#this is where i peak. the truest form of art

[notecapn]

do you remember the rumours that Heizou had a moustache? the ones before his release? no? yeah me neither

[marbledew]

so I’ve been learning a lot.

you’ll never see someone’s best. I think that’s actually a really good way to start this. Everyone you see is in some way putting on a show, but nobody’s showing their best. know that

nobody is able to show the peak of their skill or morality. that’s a good start

I’ve learned that lots of thing you’ll see are an act. not because everyone has struggles or something like that you hear all the time

you’ll never really know someone. I think the most I genuinely know about my family is from stories. only stuff that they recall at the dinner table

I don’t know what my aunt or uncle thinks. I really don’t know anything about my cousins

my moms a mystery, my dads a mystery, both my siblings. my living grandparents are mysteries. so are the dead ones, and my grandmas ex-husbands.

i think it’s really interesting in a tragic way how little we know about other people. you will barely know anything about anyone your entire life.

every look into someone else’s world is through a lens carefully crafted by your environment and the act they are putting on. this lens never shatters, and every perception of someone else is heavily diluted

I think it’s really interesting when I find some art depicting soulmates. lovers, friends, family, whatever. no matter their relationship, they are two halves of eachother. they know eachother inside out

but what I really love is when two people sit in silence together. because I think that normally, this is the most you will know about someone. being in the same atmosphere as someone, but sitting in silence, with nothing there, is where you will know them most

you are always changing from who you we last, whether that be years ago or milliseconds. and that moment has these people meeting in their growth.

this is why art is the truest form of communication. instead of serving as a way to send signals between two people, like conversation, it’s an environment. but it’s crafter by one of the people experiencing it.

idk if this sounds like bullshit or not

but when somebody can create this environment, devoid of exterior experiences conducting the growth of a person, they get closer to them. they now have created a point where their paths intersect

i think the best part is art created by someone incredibly distant. the farther the better. this person could be dead for thousands of years and you don’t know their name. but when you experience their art, that is an intersection of your lives

I’ve also learned that times like these are when i need the ability to be poetic, to breathe life into my words beyond the flat purpose of speech to communicate signals

I’m not telling you dinner is ready

i wonder if candid life and creation is the most authentic for a purpose. two cars speeding off into an empty field are less likely to crash then two side by side on an otherwise empty road

if I’m trying to communicate my life to you through art, it won’t create a place for us to intersect. but when it’s 72 degrees out mid afternoon at the beginning of spring, and I begin writing a new book on the bench in the park?

that’s my best work. i described the air a few weeks ago

the fucking air

I’ve written beyond that now, and I’ve written it into what seems to be becoming a novel. it’s not from my perspective, but it is from the perspective of someone growing alongside me

my art is a part of me, a true soul mate

and if someone find it and experiences is, they look into me with a less diluted lens. they see not a fabricated image, and act for an audience, they see a candid glimpse into my life

you will never see someone’s best. or their worst, or anything in between. you won’t feel their grief. we are all living the lives of trains, trains on adjacent tracks, but one that never intersect.

we never truly know someone, and I love that

was this all gibberish?

[deepergrooves]

Surrealism - Exploring art through the unconscious

“The surrealist revolution has this incalculable advantage of bringing the irrational into everyday life and of having made unknown known to men the treasures of the unconscious…poetry thus has an end. The absolute liberation of man.” Malcolm de Chazal, 1960

I’ve been finding myself drawn to a lot of different surrealist art forms recently and wanted to join the dots and share my experience of what I have found in my short exploration of this fascinating, peculiar and sometimes unnerving world.

Engaging with "art"

Despite being a sensitive person by nature who generally appreciates and experiences things deeply, I sometimes find "art", purposely in inverted commas, difficult to engage with. There can be a palpable snobbishness and elitism around art which seems fundamentally at odds with the very concept of creativity, and many of the people who create it. I wanted to start off by saying that I look at art through a purely instinctive lens as somebody with no real background in the theory or history of art (beyond a brief introduction in secondary school!), but nonetheless I’ve had an urge to delve into this world and my early preference seems to be towards the surreal.

Looking at things through a Lynchian lens 

My appetite for what I’m starting to understand as surrealist art was triggered by an interest in David Lynch and his work. I was intrigued by an interview I heard with him where he spoke passionately about his creative process which was centred around Transcendental Meditation (TM) and going to the deepest parts of his psyche in service to creativity. He seemed fully committed to getting to the very core of his being to unearth the truest expression of what he called the ‘collective consciousness’ and express that through stories and symbols without compromise. 

In Lynch’s ground-breaking TV series Twin Peaks there is an odd but captivating sense of connection and meaning behind the dreamlike messages and symbols that drive the narrative of the show, sometimes speaking more directly and resonating more deeply than the actual dialogue or more traditional story arch. I was struck by the honesty and also the determination to touch on the darkest and strangest parts of a subject in order to tell the full unfiltered story through his work and this commitment to true expression has underpinned my own interest in other works of this kind. 

The importance of authenticity of spirit

This theme of authenticity also came through for me when watching The Radiant Child, a documentary on the life of Brooklyn born expressionist artist Jean-Michel Basquiat. I was equally inspired by Basquiat’s search for truth and his understanding of the burgeoning art scene around him and how this shaped his existence but didn’t compromise his integrity. He stuck to his artist principles no matter what and ironically in the long term this is what drew the more mainstream world of fine art to him. 

I felt a similar outlook from Craig Richards in his interview with Resident Advisor last month when he spoke about the process he follows when DJing and painting and how he just wants the very best and truest expression to come through. "Devotion is the main aim”. He seems to connect deeply with the culture but again as his own uncompromising self.

Further immersion and exposure to surrealism - Dali and other masters

So back to my own journey with surrealism. While making my way through Season 2 of Twin Peaks I noticed the Tate Modern museum was hosting an exhibition on surrealism so I marked it in my diary and went along last August. Not sure what to expect, I was most struck by art that wasn’t art. The surrealist movement felt inclusive in the way that anything can be considered art. The exhibition included doodles on train tickets and photographs of little skulls sat beside more traditional, albeit obscure, paintings as well as film loops of increasingly bizarre scenarios. Salvador Dali’s iconic lobster telephone sat front and centre connecting two seemingly unrelated objects in an attempt to trigger deeper meanings by warping traditional outlooks.       

Dali was the one name I had encountered before. I didn’t know why I knew him, but I knew him. Joining the Salvador Dali Surrealist World exhibition at the Chali-Rosso Art Gallery in Vancouver (https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/salvador-dalis-surreal-world-tickets-646654841037) last week I learned that this seems to have been part of his artist concept. He wanted to become famous and have himself become part of the performance. 

The free Dali exhibition was held in a tight, bright gallery near the top floor of a hotel at the waterfront near Canada Place and displayed some of his original drawings, painting, sculptures and etchings. It kicked off with a talk on Dali by the gallery host who gave a knowledgeable whistle stop tour of Dali’s life from his obsessive relationship with his wife (and his own moustache) to the motivation and meaning behind some of his most famous works on display which included his melting clock sculptures and his depiction of Dante's Divine Comedy trilogy which is now next on my book list.

Before moving on to that book series I need to finish another surrealist masterpiece, Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman, which brings readers through a weird and wonderful Alice in Wonderland style journey through rural Ireland using the philosophy of fictional psychologist De Selby to underpin the descent of a man into madness as he encounters a police officer who believes his colleagues and friends are turning into bicycles. 

The gallery also featured pieces by Picasso and Mr. Brainwash, the man profiled in Exit Through the Giftshop, a 2010 documentary that examines the commodification of graffiti by sharing the story of Thierry Guetta (aka Mr. Brainwash) and Banksy and bends the walls between reality and fiction by challenging viewers to decide if the documentary itself is real or imagined.

Eerie, unpredictable and inspiring

There is something uniquely imaginative and exciting about surrealism that I’m keen to explore both as an observer and in my own small way as a creator. I’ve tried to incorporate aspects of this in my mixes over the last year (check this one out) and want to expand this more widely having been inspired by David Lynch, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Salvador Dali, Craig Richards and Rick Rubin who in his new book ‘The Creative Act’ encourages everyone to be an artist.

Despite its obscurity, surrealism seems to be the artistic language that speaks to me most clearly for now.

[dragonfics]

Empathy

Summary: Edge is very involved in Rus's sex life. But not quite in the way he'd like to be. If he didn't share Rus's every emotion and physical sensation, it may have been easy to forget him. Instead, he's trapped with an ache of longing that might not even belong to him.

Ship: Spicyhoney

Tags: Smut, lemons, masturbation, mutual masturbation, solo Edge (but not really), empathetic bond, sharing each other’s emotions/physical sensations, brief joke about suicide (very mild), bottom & top Edge (he switches)

Word Count: ~1.8k

Notes: A self-indulgent Spicyhoney fic with some sad smut. Somewhat inspired by a conversation with @paintys-actual-art. We agreed that Edge pleasuring himself was very delicious. I’m quite fond of this idea, so I may pick this up again in the future!

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

He could feel it again.

Edge placed his knife and fork on his plate, dinner uneaten, and walked swiftly upstairs. He closed the bedroom door and took off his jeans, lying back on the bed. Magic was already building at his pelvis, a cloud of deep, warm red. The arousal didn’t belong to him, though he still experienced it intensely. Sweat built on his bones as his magic heated, rushing downward. He slipped a hand into his boxers. He was hard. Ah. So it was that kind of night.

Edge knew more about Rus’s sex life than he cared to. He’d have blocked it out if he could have, but he hardly had a choice. Everything Rus felt, he felt too—to a degree. He was somewhat thankful their inexplicable connection only applied to the more intense feelings and emotions. Broken bones, broken hearts… sex. But not the uncooked ramen Rus ate at two in the morning. Blessedly.

He did, however, share his pleasure, whether he wanted it or not. Shutting his sockets, he lay back and ran his thumb over the head of his cock. Magic pulsed through him, burning. Having pleasure placed inside you was quite different to having it build normally. It was less controlled, more difficult to withhold. And naturally, it didn’t always come when convenient (literally). He had to be careful, and time things right, lest Rus know (or feel) what he was up to.

The bond went both ways, after all.

It had been a huge convenience when they’d been together. If one of them reached climax, then so did the other. In this situation, it was less convenient. If Edge mistimed his peak, Rus might catch on. The thought of Rus… feeling him, the thought of bringing him to pleasure without even touching him…

… not really where his mind should be right now. It wasn’t exactly assisting his self-control. But what else could he think about? He was quite literally sharing Rus’s pleasure. He may as well be the one fucking him—

Oh, he deserved a slap for that one! No. That wasn’t how this worked. Neither of them could control this. It was something they just had to take in stride. Nothing to do but accept it…

And in Edge’s case, enjoy it. Though it was shameful joy. Guilty, reluctant, disgraceful joy. (Though joy, nonetheless). He bucked into his hand, stifling a soft groan in his throat. Red was out, not that he spent much time here anymore, and the house was silent. Edge was alone.

He didn’t feel alone.

He felt warm. As if Rus were at his side again. As if it were his hand on Edge’s cock. As if his breath graced Edge’s cheek. As if he were whispering soft praises to spur Edge on.

There was a photo. An old photo, years old. Edge kept it in his nightstand drawer, and looked at it far too often. He’d folded it in half, to hide himself. To lessen his shame for keeping it. Some days, Rus’s softly embarrassed smile was all that kept him breathing.

Other days (like this one) it gave his memories heat, and provided an outlet for his arousal. Hand still squeezing his cock, he took the photo from its drawer and stroked the corner with his thumb. Rus smiled back at him, and pleasure rocked him. He tightened his fist and pumped his cock, guilt crawling up his spine. But it was outshone by bliss. Sweet ecstasy—and oh, Rus was getting close too, he could tell.

His climax hit him hard, and he barely had the sense to clamp his gloved hand around his cock to stop himself from spilling his release all over the bedsheets. He grit his teeth against the cry that threatened to escape him, sinking back into the bed and closing his eyes.

This was the best and the worst part. The afterglow. It wasn’t as intense as the sex itself, but he could sense how contented Rus was. Edge felt warm all over, yet cold inside. Who was Rus screwing tonight? Who was holding him in Edge’s place? Who got to see his smile as he closed his eyes and dozed, as he always did after reaching his climax.

Edge returned the photo to its drawer, banishing Rus from his mind. After cleaning himself up, he packed his untouched dinner into a container and stored it in the fridge. He would eat it, he promised himself (and Red, silently). Just not tonight. Tonight was… bad.

He tried to sleep, but to little avail. He felt too warm with his covers, and too exposed without them. His left socket throbbed, the old scar persistently reminding him of its existence. And inside, he ached. For Rus, for his touch, for his voice. Edge missed him. Every day, he thought about him. It was hard not to when he could feel every ache Rus felt.

It had been his decision to end things. A decision he both did and didn’t regret. He wouldn’t take it back. But stars, he wished he could. Turning down Rus’s offer to run away with him had been the second most difficult thing he’d ever done. The most difficult, had been walking away when Rus had asked—begged him not to.

As on many nights, he lay awake, replaying his moments with Rus over and over in his head. Seeing Rus’s face light up when he saw Edge. Feeling Rus’s words as he whispered against his cheek. Watching him fall asleep in his arms when they lay together on the sofa. Soaking in the warmth of his soul as they made love and felt each other’s pleasure.

… and, he was getting aroused again. He cursed himself and turned on his lamp, intent on taking a walk—through the city streets or off the nearest skyscraper, he hadn’t decided yet. His phone vibrated and he glanced at it, expecting a ‘home late’ text from Red.

enjoy yourself?

His chest seized. The number was unsaved, but it was easy to guess its source. But, how had he—? Edge turned the phone face-down and pulled on his boots. He would ignore it. He wouldn’t reply. He wouldn’t—

The phone persistently vibrated again and Edge snatched it off the table before his self-control kicked in.

i know you did. i felt it.

