abbott, 1958

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The idea of being forgotten is terrifying. I fear not just that I, personally, will be forgotten but that we are all doomed to being forgotten; that the sum of life is ultimately nothing; that we experience joy and disappointment and aches and delights and loss, make our little mark on the world, and then we vanish, and the mark is erased, and it is as if we never existed. If you gaze into that bleakness even for a moment, the sum of life becomes null and void, because if nothing lasts nothing matters. Everything we experience unfolds without a pattern, and life is just a baffling occurrence, a scattering of notes with no melody. But if something you learn or observe or imagine can be set down and saved, and if you can see your life reflected in previous lives, and can imagine it reflected in subsequent ones, you can begin to discover order and harmony. You know that you are a part of a larger story that has shape and purpose—a tangible, familiar past and a constantly refreshed future. We are all whispering in a tin can on a string, but we are heard, so we whisper the message into the next tin can and the next string. Writing a book is an act of sheer defiance. It is a declaration that you believe in the persistence of memory.

Susan Orlean

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Fading

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A calling will become clearer when you take the first step. You may not know where it will take you, but to start a journey, all you need to do is to find the right path.

R.E.Johnson, The Gift of Evïr

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The Journey

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None of your knowledge, your reading, your connections will be of any use here: two legs suffice, and big eyes to see with. Walk alone, across mountains or through forests. You are nobody to the hills or the thick boughs heavy with greenery. You are no longer a role, or a status, not even an individual, but a body, a body that feels sharp stones on the paths, the caress of long grass and the freshness of the wind. When you walk, the world has neither present nor future: nothing but the cycle of mornings and evenings. Always the same thing to do all day: walk. But the walker who marvels while walking (the blue of the rocks in a July evening light, the silvery green of olive leaves at noon, the violet morning hills) has no past, no plans, no experience. He has within him the eternal child. While walking I am but a simple gaze.

Frédéric Gros, A Philosophy of Walking