“Love & Pride” - King

via KingVEVO

A poignant illustration of the confused cultural landscape in which I came of age.

ucresearch:

Piano playing cats

An Animal Planet segment ponders how and why this cat seems to be playing the piano.  Animal behaviorist and UC Davis alumna Dr. Sophia Lin says that cats can hear and understand different tones played on instruments such as the piano.  Additionally these animals are born imitators and so this cat could very well be trying to communicate to her piano teacher owner.

Sophia researches animal behavior as a way for humans to better understand their pets:

“Pets don’t understand spoken language, they rely on body language plus desired or undesired consequences in order to learn. This means that humans must be aware of their movement and actions because every move they make while interacting with the pet influences the animal’s behavior and perception of them.”

Read more on her blog→

WANT CAT.

(via crookedindifference)

starryfeet:

youbroketheinternet: going to build this

Gimme a break!

my light by ckwinny

sunlight on grass & moss on Flickr

Hi, Spring. Glad you could make it.

“Fire & Rain” - James Taylor

I need to write a letter to Glenda.

Every Day You Play, by Pablo Neruda

Every Day You Play, by Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

prabhujotsingh:

Sister Rosetta Tharpe – gospel music’s first superstar, the godmother of rock and roll, “the original soul sister,” reconstructionist – waiting for The Blues Train in Chorlton, 1963.

I wanna be her when I grow up.

(Source: explore-blog, via belleischrome)

sniffyjenkins:

I think, after two years, I’ve finally remembered how to do twitter.

Ha! I was so excited to get my tweet history a few days ago, to see what I’d written back when I could do Twitter, too. :)

Cheers to you, you funny sweetheart!

Molly, the Darling of the D&D Set on Flickr

nobodysdiary:

thejogging: Erasing a Kate Steciw (After De Kooning), 2013, Performance, ⧗ + §§

What I’m working on today

Re: thispostisanovel.tumblr.com

This is unfinished.

————-3/14/13———

I startled awake, looking behind me as the water along the river receded, realizing my foot had just left the bobbing, sinking top of a VW microbus, rapidly shrinking to a final white spray behind me. And I was a voice and a movement over the water. 

I’m thinking about what my life means to me. How precious it is.

It was when I looked for my vehicle that I was startled. Before, I’d been touching what I’d thought were either reflections or singular shapes under the surface, but turned out to be patterns on a surface that felt somewhere between cardboard with a finish of sand crust as it fell away, a false surface. [fix prose — also: link to http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2013/03/oceanic-crust-ecosystem/all/]

Photography metaphor. A metaphor for a lot of things.

I’ve been daydreaming about homes far away. The last month or so of work, I’d find myself gazing lovingly at a 300-year-old bakery in the south of France. At a mill (with stream) in Portugal. 

Tara gave me the courage…

This book is about acknowledgements — or, at least it’s partly so. I’d thought of the title/idea three years ago. All I want to do is love. I am so lucky to have such exquisitely [autocorrect tried to fix to “exquisite lay”] sensitive and loving and inspiring people in my life.

This is what I’ve been wanting to write, and I’m crying because I have the time to write it, for the first time. I actually managed to make a little space for myself. I’m crying while I write because this feels like a breakthrough. This feeling is very special to me. This is why I do things. This feeling. This absorbing or the outer to inner (and vice-versa) — this permeable membrane at the edge of myself. The gratitude I feel when I’m near to that and it’s an enriching experience, not a let-down or an old story. Something unexpected and rewarding to me. My friends and family have given me so many of those moments.

—-

After…

—-

Here’s what I think: Erik & I are having big psychological or logical breakthroughs pretty often, writing like maniacs, etc. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that that’s probably stressful to our systems. 

It’d be nice to leave connectedness behind for a few days and get some real rest.

We are so well attuned to each other. That feels great… [I’m saying this all wrong.]

—-

Putting on an episode of Wait Wait and we’re both fucking off online, all over the world, daydream doodling, but we’re next to each other, and… [I can’t write.]

—-

Sometimes it’s nice hanging out with dumb people. Or wandering around online.

—-

I was in such a bubble in China. There’s just an uncrossable divide for a blond girl. But as a result… Ha. I just reversed the bubble in my mind, because I was talking about China. Chess vs. Go. The big bubbles in China made us laowai gather closely in the cracks. It’s how you keep your own culture.

—-

Revelation cascade:
Mom movie is the first installment on the tumblr Acknowledgements page. Or maybe leave the ones up currently as what it took to get me there. More real.

Ok.

Mom movie is the first installment on the tumblr Ack. page.
Make the Kickstarter & get it right before putting it up.

—-

Next.

The Ack. page can be the home of all the letters I want to write to my friends who’ve fallen out of my life, and what they mean(t) to me.

—-

And I can email them the link, to let them know I’m thinking about them. And that feels nice.

—-

I could be a professional friend, but I don’t want to sell out. Also: time alone. I need lots of that. I’m an asshole and I need to be in my hermit cave a fair amount, so everyone just needs to fuck off sometimes. I get too stressed out. Mama needs to cheel.

likeafieldmouse:

Jeremie Martino - A Moment of Detente in the Life of a Painter (2010)