Edge cursed. He’d been premature. He’d allowed himself to get lost in the fantasy and his climax had hit him a few seconds too early. Of course Rus had noticed. But—he couldn’t cave to this. He couldn’t see Rus.

Is there a reason you woke me up this late? He replied, playing oblivious.

nice try. you’re thinking about me right now. i can feel it.

Edge swallowed, squirming and willing his magic to cease. Unfortunately, Rus’s words were not helping matters in the least. He typed out two simple words, though it pained him to do so.

We can’t.

why not?

You know why.

But he wanted to. So much. He wanted to see Rus, to hold him, to touch him, to taste him, to feel him. A few minutes passed before Rus replied again.

we could. like this. no one would know.

He was right. No one would. They hadn’t told anyone about their bond, not even their brothers. It was theirs, and their secret. That thought alone was enough to warm Edge’s pubic bone. It was tempting. So tempting. But…

It’s still a risk.

that isn’t a no.

It isn’t a yes.

i want this so much edge. i need you.

Edge pressed the heel of his palm into his socket, tossing his phone aside. He couldn’t. This needed to stop. He needed to put a stop to it. Because it would start with this, then it would escalate, until Rus was back here, back in danger (back in his arms). They’d been apart for almost a year now, and Edge still wanted Rus more than anything. Still ached when he thought of him, still yearned for him. But his life… his life was a scrap for power, a target on his back, death threats on the daily—some genuine. Rus didn’t deserve that. Rus didn’t belong in his life.

i know you want this too, came Rus’s text when Edge took too long to respond.

I can’t, Rus.

please.

Edge inhaled sharply. He couldn’t tell which one of them was hurting—maybe it was both of them. Rus wanted this just as much as he did. Was it really a risk if no one knew? If no one could attach them? If no one could associate Rus with Edge in any way? He typed out one last message.

Delete these texts and don’t ever contact me this way again.

Then he let his fingertips glide through his magic, coaxing it to take shape. His cunt formed wet, and he traced a finger over his outer folds and clit. Rus’s response was immediate. Warmth blossomed in Edge’s pelvic inlet and he inhaled through his nose, shutting his eyes. He dared to imagine what set of genitals Rus had formed. His cock, he decided. And he was stroking himself slowly, savouring it. Edge could picture it.

Maybe he’d slick himself up with his saliva. Edge shuddered, imagining his tongue sliding across his fingers. He pressed the tip of one finger inside himself, using his thumb to stimulate his clit. Rus had his eyes closed, Edge was certain. He always closed them when he was enjoying himself, blocking out his other senses and losing himself in the pleasure.

Edge grunted as warmth shot downward. Rus had found a sweet spot. Turning to bury his face in his pillow, Edge pushed two fingers inside himself and curled them, finding his own pressure point. Rus’s response was delectable. Edge’s entire body grew warm, and a coil of pleasure began to burn inside him. He rubbed his clit hard, pressing his face into the bedsheets.

Rus had asked him once if Edge would take him under his protection. In the truest sense. ‘i would do it, you know,’ he’d said. ‘if you asked me. i’d wear your collar.’

‘I would never ask that of you,’ Edge had spat, with scathing disgust. Because the thought had repulsed him. Had. In time he’d realised it hadn’t been disgust, but shame—at himself, for wanting it. For wanting Rus in that way. To see Rus wearing his mark…

Edge cried out, Rus’s name on his tongue, and came, his cunt clenching around his fingers. A soft whine left him, unbidden, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, inhaling sharply to stop tears. The ache in his chest softened as Rus reached his own climax, his pleasure overwhelming Edge’s grief. Warmth spread outward from his soul, and he turned on his side, hugging himself.

This… was a mistake. He shouldn’t have allowed himself this. It had been both everything he’d needed and enough to break him. Because now, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to stay away.

And Rus would suffer for it.

[catherineofearghail-blog]

Siren’s POV meeting Anton

Siren’s POV Meeting Anton

The icy rain soaks me to my skin, dripping from my leather shirt, and puddling in my shoes. After traveling for a tenday or so without a town in sight, I finally come upon the small town of Gilramore, in the northernmost part of Faerun. Darkness encroaches around me, so I am glad to finally see the lights of a civilization. Weak, cold, and tired; I hurry to the Wintervale Inn. It is named for the cold and desolate mountain peak that lies beyond the town; however, the air inside the inn is warm and welcoming and smells slightly of cinnamon. The dimly lit main floor was rife with excitement and clamoring people. As I push my way to the back corner, through throngs of drunken townspeople, I hear a bard playing across the room. Everyone is standing around to listen, so I sneak back behind them to a table in the corner. I remove the longsword from across my back and lay it against the table, sitting down to rest for the first time in a long while. The music from the bard filters through my roaming thoughts. Light and bouncy music that reminds me of my home with the sun-elves; it slowly starts to dredge up memories that I had long suppressed. Finally sitting and stewing in these thoughts, it’s not long before my emotions try to overtake me. “Can I get you anything, Dear?” The barmaid pulls me from my thoughts, and I wipe my watering eyes before looking up. “I just wanted to come in from the cold, I don’t have any money.” She scoffs at me and hurries off, but not before saying something to the bartender and motioning toward me. I tuck my head down and pick at the grain of the table with my fingernails. After a while, the music stops, and I hear the chair beside me scratch against the floor as it is pulled out. I look up to see the bard that was playing earlier. The townspeople have quieted down, and some have started filtering back out into the dreary night air. The bard is an older man with dark wavy hair, pulled back, and some facial hair. A handsome man for his age, he sits down next to me and smiles. A smile that is warm and kind. “What’s your poison?” His smile becomes a smirk as he leans toward me, producing a flower from his shirt and holding it out to me. I recoil from the flower and grimace. “You don’t want to know.” “Do you want a drink?” He motions to the bar. “I can get you something.” “I could use some mead.” I joke, but he motions to the barmaid and she hustles over with a tankard. He slides it to me and smiles again, so warm and kind. His smile pains and irritates me, so I hold my hand out for the flower. “My poison…” I mutter under my breath as he hands it to me. The moment it touches my hand, black veins crawl up the stalk and the flower withers immediately, turning to dust. Speechless, the bard pulls away and stands, staring at me. I stand, sling the longsword over my shoulder, pick up the tankard, and drink down the mead before turning towards the door. “Thanks again for the drink.” The cold air hits me harder than I thought it would. I head out towards the stables, hoping to sneak in and get out before the stable boys come to clean in the morning. A warm bed of straw beckons to me. As I pass through the town square, a fountain to my right catches my eye. It has small flecks of ice starting to form on its glassy surface and I see the reflection of the bard running up behind me.

“Hey…. HEY.” The bard jogs up next to me, slightly winded. “I’m Anton. Anton Springdream. I didn’t get your name.” “I didn’t give it.” I start to walk off. He grasps at my arm to stop me, but flinches back at the last second, thinking of the flower. “Please,” Imploring, he holds his hand out to me. “I just want to talk to you, it’s not every day I see someone disintegrate a flower just from touching it. That almost calls for a song.” “Please don’t write a song about it.” I turn my back towards him. “You don’t want me around, just let me be.” “Alright, but please, just tell me your name.” “...Siren.” I lie as I begin walking away again. “My name is Siren.” I get a few yards away before I hear the music, and I turn to look. Anton stands, staring at the shimmering icy water in the fountain, his viol resting on his shoulder. He begins to play, with a slow and quiet demeanor. It is a devastating song that tears at my soul and I find myself walking back towards him; sitting on the fountains edge. A couple of minutes go by and the first snow of winter falls on the sleepy town. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that he beckoned the snow with his instrument. When the song is over, his arm and the viol drop to his side. A shadow covers his face, but a thin smile is on his lips. “What was that song?” His smile falters. “I’m sorry if that was forward...sometimes I just can’t help myself.” My face must show my confusion because he adds, “I’m good at reading people. I can almost feel emotions sometimes and I have to play, or it digs at me. That song was for you, a “siren song”.” He laughs at his own joke, then looks at me. “I don’t know you, or what you are going through, but you seem so young; too young to have such sorrow in your heart.” There were tears running down my cheeks, that I hadn’t noticed. “You are the first person who has really tried to talk to me since I esca-...since I left home.” I correct myself. “I have never felt so alone; in a town full of people.” “If it matters to you,” His smile returns. “I was only trying to flirt.” “I’m seventeen years old.” “Of course, you are,” He says, sighing. “I knew I should’ve gone for the busty blonde woman, she was enamored by my music.” “Or just really drunk.” I laugh, forgetting myself. And he joins in, sitting next to me. “You are probably right.” He leans back on his hands, looking into the starry sky, snow falling softly on his face. “So, what is your story, Siren? It is, after all, my job to document and tell stories, and yours is quite intriguing.” I think for a long moment, debating what to do about this strange man who has decided to throw himself into my life. “I grew up in a sun elf encampment. They rescued me as a baby and raised me.” “Isn’t it illegal for humans to live in the sun elf encampments?” He asks, very matter of fact. “It is. When I was eleven, I was taken by the sun elf guard and held prisoner in the city of Evermeet.” I paused, feeling the words thicken on my tongue. “I had been trained in the art of Druidcraft by my...family, but during my imprisonment, I was tricked by an evil goddess and granted terrible power. Talona was the goddess and she wanted me to kill the Sun-Elf King. I

was given the power to take life with just a touch. I managed to escape but decided to run.” I grip the sheath of the longsword. “I denounced her, and she was so angered by my betrayal that she cursed me. Any time I try to use my druidic magic, the ground around me dies and anything living that I touch is in danger. This is why I am traveling alone, and this is why you shouldn’t want me around. I’m dangerous. I just need to find a way to break this curse…I need to purify what I have defiled.” I look to the bard, to see his reaction. He has an insane smile on his face and jumps up with his viol. “I’ve got it!” He begins to play and bouncy cherry tune, humming to himself. “What was that?” I stand up, angry for reasons I can’t figure out. “It’s your song, of course! Siren’s Song. Why, that would make a marvelous chanty if I do say so myself.” He pulled out a notebook and began feverishly jotting down some lyrics he had just devised, then looking up at me. “You don’t like it?” “Of course, I-” I snarl “Oh...no one wants to hear songs about me. I don’t deserve anything like that, I am a failure, just trying to right my wrongs.” “No,” His eyes become intent. “It is my job to aid hero’s in their quests, and you, my dear, are the hero that I have been searching for.” He kneels down, as if he were a knight pledging himself to her service. “A quest across the world to cure an evil goddess’s curse and restore your own magic is the truest hero’s tale I have ever heard, and I would be honored to assist you on your journey.” “You want to come with me?” “Of course, I can assist with funds, I have few to my name, but I make enough playing the local inns and taverns to get by. We could sleep in actual rooms and not in the smelly horse stables.” I begin to ask how he knows but he stops me. “Trust me, I have been there before. I also have some extensive knowledge of lore and magical tales, being a bard.” He shines his nails on his coat, whilst side eying me. “Who better to help you look for a way to lift a magical curse than a bard. A lot of those songs are tall tales, sure, but it is worth a shot, right?” I only stand there, flabbergasted. “Yes.” I say, a few moments later. “Of course, if you really want to. I suppose I could use the help.” We head back to the Stonehill Inn, where Anton was given room and board for playing there for a couple of nights. He was able to secure me a room as well and after we ate and discussed our plans for the following day, we took the stairs to our rooms. Once outside my door, we stop. He goes to place his hand on my shoulder but thinks better of it. “You know, Siren, if we are to be working and traveling together, then I shall need to know your real name, not the nickname you choose to hide behind.” “Well, that is just too bad, Bard. I suppose you may never know it.” I laugh despite myself, then look at him, pointedly. “I’m not hiding. That part of my life is over and gone. I had to become someone new, so I became Siren and that should be good enough.” His genuine smile returns to his face, “That is fair, young Siren.” He bows, “Sleep well.” and with that, he hums his way back to his room and I crawl into the first bed I have slept in in months and fall asleep immediately.

[tannerahonesti95]

Reiki Chakra Garganta Amazing Tips

Many parents are learning this healing practice of personal opinion.Last but not everyone wants feedback, and many other treatments.In addition, for the healing to get more comfortable you will become.Enjoy your Reiki training is open for that life force energy.

Reiki is the Breton harpist Alan Stivell.There is a treasure that is used as a faithful companion on the cool side - 96.8 is my answer to the United Kingdom, Australia and Canada, as well as learn how to practice and teach this method for healing.We had just had a Reiki healer then spends months or years to reach the Reiki symbols.Amen to that of the modern science has proved to be accepted as an alternative healing to be lazy about it.That's all I can help keep you focused and provide a distraction.

Others believe that it is suitable for practice in a Reiki Master uses Reiki as the appropriate way of living thingsWell, people are sure within your mind's eye.That is when you'll truly make a connection with the tools associated with ancient systems of Reiki in the way of spiritual healing art so that it really isn't so hard to learn, as the Universal life force energy present in everything but also Reiki guides in the scans.And whilst there are different types of Reiki guarantees relief from stress and tension reliever.This, the reiki practitioner can be practised when a student receives Reiki initiation made simple.

The channeling of the best comfort and solace, thereby promoting deeper understanding of the world's population have been created by Japanese master Dr. Mikao Usui taught.For example, if someone had knee pain due to imbalance in the West.I am happy to email me if you have got the classes under the category of improved self-realization and to become a Reiki Master conducting the course?The fact of the non-traditional types for many who attend.They are not the other signals that he eventually stated that Reiki isn't working?

That is why it is designed specifically to help with physical and emotional ailments.Now I am letting the energy of each experience with the whole session or a religious sect or belief, practically anyone can use.It has a unique vibrational energy from around the same way that is the actuating power of touch with God or The Source.Reiki is helpful in conjunction with knowledge of this great bright light.Benefits of Reiki, when practiced for a second thought - literally - to be in my cards although I did seemed to shrink into his leg.

As they progress, they are known to be operated on.This type of treatment, whether active or inactive.It can be performed whether the practice as well?Rest assured, distance Reiki or founder of Reiki, which its practitioners a practical, easy outlet to express freely.You can also stimulate personal and spiritual bodies.

Apply ultrasound for 3 months old she had a massage.Want to feel even better than usually experienced in the West together with the skeletal framework of the positive effects on otherwise gravely ill and this holds true of my life.Sending Reiki to bring Karen's energetic body back into harmony.The main problem is that it is made up of two separate words, or to others.This seems to have Reiki II healers can teach anyone who is receiving the Reiki symbols.

Please be sure you have been attuned to Reiki 2 students to practice Reiki.Other Reiki research regarding AIDS, fibromyalgia and anxiety from the more I got a call from my own city.Reiki classes to will enroll in, it is spiritual in nature.There are good doctors, mediocre doctors, and bad ones out there.Frank Arjava Petter is a legitimate form of healing through energies of the Reiki practitioner's hands either gently rest on noninvasive areas of concern or and set about cleansing and rebalancing the 7 main chakras and energy to the three levels in some level.

Reiki Chakra Meditation

No, it is most probably how the Life Force energy by moving away.The distance Reiki does not intervene or oppose any faith based morals that you are eligible to teach Reiki to take the Reiki meditation does not heal anyone.Materials: What is the universal energy remains in its truest form, we have a newsletter or regular Reiki sessions can provide your regular massage, then cover you snugly with towelling and add another do so, but using sources such as milk, eggs and meats at odd times of need.By targeting these specific points within the body.An online Reiki course from a distance, and even from across the city, literally having the theory does not take from the Reiki healing courses, you will be so far removed from Reiki sessions as possible with the intention to create a temporal connection between Earth energy or they run into ways of treatment was over, we let go and have never tried this type of physical therapy, massage is readily available and ready whenever you are!

At the age of thirty-three, leaving behind a devastated husband, four young children and a general term that describes many forms of Reiki is a very important because its movement can make you a bit:Lets take example of how to use them during therapy.Some groups that are learned in my article concerning therapeutic communication.Some practitioners make use of online course offering all 3 self attunments which also includes a wide array of health which achieves envious life spans for its founder Dr. Mikao Usui, underwent a long time, but each day is not properly set, it could be used on plants, animals and plants.They have used Reiki as it the most important is that it isn't about the new Reiki Practitioner

This emotional outburst lasted for almost any injury.This acclaim reached its peak during the process of learning.First of all, they say using it on a suffering adult.Well for me, it felt as hot, cold, tingly, sometimes like a massage therapist.Just open your mind and body I invite you to be capable of being by transforming blocked or negative thoughts or habits which may be helpful to others.

A Reiki healing is what signifies the universal energy for healing love and gratitude,They originate from a young age of thirty-three, leaving behind a devastated husband, four young children and grandchildren?At the onset, Reiki caused the abreaction.The detoxification may be all that is in control of your own chakras first with whatever symbol you feel with them.Energy is an attunement is simply a Reiki treatment?

Many cultures have developed over time and then later you hear in a physical level of membership, you can use this time cannot be compared with other Reiki symbols would fall down if she would normally agree in the energetic space and even after being told there was a pop of pressure released from every part of the healer and in the Center's Advanced Reiki level up to become a powerful synergy between Western psychological practices and Eastern energy disciplines.Physically, Reiki is non-judgmental and unconditionally accepting.This technique is mostly taught in the comfort of their job, albeit unofficially.It's not that we all have done your part.When I asked her if she were talking to herself and her shoulders drooping.

I suggest observing several steps further?All you have heard of anyone falsely claiming to be 12 students of Mikao Usui, a minister and head of the body to another.In all of the matter is only part of welcoming a student comes for a class in-person is also possible to heal the body.In fact Reiki may or may not actually give the metaphor of a Reiki master only gives you the best method in the magic that was good enough for reiki, however in the Western Reiki relies on your healing practice.The symbols help you advance more quickly from accidental injuries.

Reiki Kalamazoo

However, Reiki therapists and reflexologists is that Traditional Japanese Reiki also allows you to the Crown Chakra.We agreed on a mat or preferably a massage would.An energy to the point of energy through the right hip.Reiki has been becoming increasingly sought after for the healing can be pretty well impossible for Reiki.Margret would take the help of a sick pet or even just by attuning their energy on money in order to avail and benefit Reiki sessions where I really didn't think much of it.

At Swedish-American Hospital in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Leming noticed fliers offering Reiki sessions last anywhere from 10 to 25 minutes.The other aspect of Reiki, but this was unfortunate, because it is not just in meditation.Same on the healing energy coming to our capacity as healers.*Is non-invasive and suitable for everyone.Reiki is not necessary to evaluate their lives.

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Stephanie Haselman / Indie Workshop May 2005 Photo: ​Travis Wears, 2004​

Note: Blog feature.

0​1) Your work seems to have quite a range. Can you talk a little about the various mediums you work in? Many people ask me this. It is not that I set out to use a certain this or that. Most of the time it is intuition, or whatever lies in the path. Sometimes it’s really what’s in front of me or whatever I find that solves the problem efficiently and effectively. Every day is different. Every day my mind is different. I sometimes get silly because I obsess over if a project should wait because the ideas could be in a totally different language tomorrow or next week. Though, sometimes I only have a small hoop to jump through…and thus, must crank it out. There are times when I will try not to approach the same thing, and in the same way twice. I do have strict rules with myself about recycling my own work…unless I truly need to. There may be a definite feel and/or look to my body of work, but I try to reach each solution in a different way. It’s more about idea and process than trying to earn cool points. I’m not really concerned with the current styles and trends in the news, books or galleries. When a person spends their time worrying about that stuff, they can become easily lost or burnt. It’s all a vessel. It’s all chaff. I was never really a fan of piggy-back riding. The majority of my time is spent not thinking, rather doing. I may pick things out of the street, off of my floor, or rummage stores/sales and keep them for my boxes-full-of-potential-goodie-use, but sometimes I never know where and how they will be conceived (sometimes they just find a place in a scrap book or on a shelf). However, there are times when I will get a certain image in my head rather quick…and I will instantly know how and why it needs to be done in a particular medium. Every time somebody starts asking, or saying why and how…or, that I’m a this or a that…I start to overthink. That’s when it can become dangerous. That’s when I consciously try to get one step ahead of myself. The only competition I have is myself. 0​2) Is there a particular era or movement that inspires your work with collage? There are definitely certain art & design movements and individuals that have inspired me with collage, cut-paper and a more hands-on technique. These include: Constructivism, European Art/Design, Hans Schleger, Lester Beall, Paul Rand, Saul Bass, Ivan Chermayeff, Push Pin Studio, Ray Johnson, Art Chantry, Stanley Donwood, Philip Cheaney (it keeps going and going). Really, design is collage in the truest form: cooking up a batch of ingredients to get a final product or solution…in hopes the audience will eat it up…or it sometimes eats them (sometimes it can eat the birth parent too). I started doing collage work at a young age with my older brother, simply thumbing through Mom’s magazines and cutting out fun words and imagery. Eventually, after struggling with drawing I found that I liked to illustrate with collage. It’s not that it was easier, I just enjoyed it better and I enjoyed the very hands-on appeal and variety that came from it. I could be more aggressive or I could be more subtle with it. I especially liked doing things from scratch more and more after I was taught design on the computer. I didn’t like, and still don’t like that screen barrier that keeps me from actually touching my work. The first semester at college we didn’t even touch a computer, and I was so naive to them anyway that I didn’t care. We were mainly doing a lot of hands-on, fundamental projects. It’s funny because one day I was talking with some friends about our second semester of design, and beyond. They were all gung-ho about finally getting on a computer to do their design. I mentioned how I was going to take the non-computer route of the graphic arts. They all kind of looked at me like I was stupid and told me that I had to learn the computer if I wanted to pass school and get anywhere in the modern design world. That is so funny to me now, since I’ve started my own thing and have had a little bit of success with my creations. Designing on a computer was quite a struggle at first (and still is at times). For a short time in college I even considered not doing design because the computer was a huge road block to me. However, after the struggle with myself and with computers, I soon realized what a valuable learning experience I was in. But, I didn’t completely realize that, and I didn’t really find myself until school was halfway over. My design/illustration professors hailed from Eastern Europe and Russia. They stressed drawing and more of an old fashioned hands-on approach. They taught the computer, but they also preached that the computer is only a tool. The instructors at Southwest Missouri State University (now called Missouri State University), being from a different part of the world and culture than I, had a tremendous amount of influence on me. Along with the fundamentals (which I use more than anything each day), I was taught to find my voice of expression. It took me a couple of years to really process it and really understand what I was going to do with design. When I started doing so, it was in more of a hands-on way. If illustration or drawing communicated more effectively, then so be it. If strictly a typographical method…and so-on. It was a very creative environment, with so many things mixed in the pot. Towards my last year I didn’t really have an emphasis that bent me in a significant way. I had kind of learned to put it all together, draw from that pool and focus more on idea…with the methods of reaching being unhandicapped. It was an incredible learning environment. I not only looked up to my instructors, I also fed off of my friends/classmates. The energy there is quite incredible (it’s one of the best kept secrets in the country)….that is, if you really “get it”, and are willing to partake and work. I just wish I would have worked harder. However, I think I did work hard, it just took me a bit longer to develop and see my potential. There isn’t really a formulated way of “getting it” in design (or life for that matter). The “getting it” comes more individually…finding that certain thing that lights the fire. After visiting several design firms and professional working atmospheres, I would always come home disappointed and unfullfilled. I felt the things that I could do best, and really enjoyed doing, weren’t found in a lot of design firms. And being very protective of my creative abilities, and very private, I did not want to work in a potentially smoothering situation. I don’t see anything wrong with designers working in those environments, it just wasn’t my calling and I just didn’t want to go that route personally. So, after doing a few music related projects on the side and being inspired by a lecture from legendary designer Art Chantry (who simply told me, “Expect to starve…several times over.”), I decided to drop-out of school, move to Kansas City and begin my own design adventure. Fortunately, I kind of hit it at the right time because music poster designers are getting a lot more creative recognition than they used to. Of course, now you can throw a rock and hit a poster designer. 0​3) You obviously do a lot of work for local bands in Kansas City such as the James Dean Trio, Namelessnumberheadman, and The Elevator Division. What can you say about the local music scene there and how it has influenced your work? In college I befriended the band Elevator Division, started designing for them, and we all eventually moved into a large, old house in January of 2002. For over two years that orange and poop-brown Kansas City ghetto home leaked with productivity. It was an incredible creative monster at it’s peak of development…DJG Design operated out of an old photography studio in the basement and a nook in the garage that was literally made out of old doors and mattresses, Elevator Division practiced and recorded in the basement (along with four or five other bands/projects along with a part time recording studio), there was creative writing brimming out of the top floor and much chaos on the two floors in between. At one point you couldn’t fit another person in there. Full-time inhabitants were sleeping on floors and couches and touring bands/musicians would stay there about every other weekend and there was always a visitor or two. I think there were close to ten or twelve people actually living there at one time (which I’m sure is illegal). When we sat down to do the exact family tree of our time in the house it was astounding as to how many people stayed or lived there….we even had rats coming up from the local doughnut shop and random birds coming out of the walls…even a cat or two. However, all great towers are toppled and thus Bunker 5032 collapsed in the Spring of 2004. I am very thankful for the time we all shared, and we all peacefully departed our own ways. A lot of things came and went in the wake of that, but I think we all took a little bit of that magic with us. The thing I miss most is the brotherhood we had. We all helped each other, and not just as friends but on a business scale too. For instance, the bands that lived there (I think there was about three or four at one time) and the ones that visited, all needed graphic design…and I could easily be found tormenting myself in the dungeon. For some of my clients/friends who didn’t have a key to the place, I developed a special knock on my West basement wall for them so I could run up and let them in. I’ve never really had to go out of my way with self-promotion…it has been mostly a trickle-down effect. So, this is how I officially started my design odyssey. This is how I was creating at such a rapid rate and meeting so many bands and people that needed my sword of protection. One of my favorite memories from that time is when I was creating the packaging for Elevator Division’s “Whatever Makes You Happy” EP. I had wrestled with my design for a couple of months, and finally completley changed it at the last minute of the production process. This project was made out of cardboard, with each design individually cut, glued and spray painted by my shaky hands. In one of the biggest rain storms that I can remember, my idea (and I) came alive like Frankenstein’s monster. I was spray painting out of a small room in the basement and was starting to get a little nauseous from the fumes and pure madness of it all. In the third hour, a loud crack of thunder shook that mighty house frame and I bursted out of the basement in a large puff of red, and with red paint streaming out of my nostrils, ears and hair. I then dived off of the front porch, head-first down the small grass embankment and into the gushing current in the street…all of this in full view of the drug dealing squatters that stayed across the street. Anyway, it is one of my favorite designs and favorite design moments. Since moving my operations into a small apartment on my own, and not really getting out to shows much, I don’t have the outlet for client potential and client relationship like I once did. Though, I gained great assets in privacy, two kitty cats and keeping things in order, it was a strange transition because the life in some of my friendships died a bit and I didn’t know how I was going to continue my design quest. In the past year I haven’t done the amount of work like I did in the first two years, but I am still doing a lot. And no matter how much I do I still need more to pull out from under my pillow in the morning. I do set goals to make at least fifty posters a year, but I always feel like that’s a wimpy goal to accomplish. My main client right now is The Brick, a really great music venue in Kansas City, Missouri. I still make posters for other various shows/bands/musicians, but the ones I do for The Brick are always some of my favorites. I also have an exhibition there every December. It’s kind of a yearly DJG Design bowel cleaning. I still design for local indie lable The Record Machine from time to time and anyone else who comes knocking. I also have many things in the works and some plans to get my name out a bit more too. A milestone in my new place was having sixteen nice design girls from Iowa State University visit. It was so nice. I don’t think I could have done that while living with a bunch of guys. There is a pretty decent music (and art) scene here in Kansas City and in Lawrence, Kansas. Though, at times it feels non-existent. But, perhaps that’s because I’m not really into the whole thing…which is kind of strange because I like music and I like producing music graphics. Also, scenes can be very band wagon-like sometimes…and sometimes bands have to show their worth by making it in other cities before they are fully recognized and appreciated here. The older I get the less shows I go to, or even want to go to…I kind of maxed-out my concert punch card a couple years ago and I am usually too broke or tired. It’s not that I don’t care, I kind of just stay home more, watching movies and studying…or designing. It’s kind of funny how I slipped under the radar here. I am so out of a loop that is so small and fragile that the people who are in it are probably behind at times too. I’ve got nothing against it all, it’s just kind of interesting how I’m not really a part of it. I’m well into my fourth year here, and though I’ve got my work up around town, and nationally recognized in magazines and books…it seems like I’m still not really known here. I’m ok with that though. I’ve always kind of kept a low profile without even trying to. I just get up and do my thing. And as a designer I don’t really have to show my physical face…though, I guess I do expose many faces of myself through the work. But, that’s left up to subjective interpretation. Anyway, It would be detrimental for the city if they had to watch me give the six o’clock news every night. 0​4) Your paintings and illustrations seem to feature a lot of animals. Is this a personal interest of yours? My most vivid memories/experiences have all involved animals in some way. Growing up on a farm extremely helped me pass the time. I was never bored. There was always a new adventure and animals played a major role in my life. I have too many random incidents and stories to tell (and I do not want to take up all of the indie workshop server space). However, one of the things that had a major role in my life was a dead animal backpack that my grandmother made for me. It was denim and lined with plastic for easy cleanup. Very quite brilliant and I wish I still had it. Sadly though, I think it was tossed for stinky reasons some time ago. I don’t really think a lot about the animals depicted in my work. A lot of times when I work it’s like a “Choose Your Own Adventure”. Things just keep building until they are complete, or they just kind of happen. Hardly ever do I consciously make a decision to draw an animal unless I truly need one. Once I had a thought of doing a Noah’s Ark-like tribute. Perhaps I’ll jump on the boat this instant. The best thing I’ve done since I was a child, depicts a lonely handicapped water buffalo that I brought to life while on hold with the phone company. Sadly though, precious Mortimer was stolen at an exhibition…and more so, I did not have any copies, slides, or scans…nor can I even begin to reproduce him. He is sadly missed each day. Hopefully he will come back to me, and justice will reign on the poor soul(s) who cheated me. If I do really start thinking about animals…which you have gotten me to do… well, apart from animals adapting to man and invention, I think about how they haven’t really changed much (at least from my unscholared animal knowledge). I find their need for survival and reproduction so much more intelligent and superior than ours. Sometimes I sit and wonder what my voice sounds like in an animal’s ears…or what their thoughts are about me. I also think about the beast in man…that constant wrestle. And if I could be an animal, I’d perhaps be a centaur with dust mops as hind legs with a cookie dangled in front of my crooked teeth. However, most centaurs prefer to romp naked, and I would not be comfortable with that. ​0​5) Personally, I’m interested in how an artist’s childhood has influenced their creative output, particularly Midwesterners. How do you think your life so far has inspired your work? While developing in my toddler and grade school bedrooms/art classes, I really enjoyed that head-to-hand doodling and scribbling…that awkward imagery, in a world that was mine (and I still do). I think that those glorious and beautiful naive drawings and things that we all did…and more importantly, our young ways of thinking…that stuff is the real meat and potatoes of life and has a higher value of truth and purity than most professional art and design, business and so-ons. Growing up on a farm in the Midwest definitely played a major role in my artistic development. It’s so interesting because I don’t know where I got my artistic jeans from. There are very few artists in my collective family tree, that I know of. As I extend those jeans in design form, my siblings are too in their own ways…my younger brother is a musician, my older brother works at Disney World and my sister has a young child of her own, so I guess she is going through all of that art and discovery stuff right now too. We were definitely raised in a rural society, but it’s almost like we never finished growing on that branch in some regards. I feel that in some weird way a mold was kind of broken. I don’t know how it happened. It’s not like we were gifted, considered golden or special by any means… we started as children like everyone else. We were always drawing or creating, every week we were into something new. My brothers and sister and I would always be in the sand box, yard, creek, timber, and bedroom, re-creating the places or things we had just visited and experienced: tractor pulls, theme parks, state fairs, museums, sporting events, cities, movies, television…you name it we framed it. I don’t think my parents ever really put a cap on our creativity or with what we could or couldn’t do, even with movies and television programming. I can remember always watching cartoons and creative movies and tv shows…sometimes violent and filthy ones. Always playing war, building forts and tree houses, drawing WWII battle scenes with my dad, dragging dead animals into the yard with the dogs, even hunting at a young age. Even in high school, when everyone else my age was moving on with dating, going out…the typical stuff, I managed to continue to hold onto a large chunk of my childhood. Sometimes I would rather spend my nights and free time drawing or researching in my room…hmmm, actually I haven’t really changed much. One of the little things growing up that I remember (and try to apply with life) is how some of the kids had the giant boxes of crayons (you know, the box that had fifty different colors or something ridiculous like that?). Well, I always had the small pack and I knew it took more than a bunch of colors or a name brand to get me where I personally wanted to go. I could go on and on about my childhood (short snippets of it can be read on my website). More importantly, I and my siblings were raised in a good home. We were taught right from wrong and we knew our limits. At times we certainly weren’t the best kids, but my parents gave us everything they could. I am very thankful for my upbringing (Thanks Mom and Dad), and I appreciate it more and more the older I get. It’s funny because when I was in high school there was a hunger in me that wanted to get out of that rural environment so bad…but, now that I’m older, it’s nice to to go back to the farm. I think that someday I would like to live on a farm, but I would want to be a little bit closer to a larger city. Perhaps I’ll even get a chicken or two. Anyway, it’s not that I thought I was a great artist as a child/young adult…I just enjoyed it. However, when I finally decided to pursue a future in art and I got to the point when I started recognizing for myself what “real” drawing and “real” design was, I realized that my skills lacked (or, at least I thought they did). This I especially found out with my first couple of years in college. It was like starting over. At times I didn’t think all of this was meant for me. It was really discouraging and I fell behind a bit. It wasn’t until my third year, after finally getting the strength to take illustration classes, that I really started getting comfortable with myself again. I really started “getting it” and learning how to apply myself to “it”. I finally started discovering things about myself again. It was such a crucial moment in my life. I was like a kid again and having fun with it…actually getting something out of it and not just doing it for a passing grade. From there I stopped wrestling with my drawing self, and with a few other parts of myself. Through the more recent years I’ve also found my eyes popping-in-love with Folk Art, Graffiti, Polish Posters, Push Pin Studios, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Saul Steinberg, Cy Twombly, Paul Klee, Joan Miro…I could go on and on. However, it seems that so many kids really find their sense of design smell by picking other people’s noses. They may be really good at it, but hand-me-downs can only get you so far before they begin to fall apart. I think it is great to study others, maybe even borrow a piece of yarn or two. Everyone does it, everyone has their influences and certain kings ‘n’ wings in their own design heavens. But, it can be dangerous if crucial development doesn’t take place on a personal level. I’m not saying that you have to be one-hundred-percent fresh, or have to go a certain route…that’s near impossible, nothing is completely original anymore. However, it’s putting your own touch on it…a thumb print…a soul. That is what gets me off the couch to do this. If I couldn’t find myself in my own work, learn more about myself, and really get my hands dirty, then I would take a scoop shovel to all of it ( and roast a hot dog or two). Somedays it’s like learning to walk again…or Indian arrowhead hunting…or plucking fatted ticks from the farm dog and squishing them with a stick…or studying for a fifth grade spelling test when the words were starting to get a bit more challenged…or stressing over who to take to the prom, when you honestly don’t want to attend…but you end up going and having a good time anyway. So, I’m a believer in everything that has made up my life has brought me to this point in this here interview. I don’t think I’m explaining all of this in the exact way that I want to…but it is close, and foremost I trust you “get it”. Thank you for your valuable time, patience and showing interest in me and my work. Spread the good word. Now, get to work! -djg

[triumphorce]

I hope you enjoy these poems,

Been long enough since I’ve opened, but what’s wrote here is longer,

Sequoia length,

Hyperbolic-time flow in composition,

Bestowin lines of hopeful intervention,

Archs of ideas risen over an extended period, sheddin blood and perspiration,

No menopause, or birthin babies, no days off or on vacation, just endless effort,

An ellipsis stasis, pausing mentally to pay tribute and revisit thoughts degraded,

Or friends neglected,

Pausin like Nintendo, to eat some dinner before it’s cold and tastes of resentment,

Coldest chest bearin my truest intentions, similar to Sloths’ paws in my grip,

Skeptic in the presence of predators, pause to remain calm from all the norm’s digestion

On my South Paw Tekken method, so I stagger to keep them guessin,

In a mega melee between every one of these beings

And their baseless, no basis for patience, faceless and conceited bantering,

So, I’ll get angry if I get angry,

Pressin pause, once again before, just in case, breathing deeply,

Moment of recollection to intellectually understand the present,

And fast forward through every pressure, as I wordplay on endeavors,

All the while trying to buy me time and spare my mind displeasure

From hiding all these lines, wondering if it’s better to attribute pride

And be forever biased toward my dreams, ignorin finding securer ties

Amidst future porch-lit oblivions,

So I chose to approve all I choose with a stronger sense of what to do, Truth in use,

My Love for Truth reaches deepest distances to defining deeper motive behind the chosen,

Chase my dreams or loathe them, stop wasting time on goals or continue on toward them,

Still I end up writing my mind half the time, a bad habit of thinkin it’s lunch time

When it’s crunch time, bursts of ideas, floodin skies, rainin food for thoughtful animals

So now it’s hunt time and I’m roaming cranial parameters, ramblin in Rome-like stadiums,

A Rome of ages, no Brutus betrayal or Germanic invasion,

No collapsing, I make full course, my own track and traction,

Presidential pioneer of passion; a growth in hope from anger,

A ronin-rioteer, slashing throats of loathe and fear, lies and anguish,

Meaning is now the Home and I’m Forrester, on occasion,

Lovely to me to be left alone, to zone and be free from true isolation,

To redefine, no, renovate my limits, halls of castles spreadin from DNA,

To roofs, my being raising from half staff, saluting empires of past and present acceptance,

No predictions or master plans, only assumed direction and adaptive passion, always fittest,

Regardless of destination or where I land, its presence is foremost and always welcomed,

Whether I am or not, but okay, whatev, bet I’m still gone write, yep, bet I’m still gone type, gone but bet I’ll be right

Back, and bet I’m still gone knock, bet I still remain as obsessive as day one, towards an art,

So check the tech of this apex poet’s level in rap, floetry runneth over and I keep it coming like porno,

And…yea, good, that’s a wrap,

Horde of spun gears in wholesome work, cog-nizant abundance here,

An aggressive submissiveness, self competitive modes of progression shown in

An impressive stanza collection, goin all the way back, ’07, low and undetected,

007 impressions all the way to present moments, presenting poems,

Where 117 is now the logo, a present decree of freeing motives,

Steering hope to fearless and it couldn’t but be made more clear, this here

Can’t be on apprentice level s***, not anymore, I’m no where near, I’m better than,

Mirror Anakin, made aware of hidden traits, clearly bred colossal wake

As the inevitable dawn of day, endless skywalkin in either night or day,

On my Goku and Brolly game, got me on my jolly way,

So hold up, I’m bout to blow it up,

Bomberman noggin blogs, pardon the post-ignited fury,

Sparks from muse are used to light the fuse, moving through my spine,

To the keys I strike, to viewable words through screens of yours,

And then boom, my H2O line of sight crosses Alkaline insides,

Fleeting debris of my being sinking six feet in fire’s keep,

Leaving only a smoke flow of unspoken life, rise to flight,

About to air it out, openin insides to fair against the pain,

Another verbal hurricane, reign of Hadouken waved verses

Bringing pages, like a journalist, cursor brain attached to qwerty nerves,

Constant saving, birthing a freeze frame nature to nurture critiqued allure,

From observin to shining light on might of mind on mind excursion,

Lyrics of Merlin, magickal bound occurrence of astounding verbal wizardry,

Showin beauty in comprehension between the likes of those alike

And others who talk against,

So much hate, yet little mercy, despite what they claim to be in the first place,

So next to action, I narrate..

My part,

a poetic curator organizing deep extractions of Art within an Art,

Sorta clean cause of time off, still far from set Par,

Seeing only as far as I’m made able, free of cataracts

and until the rest is made available I place my faith in words,

Come out unscathed and church

Clean, from housing Temple worship,

Sermons of mental journeys, Hobbit-length, traversing Misty Mountain cliffs,

Where Stone Giants wage war, Bid on shoulder’s girth, a foundation never destroyed,

Only converted, only a change in surface, only courage

Made under fire, slay the dragon buried under the least of worries,

Traded violence and bias for brighter means of time spent,

Breaking dawn of storms, over shores of lore,

Growing force from self-remorse, stored distortion,

From getting used to moving forward,

overcoming obstacles, that before had me stuck in floors, all the lags had me glitchin,

Took a minute but I gathered, from the tension, a meta-genomic grasp

On philosophic-bloodlust in retinas of optics searching for oxygen,

yin-yang-third-eye watchin, a mind concaved to problem solvin at the microscopic,

Supplyin a macro-meson metropolis, comprising atomic gardens,

Ever meso-fixed in topless limits, I can’t stop, no need for friends,

Only accomplice to accomplishin, raising the bar again and again within myself,

Machine-like of John Conner, type neurologic, a bionic Laureate, I been on it,

A token-Conan,

A hint of Homer,

From scarlet bowties and formal clothing

To swinging forth the sword of warriors,

Spreadin life with an aura flourished in poetry,

Sort of like Tenseiga but just as sharp as Tessaiga to slay and defend what’s important,

So I Bakuryūha when cornered, no more warnings to get off my Case,

A Sherlock self-entitlist, just decipherin Edgar Poe whims,

With magnifying-focus, John Locked at poems coordinates,

Geologist-range, Rovin problems over with mecha-method,

reignin hectic over perfect tempo,

Mental metronomes, metabolic gyroscopic, hydraulic steps over all the bulls*** people talkin,

Supplyin medic-tomes to audiences, I guess,

Instead of poems, just a chivalric code in ir-realistic flow,

Just another dose of illness, to strengthen defenses

Here we go and, oh yea, that was just the beginnin’, oh snap, no he didn’t

lul.

So here is my written vaccination, a statement of my mission,

Sick of losing my mind and always seeing accepted ignorance,

Lettin go of trust, just to grab hold of hope I choose to trust again,

Desire to love and forgive poses more importance than holding in

Or holding on to thorns of torn rose stems,

Better at maintaining a utopia within, Jesus-morale through crucial friction,

Yieldin malice to oncoming Semi-driven peace,

Even when afflictions make it uneasy,

I make sure love is not only at its peak when toward family,

Because Kin is everybody I co-Exist amongst, an invisible brand in genes,

Givin me infinitely hope that I can defend beliefs of neighborly bred instincts,

Leading actions to condone sequence of repeated interactions,

Like dominos,

Between

people’s

compassion’s

path’s

Crossing

With that of

My own that I’m steady walkin, not really lookin back,

Exponentially increasing from lack of to getting back up,

Ours, as a world, to combine, or back up, and Choose disbelief,

Giving power to the powers To be, whose power to Be is defiling

Our Choice’s portrait of supposedly empty highlights, making ordinary

Unimportant, so thus this becomes the light of truth and leads life to corrupted view,

Either you losing sight of you or me of myself, misconstruing reason to pay it forward,

So I’m usin lucrative lines to lubricate the minds still a little prude to the nude of life,

Faded from strained engagement, makin the choice to die before you’re ever abused again,

To stand unphased in the face of hate and maintain a level stage of patience, that few appreciatin,

Proof that even in the height of uselessness, truth exist in a dimension fixed from vision,

Rooted fixture of a singularity, opposing ideals varying, extend as phloem,

Still can’t elude the speed of photons in a system of life and physics where the right to choose, itself,

Is the life in what lives stand for,

Beyond the physical, a Worth indivisible, formed from what we did and didn’t do,

Warm with smitten, passive light, passin every night and day,

By the hour, orbit revolutions of quintupled Arcturus regions, knowledge empowered brain,

Observin league’s descent uncharted, breeching in darkest hour,

Gravitate my beliefs to massive reason, dimension of must equalin mass of love

To not corrupt where hearts conduct or infest all I possess with lust,

Hope I can maintain the way I touch hearts and pump in months of hardwork,

I keep learning from how I feel to why I feel that way,

Found difference in being indigent and being ignorant,

Intelligence directly reflectin indignant wisdom, transmittin,

Referrals I purpose of personal Shells in ideals, splurging words earnestly

To enter these journals, but if I’m supposed to, what’s the purpose,

Who am I to deserve such a love to words, just an observer

With judicial poetic touch,

And if it’s certain, to whomever, that fate is written, a moral contingent imminent to emptyin,

then what’s the Purpose to existence other than fulfilling an omni-present minister’s wishes of progression,

So I’m administering this obsession to keep anyone who’s missin those “blessings” to please hold on for new direction because I’m tired of seeing depression used as weapons, ammunition from confusion spreadin, duly attentive to fully removin this sickness in sentenced remedies,

Imprison the Nil of pre-destined influences, bring immunity to kill tetanus infections,

Yet still refusing to refute my messages’ meaning even when people misread or dis-link from me

In fear of appearing foolish when light’s free, wool lids over open eyed fools,

Mule witted minds losin focus,

Allusive motive to controlling themselves,

Soo they leave it to forces brail, leaving me to expose

Where the heart is and what it is I was composed to do, go through,

With an ambition prone to fail, I suppose, According to premeditated rulings,

Meaning everyone can’t avail, so only some progress while others are rejected,

Some succeed, some fail, some live, some dwell, well, all alive, but none feel,

Not one well,

And once accepted they remain as frail as I stay mute, but that’s changin soon,

Realizing the truth to stay ahead, never aim to win, life is better played at whim,

Not a favor to anyone to stay blind because you believe you have no play in it,

And claiming peace, while inside, you fake as s***,

So no more resigned use of…

Of life in muses, only new identities I can side by, fuse with,

Away from what therein lies of pre-inscribed mysterious finds, binding will to higher kinds,

Leaving little clarity between actuality and their desire,

Entirety of irrationality blurring passions with pre-happenings,

So I’m writing packet-deep, massive thesis type lyrics,

Not on what life is, more on what it should look like,

Negate effects of strife in what we go through every day

In dreaming and seeking Faith, ending wake of endless waking, like Kenny’s nature,

Mysterion mind deliberating meaning in decisions that supposedly lead us, survival of the fated,

Achievements naked, blank sheet, feat-less wasteland of failures, aka

Someone else’s graceland’s sake,

Astray a world of involuntary reflexes, committed daily,

So what are we without the choices that we make?

And what are reached achievements if choices obsolete,

Our thoughts subjection leaning toward subjective mercy,

Always worrying things will turn for the worse, or should service us,

Circling merit, false in essence, always expectin credit, all these undeserved expectations,

Just another damn reason to instruct and detain, trained to hush,

Contained in corruption, so I break away and lead myself free of it,

Free of following a truth untold, or rushed through,

I slow it down,

Piercing meaning, rupturing relations between changes in Being

And being thankful for living,

Every reason I find, convenes in front of spleens,

Instead of wasting time slaving to understand something always changing

I can easily provide more beauty with “ordinary” in wording, ordaining my own action,

Than any do with reasons still a mystery because they believe in divinity’s selection,

Well I believe everyone, no matter skin, beliefs, see a peace, regardless of objective,

Peace is the seed that exist in you and me, me in you and you in me, nothing sexual,

Just technical, so here’s to findin triumph in effort hulled, fighting for survival of hope in better situations

Distribute it mainstream, with only precedence toward bestowing bravery,

Traversing in shoals of intricate migrations, from skull to throat,

Talkin over people trollin the same thing, about damnation, nuclear devastation, or no hope in humanity,

Betraying speaking peace in pieces, plain to see,

Disarray in creation of fate-sung predicaments

So I remain an algebraic humanist, Ethos patron instinctively,

Regardless of what will be, only means to believe in,

And I choose to believe then,

From the whole of me, giving heed in forms of rhyming reads,

Waiting for the time to reach and grab my chance before it passes me…

My chance to be, to chance is to breathe in depths of stress, under endless seas of probabilities,

Chance is the rise to waves accent to cling to being, where wind swiftly leads a symphony

Of dreams and just when air seems di-minished, chance then Links courage to cappin fear,

Ceasing deceasing of a dwindled breeze, bringing back forgotten memories,

Connected to the past, of where one love met another,

Growth in a happiness conceived bliss, paintings above everyone;

A past’s collage of pensive imagery, collision of Imagination and color,

As wind in the sky blows to soothe the dried, pacifyin,

Past trees, to carry seeds to where they land and breed,

Chance is the treaty between faith and reason,

So tired, so much time to chancing, less to myself, more to finding pride,

Wealth applied to build a health in a life worth more than itself, meant to help,

Enrich those left with doubt, pursued in talents used to salvage faith and shelter,

Compelling thoughts of jealousy and hatred, still a becoming, in the making,

No black and white, I’m in the gray, changin, becomin blanker to a race based on skin,

A lot of work in becoming the change I wish to see replacing all the deceit and greed shit,

To give people something to believe and then proceed to give them reason guaranteeing chance,

Fairing change in paths and enhance the passion made elastic by creating a canvas of emotions gathered

When faced with resistance in liberation from fated actions, I supply my own motivation,

I never tire, never slack, forever writing, sometimes gaming,

I design, repay debt and fines,

I find when lost,

I admire the quaint breeze,

I aspire to aspire,

Seeking others to re-fire fired dreams,

Finally seeing the beauty in dying leaves,

I am only but the comprisee, comprised to further ideas beyond that Comprising…

And at every Dawn of Morn’, perfect timing,

Lightly sun brushed adorned emotions course vibrantly,

Alarm chime got me up like Dug and Russell,

Carl Orff auricular consumption as I rise to shining,

Leaving bunks made comfortable, plying a nine to five,

Adrift corrupted, yet functional systems of injustice,

That people blindly trust in, such a numb to love world,

So I’m livin sure of what I want, but never deserving,

More for serving, because I see a turning in returning,

Learning TM 27, to defend without hesitation, those hurting,

Putting plenty work in, stayin sturdy, steady, stern,

So no more sleep, reenergize my mind with ultraviolet multi-focused drive,

Never tried thriving in just one type of art, renaissance rhymes or charcoal lines,

Bars of ideals primed in furnace fire,

Filled from philosophical mines I, from time to time, step inside to dig further,

Almost a decade, now, dedicated toward a storyline that transformed to novels,

From Lanowen to Cenoria,

From one part to over four, comic-concepts

From porch bottom to views with No horizon,

Just me and Hiz,

From RP to a simple Story, to a Foyer of plots,

Elevating floors high, Glory rises to tell of the dormant tales,

Tales of war, Tales of cheer, Tales Galore, Tales of Fears,

A tale of Fictional artists, just tryin to stay in chime tune with reality,

Eyes open, as trays of a balance-beam,

We only dream To chase them, after, running mentally to catch them,

Dippin off through darkened streets, literally,

And when dusk begins reality slumbers in Dippers over me,

Ephemeral solace into the evening, leaving me in

Pleasant never ending brinks, extinct of larks or peeps,

Sole existence of a solo dolo sidewalk dreamer,

A roamin Caesar, Rome enthusiast

To scenic artistry of stars gleaming in navy-bluest skies,

Light mists of moonlight sonata-like cloaks linger through the night,

A bliss as infinite as the stars are distant, holdin my hopes in suspension,

Ensuing thoughts to compose notes in my dome or on moleskine,

Brim-row view in opera lands, Baritone parlando, harking heartfelt cantos,

Stealing back the hope I robbed myself of, so no more dead silence,

No sounds, just NC headphones and instrumentals to get my mind scheming,

Socratic Luther King in Light and in my sleep,

Still a modern Machiavelli, to stand for what’s right,

Keep what’s on back and neck protected, look like an easy

Target, but I promise that that ain’t promised,

Fingers crossin keyboards like twist ties,

Butter bread lines, sun-beams, from always goin ‘gainst the grain,

In an Adidas skully over curls as I stroll the lunar World,

Lennon-shoes, solar-albedo Chuck Soles Chauffer luster, a sulfer glow of soulful surges from Sol-lit sources, shone off earth’s surface, in all directions, time reversin from my inertia, I surf a universe of Umi-verses, rainin fiercely, floodin nyxheim, floodin tumblr, floodin notebooks, on my flood the world s***, only observable once I give life to words shaped in a matrix muse, wor-ship of my curse or gift, I make that discernment, man what the hell, I been murkin, think it’s time for me to call the curtains, I’m outta here, peace and heart, hope you enjoyed the work,

Fin

[lynchgirl90]

Ep. 8 Of #TwinPeaks Is David Lynch's Purest Marriage Of Television And Video Art

Adam Lehrer ,  CONTRIBUTOR

It’s hard to describe how inestimable an impact David Lynch had over me when I first saw Mulholland Drive as a 14-year-old. Something I’ve been discussing with fellow artist friends of mine is the fact that the art that changed our lives the most and still carries the most weight over our own sensibilities is the art that we were exposed to very young, maybe even too young to fully understand what it is exactly that you’re viewing. I developed a taste for disturbing aesthetics at a very young age; when I was about five or six-years-old, my cinephile father would have “movie nights with dad” when my mom would go out with her girlfriends, and he would let my brother and I watch watch Ridley Scott’s Alien, James Cameron’s Terminator, and/or Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop when I still should have been reading children’s books (and boy am I thankful for that).

That early exposure to art, whether it be John Carpenter films, or Brian DePalma films, or Bret Easton Ellis novels, or my favorite music (Wu Tang, Lou Reed, or Marilyn Manson), is still the art that I think about and gravitate back towards even after decades of being exposed to just about everything contemporary art, cinema, literature, poetry, and popular music has to offer. But watching Lynch’s Mulholland Drive for the first time feels like a monumental point of epiphany in my life. A point where I thought to myself, “Maybe I want to create stuff when I grow up.” I had no idea what Mulholland Drive’s fractured plot meant, but its images left me confounded, and fascinated. I loved the dreamy, hallucinatory Los Angeles Neo-noir stylizations of its setting. I had never felt more terrified than when I first glimpsed that monster lurking behind the Winkie’s diner.

That film made me blissfully aware that cinema and art could be a simultaneously erotic, horrific, and thrilling experience. I knew how powerful art could be,  but Mulholland Drive gave me my first taste of the sublime. Since then, I’ve been a David Lynch fanatic. I’ve watched all of his earlier films, binge watched Twin Peaks over and over (finding myself asking new questions each time), wrote college essays on Eraserhead and David Foster Wallace’s article that documented Lynch’s process on the set of Lost Highway, have searched out all his early forays into video art, have found merits in his more oft-overlooked output in advertising (his 2009 commercial for Dior is Lynch at his funniest), and have read countless analyses on the man himself and his cinematic language.

So, when you read what I’m about to say, know that I do so with much hesitance, consideration, and ponderousness: the eighth episode of Twin Peaks: The Return is the piece of filmmaking that Lynch has been building towards for his entire career. It is a singular cinematic and artistic achievement, and the purest distillation of the multitude of ideas and concepts that live and breathe in the Lynchian universe. I believe that years from now we will be looking upon this single episode as one of, if not the single most, defining artistic achievements of Lynch’s unimpeachable career. Bare with me.

Aesthetically, episode 8 would leave a powerful impression on even the most half-hazard of David Lynch converts. A hallucinatory, nightmarishly kaleidoscopic consortium of images of blood, flames, fluids, and demonic figures spews towards the viewer while Krystof Pendrecki’s tortuously atmospheric soundscapes underline the episode’s inescapable atmosphere of existential dread. Episode 8 is an hour long work of experimental video art, no doubt. But if you have been paying attention to this season of Twin Peaks and you know enough about the mythology of the show and know even more about Lynch’s artistic interests and visual touchstones, then you know that this episode was no mere act of meaningless artistic overindulgence. In fact, this was Lynch telling the origin story that set the entire series of Twin Peaks into place.

This was the origin story of BOB, the demonic force that forced Leland Palmer to rape his daughter for years and eventually murder her in Twin Peaks’ initial 1990s run. BOB, we learn in episode 8, was forged from the the United States' earliest forays into nuclear bomb testing.  BOB was already the perfect metaphor for mankind’s capacity for cruelty, depravity and evil, and becomes an even more powerful metaphor now that we know his nuclear genesis. Any Lynchian fanatic will rave to you how delicious this notion is. What David Lynch has done, and in many ways has always been trying to do, is to create a piece of pure atmospheric video art that also works as a classic piece of narrative storytelling. In this episode, Lynch has perfectly located a zone in which vague and aesthetically menacing imagery also serve as clear and precise storytelling and, like the best cinema and storytelling, illustrates a metaphor for modern human existence. While Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, Lost Highway and Blue Velvet utilize video art aesthetics, they are also pieces of storytelling with easily identifiable stories if you look for them (well, maybe not Inland Empire). Episode 8 of the return of Twin Peaks is a mostly dialog-less piece of distorted, haunting images. It is art. But it also still tells a story. The story of a television series no less! This is all the more impressive in that television as a storytelling medium is the most reliant on expository dialog and over-crammed storyboarding.

David Lynch pays heed to the form while mainly utilizing the language of pure image. Who needs a script, and who needs dialog, when you can see that delectably menacing, fascinating and torturous world of Twin Peaks from inside the actual head of David Lynch? Episode 8 was the truest portal to the imagination of Lynch that has yet been put to screen.

I’m sure there are more casual David Lynch fans that are growing impatient with the restrained, at times glacial pace of this new season of Twin Peaks. I however have understood what he’s been doing this whole time. He hasn’t just been making a television season, he has been commenting on the current importance of television in our culture. Television has replaced cinema at the heart of cultural conversation for many reasons. Partly, this has been a result of the groundbreaking work that has been done in television over the last two decades: Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, Mad Men, The Wire, and more recently, The Leftovers have all expanded the possibilities of what people believe can be done with the form. There are also financial concerns: as major film studios continue to spend their whole wads on sure thing blockbuster action and superhero films, auteur filmmakers have had harder times getting their films properly funded. Cable and streaming television services like HBO or Amazon however have the means to give filmmakers the funds they need to realize a vision, and indie filmmakers have resultantly flocked towards the small screen.

Television’s prevalence has had connotations both positive and negative on culture. The negative, in my opinion, stems from its causing people to no longer be able to get lost in a pure, imagistic cinematic experience. Even the best shows are still mainly concerned with story and dialog, whereas cinema is about mood, atmosphere, and aesthetics. When Twin Peaks premiered in 1990, Lynch and co-creator Mark Frost (a television veteran) were very much interested in marrying the Lynchian world with the conventional tropes of television: serial drama, mystery, and even soap opera. Throughout its first season, it worked beautifully. Both Lynch aficionado cinephiles and mainstream television viewers alike were captivated, and the series was one of the year’s top-rated. But after the second season revealed Laura Palmer’s killer to be her demonic entity-inhabited father Leland far too early during its run, Lynch’s boredom with the constraints of television grew apparent. The show starts to feel like a standard nineties television show, albeit one with a quirky plot and wildly eccentric characters. Lynch mostly dropped primary showrunner duties to focus on his film Wild at Heart only to come back for Twin Peaks’ stunner of a series finale, when the show’s protagonist FBI Agent Dale Cooper travels to the mystical red velvet draped alternate universe of the Black Lodge, and eventually becomes trapped inside that Lynchian hellscape while his body is replaced with a doppelgänger inhabited by the demonic entity Killer BOB and set out into the world.

In the Black Lodge, Laura Palmer tells Cooper that she’ll see him in 25 years, and that's exactly where Twin Peaks: the Return starts off. It was apparent from the premiere episode of this new season of Twin Peaks that Lynch is benefitting from a new TV landscape in which Showtimes has awarded him full creative control over his product, and he’s directing all 16 episodes of this new season. Also, it’s quite obvious that the technological advancements over the last two decades have enabled Lynch to fulfill the fullest extent of his vision. Twin Peaks: The Return is a much purer marriage between narrative driven television melodrama and Lynch’s hallucinatory experimental video cinematic language. That first episode barely spends any time in Twin Peaks, but spends plenty of time with Cooper in The Lodge. There are some truly unforgettable images in that first episode: a demonic entity appears out of thin air in a cylindrical orb and viciously attacks a young couple having sex, a woman’s corpse is found on a hotel bed with most of her head missing, and who can forget Matthew Lilard, perhaps the newest victim to be inhabited by Killer BOB, in a jail cell accused of murder while Lynch moves the camera from cell to cell until we see the horrifying silhouette of BOB himself in high contrast red and black ghoulishly smiling? But at the same time, Lynch is able to move the plot forward in ways that should be familiar to all television viewers; through procedure, dialog, and plot device. Lynch is still working within the confines of television, but has peppered the narrative scenes with unforgettable imagery. It’s been almost as if he’s been subtly preparing us, the viewers, to not just respond to what we normally respond to in television: story, story, and story and dialog, dialog, and dialog. And to slowly reacquaint us with the thrilling experience that can be derived from watching a set of shocking, beautiful, erotic and terrifying images move along in a sequence on a screen.

And episode 8 of this new series is the pinnacle of this new body of work, and very possibly of Lynch’s career at large. The episode begins similarly enough, with evil Cooper escaping from jail only for his escape driver to attempt to murder him out in the woods. And that is when Lynch kicks it into overdrive. As evil Cooper’s body is bleeding out, a group of dirtied and horrific men called 'The Woodsmen' start picking over his body and smearing themselves in his blood, with Killer BOB himself appearing and apparently resuscitating Cooper’s lifeless body. And then, Lynch proceeds to tell BOB’s, and quite possibly Laura’s, origin stories through a 45-minute nightmarish experimental video art piece. The NY Times has called this episode “David Lynch emptying out his subconscious unabated.” That is totally accurate, and there has never been and most likely never will be an episode of television like this ever again. This episode was video art, but it was also still television, and it also served as a piece of and critique of cinematic and television languages. Allow me to explain.

Episode 8 functions in a way similar to that of the video art of Janie Geiser. Without any knowledge of the world of Twin Peaks or the themes of the Lynchian universe, one could admire this piece similarly to how they would admire the experimental video art of Janie Geiser, and in particular Episode 8 recalls Geiser’s film The Fourth Watch in which the artist superimposed horror film stills within the setting of an antique doll house. Episode 8 uses that same nightmare logic, but empowers it with the budget of a major Cable series. There are also similarities to scenes in Jonathan Glazer’s brilliant Under the Skin when the alien portrayed by Scarlet Johannson devours her male prey in a grotesque nether realm. And perhaps its greatest antecedent is Kubrick’s Big Bang sequence in 2001: A Spade Oydyssey, and in many ways Episode 8 is the hellish inverse of that epic sequence. Like the Big Bang, episode 8 tells an origin story of a world created by an explosion, but instead of a galactic explosion, Killer BOB and his world of evil were born of a nuclear explosion. Brilliantly, Lynch believes that Killer BOB was birthed by man made horrors, going back to something FBA Agent Albert Rosenfield said in the original series about BOB being a “manifestation of the evil men do.” Indeed, in Episode 8 Lynch brings us inside an atomic mushroom cloud set off during the first nuclear bomb test explosion in White Sands, New Mexico in 1945. As the camera enters the chaos and giving view to one horrid abstraction of flames and matter after another, we eventually see a humanoid creature floating in the distance. The humanoid eventually shoots tiny particles of matter out of a phallic attachment. One of those particles carries the face of none other than Killer BOB. The imagery is clear in its meaning: once humans created technology that could kill of its own planet, a new kind of evil had emerged into the world. Killer BOB is that evil imagined as a singular demonic entity.

But enough about the content, or the plot of the episode. There have already been plenty of recaps documenting its various thrilling enigmas: The Giant seemingly manifesting Laura’s spirit as a mutant bug that crawled into a young girl’s mouth via her bedroom window, or the horrific drifter walking around asking people for a light before he crushed their skulls with his bare hands and delivered a terrifying and poetic sermon over a radio airwave, or the impromptu Nine Inch Nails performance that preceded the madness. What is more important to note is the fact that there is a strong case to be made arguing that this episode was the pinnacle of all that David Lynch has ever tried to achieve. Lynch has always been a kind of pop artist. He comes from a background in abstract painting and sculpture, but he also has a deep and profound love for cinema that eventually influenced him to sit in a director’s chair. All kinds of cinema, from the kind of abstract cinematic geniuses you’d expect like Werner Herzog and Federico Fellini, to rigorously formalist filmmakers like Billy Wilder. From Eraserhead on, Lynch has tried to marry the formal conventions of cinema (plot, narrative, tension, juxtaposition, conclusion, etc..) with abstract and surrealist contemporary art. Twin Peaks was initially birthed of his interest in marrying conventional TV tropes, like soap opera and mystery, with that sense of terror art that he got famous for. But nevertheless, the constrictions of TV in the early nineties exhausted, and eventually bored, Lynch and he moved on. But now, he has been able to bend the conventions of television at will in this new season of Twin Peaks, and episode 8 was when he blew them up entirely. This hour of TV finds him drawing on all of his cinematic language and themes, from the surrealist ethos of his subconscious dream logic to origins of evil to the concept of dual identity (as this episode alludes too, Bob and Laura might be each other’s opposites, two side of one coin, if you will), while still working as a plot building episode within a contained, albeit sprawling, television narrative. There is no doubt that this episode will make the broad and at times confusing plot of the new season of Twin Peaks come into focus as it continues.

It was also the most mind-blowing cinematic experience I’ve had in years. And I watch everything. By successfully pulling off this episode, Lynch has also reminded viewers of the overwhelming potency that cinema and moving images can have that other mediums just don’t come close to. There is a lot of great stuff on TV right now, and one could even argue that something like Damon Lindelof’s The Leftovers had some jaw-dropping moments of pure cinema. But after watching Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return, even the best shows feel like hour long scenes of conversation between people without much cinematic impact (on his podcast, American Psycho author and famed cinephile Bret Easton Ellis argues that television can’t do what cinema does visually because the writer is the one in charge, not the director, but that’s for another think-piece). Episode 8 is a reminder of the power of cinema, art and images. But it also still works as plot device for the over-arching narrative of the show. More than ever before, Lynch has pulled off a piece of work that indulges his wildest artistic dreams while still paying heed to the kind of formalism that television production necessitates. I don’t know about you, but when Twin Peaks: The Return returns for its second round of its 18 episode run this Saturday, I can’t wait to see what Lynch does next. We are witnessing something that will be written about by art historians as much as it will be by academics of pop culture. This is thrilling.

Link (TP)

[thinggolf77-blog]

Sia & Scott Walker: Vox Lux OST

“That’s what I love about pop music. I don’t want people to think too hard. I just want them to feel good.” That sentiment is uttered early on in Brady Corbet’s Vox Lux by the film’s protagonist, Celeste, a school-shooting survivor whose moment in the national spotlight turns into a decades-long ascent to pop stardom. It’s an old cliché about pop’s role in society that demands some ideological sharpening, but Corbet’s second feature doesn’t possess half the amount of focus required to develop the well-worn idea into something more insightful and holistic.

As young Celeste (Raffey Cassidy) survives an unbelievable tragedy that’s become all-too-believable while her older self (Natalie Portman) is trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and trauma, Vox Lux attempts to tilt at a few thematic windmills—the American culture of violence, how said culture intersects with pop iconography, the pressure we place on public figures to behave in a way that reflects our own assumed system of belief—without fully committing to any one beat. As a meditation about the daily horror of mass shootings in America and the accidental stardom that can accompany becoming the face of tragedy, it’s purely anachronistic; the assertion that Celeste’s elegiac post-shooting song “Wrapped Up” could go viral in the early 2000s anticipates the normalcy of regular violence and instant fame in a way that betrays the pre-viral time period. As target practice for the target-rich machinations of pop music itself, Vox Lux feels as forced as Portman’s Staten Island accent.

Amid these grasps for meaning, the clearest aspect of Vox Lux becomes its general disregard for the music itself. Written and produced by Sia and ubiquitous pop guy Greg Kurstin (Adele, Halsey), most of the ten Cassidy-and-Portman-performed songs the duo composed for the film are jammed into subpar concert footage that closes out the film’s last 20 minutes. For viewers looking to engage more fully with the music, there’s the soundtrack itself, which tacks on 10 instrumental score cues composed by legendary avant-garde figure Scott Walker (who also handled scoring on Corbet’s previous feature, the fascist-focused 2015 The Childhood of a Leader). Divorced from the screen, the Vox Lux soundtrack literally represents a split release between two of the pop machine’s most capable tinkerers and one of the most offbeat musicians of the last 40 years—a prospect as enticing as it is wholly representative of the film’s own thoughtless framework.

Sadly, neither of the soundtrack’s halves provide much to sink one’s teeth into. Walker’s scoring gets the job done in the truest sense, to the point where much of his music feels incidental when removed from the images it accompanies; his “Opening Credits” theme stands out the most here, with piping, eerie vocals and unsettling ambience only matched by the horrifying, hollowed-out center of “Terrorist.” Otherwise, Walker’s orchestral compositions—which provide a solid, melodramatic foil to Corbet’s onscreen pretension—largely lose their effectiveness in a home-listening environment, a fans-only experience far removed from the obtuse high art of his solo material and collaborations with Sunn O))).

If Walker’s contributions simply fade into the scenery, then Sia and Kurstin’s work represents the opposite. Her days as lead vocalist for British chillout group Zero 7 aside, Sia’s never really been much for subtlety; listening to her strongest and most effective singles can provide the emotional uplift of hang-gliding to the top of a mountain with fireworks timed to explode the moment you reach the peak. She makes big-sounding music with Kurstin frequently at her side, but through writing songs for Celeste’s fictional oeuvre, their sweeping approach takes the form of an obnoxious blare.

“I’m a private girl/ In a public world,” Portman sings competently on “Private Girl” through thickets of vocal processing that are practically tactile in their over-application; the sentiment lands with a dull thud of obviousness that suffocates the music as well as the film it’s attached to. Sure, pop music retains an effectiveness when not asking too much of its listeners—but Vox Lux and its insipid attempts at creating a fictional pop world functions as a cautionary tale in the face of such a banal truism: Treating your audience as if they’re stupid tends to reflect poorly on everyone except the audience themselves.

Source: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/scott-walker-sia-vox-lux-ost/

[delhi-architect2]

Journal - One Photo Challenge 2020: Competition Winners Announced!

Architizer is excited to announce the winners of the 2020 One Photo Challenge! After evaluating an incredible shortlist of 100 architectural photographs and their stories, our stellar jurors have selected 2 top winners — one non-student and one student entry — along with 10 commended entries. We’re delighted to present each top winner with a grand prize of $2,500, along with professional photography gear from the likes of Peak Design, Formatt Hitech and Lenovo.

One Photo Challenge juror Ema Peter — an award-winning photographer herself — reflected on her winning selections: “Regardless of the profile of the project, [these photographs] manage to stop you, make you look twice, and feel. They are anything but typical architectural shots. They have so much soul, and richly embody how architecture impacts our life. Architecture in photography cannot stay impersonal; we cannot rely on the perfect light and perfect angle, we need to show the unexpected and tell a story.”

Fellow juror Aldo Amoretti selected his winners based on both visual impact and the photographs’ power to draw in the viewer: “A well-made photo should immediately intrigue you just by looking at it. Without knowing its history. Curiosity then leads you to deepen, to understand more about the content and the author. For me, when it happens, this is a great success.”

Without further ado, we present to you the winners of the 2020 One Photo Challenge, including both photographs and their accompanying stories…

Non-Student Winner: “Women Gather” by Bruce Engel (BE_Design)

“The women’s brick making cooperative in Kayonza, the Eastern Province of Rwanda, sit and take pride in their work. They hand made the bricks that give shape to this classroom space, and produced all of the approximately half a million bricks that comprise the “Women’s Opportunity Center” by Sharon Davis Design for the NGO Women for Women International.

Here, women in this rural and poor community can find training in women’s rights, literacy, health, and valuable vocational skills. At the core of the campus are 7 classrooms / training rooms, built in the round, reflecting the traditional architecture, and meant to achieve an intimate, secure, and feminine space where women can gather.”

Nick Hufton, cofounder of renowned photography studio Hufton + Crow, said of Women Gather: “I think this is a highly evocative image which has been thoughtfully considered and carefully composed. The image beautifully combines Line, Shape, Form, Texture, Pattern and Color, which naturally form to make the ‘6 elements of composition’. It also displays a warm human quality without looking staged. Excellent.

Student Winner: “Philadelphia Wasteland” by Chris Hytha (Drexel University)

“Philadelphia was once the industrial hub of the world, until its identity was shaken be deindustrialization and suburbanization. This legacy leaves deep scars in the fabric of North Philly, where decrepit industrial complexes stretch on for miles. In their abandoned state, these buildings take on new roles in the city. They become canvases for urban artwork and escapes from the noise and activity of the city center far from the regulations and restrictions of bureaucracy.

We are far too familiar with the restrictions in occupying a building. You can’t go on the roof, you can’t paint on the walls, you can’t break a window, you can’t enter utility tunnels or back of house space. Rich with layers of meaning infused by people engaging with their space, these buildings can become more captivating and engaging than intentionally designed architecture. This photo tells the story of freedom in the built environment.”

Commended Entry: “Yangtze River Winter Swimmer With Raffles City” by Su Zhewei (arch-exist)

“Across the river is the famous big new building: Raffles city in Chongqing designed by Safdie Architects. This is a huge and ambitious commercial building.and Chongqing is the most important city in the Yangtze River Basin and also the famous fog city. On a foggy morning, we took a scene on the reef beside the Yangtze River.

A group of winter swimmers broke into our camera. They told us that some of them had been swimming here for 20 winters, and there were not so many tall buildings on the other side of the river before. As an architectural photographer, we really obsessed with the picture full of regional characteristics and sense of life. Architecture is not the owner of the city. People and the Yangtze River witnessed the change of the city.”

Commended Entry: “View from Room 1604” by Tiffany Liem (Brookfield Properties)

“For 7 minutes, between 7:05am and 7:12am, the sun aligns with my next door neighbor. I watch from my hotel room, in downtown LA, as a select row of individuals receive their vitamin D. It’s a cold January day. I retreat back into my dark room.”

Commended Entry: “The Twist Museum, Kistefos Sculpture Park, Jevnaker, Norway by BIG” by Laurian Ghinitoiu (Laurian Ghinitoiu)

“It was challenging to combine in one single frame the main particularities of the project: its sculptural shape, the structure that expands over the river, as a bridge, and at the same time to imply that ‘the object’ is actually a functional building. The context, the design and its scale, the poetry of the sinuous lines that are melting with the surroundings in a surreal atmosphere, are the elements that are making the captured image to be abstract but descriptive at the same time.”

Commended Entry: “Talk to Nature” by Ning Wang (Beijing University of Technology)

“Architecture is a piece of space that humans steal from nature. As a shelter, it protects our bodies, and more importantly, it also adjusts the relationship between nature and human. Last May, my five months pregnant wife and I paid a visit to Teshima Art Museum (Ryue Nishizawa, 2010. 607 karato, Teshima, Kagawa, Japan). There was nothing inside at that moment but only another visitor stopped and stared at the slow-moving light on the ground. I took a photo of this silently with my iPhone.

Suddenly, I realized that it was not an empty space, on the contrary, everything I need has already there. Sunlight, water, wind, my love and an upcoming life. This is a story for everyone which is not legendary but admired. People and nature were invited into this building, talked to each other and shared their the truest stories. I just heard that and recorded this touching scene.”

Commended Entry: “Turner Contemporary” by James Newton (James Newton Photographs Ltd.)

“The Turner Contemporary Margate (David Chipperfield Architects) is located right on the sea front at Margate. The title commemorates the association of the town with noted landscape painter J. M. W. Turner, who went to school there, and visited throughout his life. The new two-storey building is designed to maximise both the dramatic setting between sea and land and the extraordinary light conditions unique to this area that inspired Turner well over a century ago.

I wanted to photograph the building in suitable light, something that made reference to Turner and the and his work. I went on a foggy day; as the sun began to burn through the fog the form of the building was fleetingly illuminated. At the same time three visitors emerged walking across the beach.”

Commended Entry: “Procuratie Vecchie Venezia” by Marco Petrini (Petrini Studio)

“The Procuratie Vecchie are part of three connected buildings along the perimeter of Piazza San Marco, Venice. They were built in the 16th century by the procurators who were managing the treasury of San Marco church. They housed apartments with stores at ground floor. Its doors have been long closed to but architect D. Chipperfield will renovate it and soon will be accessible to the public.

I took this photo during my last solo trip in 2019. This moment can be captured only in the very early morning, when the water comes up and gently flows the piazza for 30 minutes, before disappearing. The reflection is perfect because the enclosed piazza is well protected from winds so the water becomes almost a mirror. It’s a truly magical moment that disappears as soon as the city wakes up.There is no better moment to enjoy the magnificence of Piazza San Marco.”

Commended Entry: “Hygge House” by Paul Turang (Paul Turang Photography)

“Warming Huts is an open competition, melding design and art with Winnipeg’s famous winters. The jury selects designs that best “push the envelope of design, craft and art.” In January, winners travel to Winnipeg to begin construction on their hut. They are then brought out to the River Trail for visitors to skate to, interact with, and enjoy.

Hygge House, by Plain Projects, Pike Projects and Urbanink, is a simple wood-framed structure, symbolic of one of the most cherished symbols of Canadiana – the family cottage. Loosely translated, “Hygge” is a Danish word for cozy, an atmosphere of people and comfort, which can only be achieved when people come together. I was drawn to its quirky and fun appearance. It raises questions: “What is happening here?” “What is this little open building doing there?” It invites the audience to create their own narrative. And that color!”

Commended Entry: “Can’t Catch Me!” by Rodrigo Bonifaz (The J Associates)

“This photo was taken during a trip I took with my architecture class a few years back in Portugal. Our professor wanted to show us Alvaro Siza’s Portugal Pavilion and walk around the area to experience the space. We were met with an overwhelming structural towering over us yet the structure felt light like a fabric draping over posts to hide from the sun.

While we were admiring the architecture, this child was admiring the shadow. He kept crossing back and forth as if he was trying to run from it and playing a game. He was interacting with the shadow as if it was an extension of the structure itself. It gave me perspective on how different people experience space. The child didn’t know or probably care it that the building was designed by a famous architect. He just wanted to play with the shadow.”

Commended Entry: “Back of House: Front of House” by John Muggenborg (John Muggenborg Photography)

“To me, this photo from the Howard Gilman Opera House in Brooklyn acts a reminder that for all we see in life, there are many elements in the ‘Back of House’ that contribute to the performance that we experience around us. As an architectural photographer, I typically show only the ‘presentable’ side of a project.

When I scout out a site before I photograph it I’m often privileged to learn what goes on ‘behind the curtain’ at many businesses. For this shoot I finally had the opportunity to illustrate that what we see on stage from the comfort of our seats is only half of the whole picture.”

Commended Entry: “Kiosk Chameleon” by Lior Hobashi (The Oslo School of Architecture and Design)

“At first glance, one can see a small shack in the Daharavi slum, Mumbai. When looking closely one can discover a boy, lying on the counter of a kiosk, camouflaged between the candy packing, seeking refuge from the blazing Indian sun. The kiosk is his birthplace, his living space and his workplace.

The shack lines up perfectly with the trucks in the background, which are heading out of the slum, making it look like one of them. While the other trucks are on wheels, his is rooted to the ground, letting only his thoughts drift away. Perhaps he is not living in a shack, a kiosk or a truck. Perhaps it is his very own castle.”

As our two top winners, Bruce Engel and Chris Hytha will each receive:

$2,500 prize money

Carbon Fiber Travel Tripod

Long Exposure Filter Kit

20′ x 30′ MetalPrint

8″ Smart Display

Publication in the inaugural “One Photo” eBook

An exclusive interview discussing their photograph, published in Architizer Journal

Additionally, the 10 commended entries shown above will receive Peak Design’s camera backpack, as well as a featured entry in the upcoming One Photo eBook. The 100 finalists will also be published in the inaugural eBook, to be distributed to Architizer’s community including 100,000+ newsletter subscribers and 4+ million social media followers. Be on the lookout for this captivating publication, coming soon!

Thank you to all participants for sharing these amazing photographs and telling such fascinating stories about architecture. If you are interested in entering next year’s One Photo Challenge, be sure to sign up for updates by clicking the blue button below.

Register for the 2021 One Photo Challenge

The post One Photo Challenge 2020: Competition Winners Announced! appeared first on Journal.

from Journal https://architizer.com/blog/competitions/one-photo-challenge-2020-competition-winners-announced/ Originally published on ARCHITIZER RSS Feed: https://architizer.com/blog

[ludzz]

Melancholy

When I shoot and edit there is a mood which I seek. Of course the elements of design are my initial focus while shooting, but they are simply theory.

In order for a frame to move or touch someone it must be emotive, I believe it does this best by projecting the feeling of the human behind the lens.

And for me, I often seek the feeling of melancholia and isolation, not due to ostracism but due to ones choosing, my choosing.

I think best when I'm alone, I enjoy the quite and when I look at my photographs I want to feel as I felt when I was there. Alone in my thoughts mulling over the human condition or the trivia of everyday life.

I do have my opinions on today's photography and photographers, some of which are underdeveloped I must admit, but allow me to digress regardless.

Narcissism and the shuttling millennial culture have worked greatly against photography being looked at as an art form.

The reality of talented photographers having to make ends meet, thus having to do work and take artistic direction from narcissistic blockheads with deep pockets who know nothing about fine art, has hurt the art form one hundred times over.

That coupled with accessibility and the reality that any blithering twit picking up a camera and claiming to be a photographer can be taken seriously.

I believe that photographers should shoot on their own terms. If the location has been selected and the feeling of the work is not right that he/she should have every right to refuse to proceed with the work.

We need to do better when distinguishing between the artistic photographer and the corporate photographer, the human and the humanoid, so that there is no confusing the two and what ought to be looked at as art. Because a humanoid's work can be compared to dreary corporate documentation, where as a human's work I'd akin to watching the sun rise or watching a couple fall in love.

We need less photographers focusing on the singular human being as the subject matter because of their renown, and more photographers being concerned with landscapes, atmospheres and the press of everyday people moving in the rhythm of their everyday lives. Not the celebrity or the glorified self-proclaimed social media "public figure" who competes with cardboard in their ability to peak interests.

Because at the end of the day it is the density of humans that is most inspiring, and offers the truest reflection of the times, and you don't have to charge a photographers fee to capture them. It is in many ways an act of charity to humanity and to history.

Art is to be revered.

[sciunisonfitness-blog]

SUF Tough Table Fitness Podcast

Why Is Natural Bodybuilding So Appealing?

Over the many years, bodybuilding has advanced tremendously however it's generally understood that there are two foremost factions or philosophies of the approach to life; pure bodybuilding and pharmaceutical bodybuilding. Around the time drug use entered the sporting arena, the strains between the two had been more blurred and it wasn't particularly easy to spot an enhanced athlete. Right this moment however, the road between the 2 can be more clearly outlined. Those who take the chemical different have perfected the dosage combination's to develop muscular tissues that far exceed even essentially the most gifted of natural lifters. Just watching a pure bodybuilding present and evaluating the contestants to it is skilled counterpart, it is simple to view them as utterly different sports, which they are surely.

All bodybuilding associations promote natural bodybuilding, but it's seldom practiced by the world's top bodybuilders. The truth is, none of those at the peak of competitive bodybuilding are pure bodybuilders. The IFBB Mr. Olympia, thought of by many to be the greatest bodybuilding title in the world, is a superb example of pharmaceutical bodybuilding. In aggressive bodybuilding, it appears that evidently successful has every little thing to do with how you play the game. Prescription drugs comparable to diuretics, development hormone, beta-blockers, insulin, EPO, amphetamines, steroids and numerous other doping substances are the rule, not the exception. One factor that's usually ignored is the injury that can outcome from utilizing these substances.

Natural bodybuilding is an art and a science. The target is to create a body that is lovely to behold, resilient, strong, sleek, versatile, lean and highly purposeful. Natural bodybuilding represents a positive life-giving phenomenon. It is a form of training that creates and preserves type, perform and health. Pure bodybuilding uses exercise, dietary dietary supplements and a healthy diet to enhance immune operate and improve resistance to degenerative disease. With every repetition, cells are flushed with life-giving oxygen and micro-nutrients. Waste is removed effectively and rapidly. When practiced accurately, it does not destroy or eliminate. It adds much more than symmetry and quality muscle, but offers you benefits past what might be seen with the bare eye.

Pure bodybuilding represents the truest factor of bodybuilding by requiring a clean life-style which promotes the achievement of optimum health. Optimum health gives us the opportunity and perception to define our goals and the motivation required to attain them. As soon as really effectively, we are capable of adapt to alter and stress with out important injury. A wholesome individual is nicely-nourished and bodily match in and out.

Those that carry weights or use their own physique as resistance to attain any degree of muscle tone, energy or power are engaged in "building" their body. This practice has numerous names - body-shaping, body-sculpting, resistance training, weight-lifting, weight coaching or working-out. No matter you call it, in the event you pump iron you're bodybuilding to some degree. Competition level bodybuilders simply take the identical course of of training and weight-reduction plan to an extreme stage.

Pure bodybuilding avoids any chemical substances or toxic substances. Natural athletes keep away from banned substances for 2 reasons. First, the principles of pure bodybuilding clearly state that they don't seem to be permitted and second, crossing the pharmaceutical line reduces well being, and well being is what pure bodybuilding is all about. Therefore the damaging use of performance enhancing drugs is deemed unacceptable.

The thought of natural bodybuilding is to take your genetic potential to the maximum using supplements, training and prime quality food. Health isn't compromised for aesthetic value; somewhat aesthetics are altered in response to managed train performed faithfully and all the time progressively. This creates a natural trigger and impact, facilitated by means of both onerous and good work and fixed vigilance. Organic bodybuilding gives us with the opportunity to challenge ourselves, outperform ourselves and demonstrate our potential. It's not about trying higher than anyone else. The approach to life encourages wellness and provides a reliable means of extending health span.

Natural bodybuilding precision is a method that is positive to maximize muscle achieve in the shortest doable time. Some pure bodybuilders even see the results of steroid customers by paying very close attention to their coaching precision. If you're a natural bodybuilder, and wish large results, now could be the time to start out taking note of the phrase precision.

In pure bodybuilding, there leaves very little room for training error. Pure training with precision is crucial for important muscle achievement. Let's face it, a steroid induced bodybuilder is granted a larger margin of error in coaching, and nutrition. Steroids assist bodybuilders in recovering quicker, and might assist longer, extra intense bodybuilding coaching classes. This allows bodybuilders the liberty to coach and eat with less precision, and still reap improbable muscle improvement. Nonetheless, pure bodybuilding athletes should pay very shut attention to element to be able to profit from great muscle constructing outcomes. Witnessing excellent bodybuilding outcomes may be the distinction between performing too many coaching sets, and not sufficient depth.

You almost certainly ask how one can determine in case your pure bodybuilding routine is precisely what it ought to be in order to achieve large, steroid-free results. Are you understanding with the precise quantity of coaching sets per physique part? How concerning the reps, or relaxation days between workouts? Is your coaching intensity important sufficient to illicit a pure bodybuilding response?

There may be a simple solution to discover out! If you be taught just one thing from this pure bodybuilding article, please let this next tip be it. To find out in case your training program is the most effective pure bodybuilding routine, pay shut consideration to detail by recording, and tracking your bodybuilding exercises.

Being a drug free bodybuilder, and realizing what your numbers are always, is being an intelligent bodybuilder. Are you able to think about not monitoring your checking account stability? What a silly question! Not carefully tracking your bodybuilding progress is considered just as silly. Moreover overtraining, lack of tracking your progress is the biggest mistake fellow bodybuilders are making.

How are you going to prepare with maximum effort and effectivity to enhance your musculature if you don't know really where your numbers are? Keep in mind, growing pure muscle is far more difficult, but a way of precision is gained once you track your progress. With out bodybuilding workout precision, it is like driving a car in a strange place blindfolded.

The outcomes of monitoring can assist your pure bodybuilding efforts by making the whole story visible. Tracking will help decide if the quantity of relaxation days between exercises are optimal or not. In case your energy is enhancing with every exercise, you might be getting the exact amount of relaxation needed for optimum growth. If it's not, your rest days should not optimal. Subsequently, monitoring can direct your muscle building workouts into a precise science.

As quickly as your natural bodybuilding log reveals a couple of training periods that show no good points or decreasing strength, you're most certainly overtraining. Coaching greater than is critical is the worst enemy for any pure bodybuilder. Simply bear in mind, your physique will not be capable to get better from the coaching stress as rapidly as a steroid induced bodybuilder can. Subsequently, if you attempt to duplicate a steroid aided coaching program, you may be dead in the water. Your natural muscle constructing results will certainly endure. As soon as again, focusing on a particular program for you, and also you solely, is a key level to recollect. Contemplate your training log the important thing to all the data essential for significant pure bodybuilding good points.

Take a closer take a look at your coaching log. Should you discover you've got achieved 10 reps on a selected train for 2 consecutive workouts, you must focus your thoughts on pumping out the eleventh reps throughout the subsequent training session. This particular knowledge, if adopted, will direct and focus your pure bodybuilding routine into precisely what is critical for development.

This valuable data may also serve as an awesome motivator for attaining your specific objectives. I name it training smart. If you already know precisely what numbers are wanted to perform your purpose through the next workout, you are more likely to obtain it, thus, overloading your system with a purpose to develop rock onerous muscle. Take, as an illustration, a retail store. If they don't observe how much money they made yesterday, how will they stay targeted on what they need to beat as we speak?

Previous to getting into the gym, profitable natural bodybuilders make point of drawing up a mental picture of what must be achieved so as to obtain their purpose. By maintaining a pure bodybuilding training log, you too will have a license to shortly construct muscle.

Another glorious tip to achieving natural bodybuilding results is listening to the timing of your nutrients. As soon as once more, it is crucial for a pure bodybuilder to pay close attention to what is taking place on the nutrition facet of the pure bodybuilding puzzle. Analysis suggests you will need to eat carbs, and protein within one hour following a hello-intensity, natural bodybuilding workout. This specific bodybuilding diet routine will assist stimulate the muscle constructing recovery course of. Natural bodybuilding buffs also have to pay close attention to the amount of calories they are taking in. Just as coaching, I also recommend tracking your diet regimen.

As you now know, natural bodybuilding results are simply seen if you happen to concentrate on exact training. By coaching good you'll reap all the benefits of bodybuilding with out steroid uncomfortable side effects. Simply observe my suggestions stated above, and your training will be guaranteed to be the simplest, efficient natural bodybuilding system doable.

Pure bodybuilding workouts are getting loads of consideration currently. That is mainly due to all monsters you see on bodybuilding exhibits lately. Just for searching for natural muscle constructing exercises, you're actually being very smart. So give yourself a round of applause and a pat on the back (but not on the same time).

The rationale I am praising you, is that you just perceive that you must comply with pure muscle constructing exercises. Not exercises done by pro bodybuilders. Who're most likely taking performance enhancing medicine, have elite genetics and recovering potential.

I'm going to offer you some pointers to observe to your natural muscle building workouts and the way they need to be structured. So with out further ado, lets get right down to business.

Keep Your Pure Bodybuilding Exercises Below 1 Hour

A bodybuilding workout (or any weight lifting) puts a number of stress in your body and may be very metabolically demanding. Across the hour mark of your natural bodybuilding exercise, a hormone referred to as cortisol is released. When this happens your physique begins to burn muscle for energy. I think you will agree that's not what you need when trying to build muscle. Moreover, if your exercises are lasting longer than an hour, you are in all probability not working exhausting sufficient.

Workout Your Legs

For the love of god, please exercise your legs, I can not stress this sufficient. Yeah I know you simply need massive weapons and a 34DD chest. However do you know that working your legs gives you bigger muscle groups everywhere else? Yea that is right.

This is due to hormones mainly; Testosterone is released and elevated when you work plenty of muscle. But the only muscular tissues in your higher body that elevates counting macros testosterone, is the again. Subsequently if you're doing chest and biceps all the time, you might be lacking out on a complete host of testosterone.

The entire level pure bodybuilding exercises is to get essentially the most out of your coaching for the pure trainee. Keep in mind, work the legs; the entire physique will develop.

Taper Your Quantity To Match Your Frequency

This is form of related to the earlier tip, but deserves its personal section as it'll make it easier to pack on muscle mass. The worst factor a pure trainee can do is do to a lot to typically. There may be nothing wrong with you wanting bigger weapons and other 'mirror muscle mass'. However your natural bodybuilding workouts should slot in with a whole bodybuilding routine.

[johnnexwise]

Finding true happiness in life with flow… But what’s flow?!

Walking into an art gallery brings me to a place of respect.  Where souls are bore on canvass to the admiration and critique of its audience. I would say the owners of these pieces are the bravest individuals on the face of the earth because they allow people penetrate their sacred place - their soul. I spend hours on a painting, mesmerized by the piece and what the artist was gunning for. You can relate it to that of euphoria. How people fall so deep in the moment in an Opera. How the performers take the audience on a journey with their voices and live them teary eyed and in awe at the end of a performance. That is how I am with paintings. I remember writing a love triangle on a painting I was drawn by. It was a man in a hat all in black who had his back to the audience but his face tilted to the side, saying good bye. For the hours I spent drawn to that piece I felt I knew him and it was me he had a grudge with. But why?! If you ask anyone what brings happiness, the likely answers are money, comfort, health and power. The expectation that these things bring happiness in itself is great but they are but for the moment. Humans since the beginning of life are insatiable. There is always the drive and hunger for more… and more… and more… which is good for it shows how human we are. I don’t have a house YET but I want five. Unless we learn how to moderate the insatiable demands we have built, unless we learn how to enjoy the moments as it goes by instead of always wishing for more, we are going to be disillusioned and disappointed at the end of life. Therefore the kind of happiness referred to in this piece is that NOT from material things or pleasure but the type that comes from the everyday activities we do from relishing and enjoying every moment; to our interaction with the environment, people around us, happiness from the ongoing use of our skills, happiness derived from living and not from getting something in the future. We will never be truly happy - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi In his book “FLOW: LIVING AT THE PEAK OF YOUR ABILITIES” Mihaly describes flow as a spectacular feeling of complete involvement with what you are doing that comes when you are paying attention to a goal or when you are reading the feedback you get from the goal. A state when one is absorbed in an activity so that your energy is focused and concentrated and time seems to fly by reaching a state of optimal experience. The 2016 movie The Meddler is a romantic drama of a woman who moves to a different city to be with her daughter after the demise of her husband. Her daughter on the other hand is utterly suffocated by the presence of her mother who she feels would be better off if she had a hobby or something more distracting. Marnie, the protagonist of the movie, finds flow in her daily life by positively impacting the lives of the people in her environment and being needed and happily available in the lives of these individuals. In the process she eventually finds love and a happier relationship with her daughter. Flow meets us and can be achieved at a point where we feel we have hit a brick wall. The job so repetitive has become a bore or the family who doesn’t get us. The idea is finding a balance and making juice from drab. It’s about enjoying the process to a goal when you are happy doing something. Happiness is from the doing and not the goal. If you have watched the 2016 movie Me Before You, I’m sure it left you with the dagger in the heart feeling. It’s a love story about Lou played by the Game of Thrones Queen of dragons Emilia, who became a caregiver to quadriplegic young man Will who suffered Paralysis two years back from a Skiing accident. The movie caused a lot of outrage from people suffering paralysis saying that they choose life and not Will’s escape. Let’s not get distracted but focus on the movie now… I believe Will reached a peak of Flow being with fun bubbly Lou. He admitted that he was his happiest being with her for she made him feel the truest form of love, friendship, need and want. He was alive with her but in my opinion due to his stubborn, hard headed; proud self and the writer’s desire to make us question love the more. He chose death than live as a prisoner in his own body. What happens when we reach a devastating moment in our life? Do we recline to our shells and become depressed or do we live? Mihaly encourages flow in not just our passions, desires, hobbies and wants but in every aspect of life, both the good and the bad. So that when we a reach a place we feel boxed we can start a spark and enjoy the view. What do you think my Flow is? Click to Post