Tuesday, September 30, 2014


Sometimes I wish there was a better brand new me underneath. There is not.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Horrible Photography & What I Wore

Literally What I Wore

These are taken at the Hill-Stead Museum, it has a collection of impressionist paintings, not that I'm a huge fan of them but the grounds feel like an impressionist painting (especially with my horrible photography). I really enjoyed it here and the history of the place is interesting too. I like going to these kinds of places. I'm wearing a Pink Floyd shirt, H&M skirt and Sam Edleman boots (which you can't really see, which is too bad). 

Connecticut River

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


Do you ever tilt your head back while sitting in a chair and wonder if this might happen?

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Poem No. 3

Quest for Truth

I was asked to post the following message where people might see it:

We want to talk to you if you have had the following experience.
You were alone in a public place and you were approached by a woman wearing black.
You remember immediately that you had seen her before.
She makes some jokes or small talk.
She has an accent that is hard to identify.
Then she offers to play a game which involves numbers.
You agree.
She tells you to think of a number.
You do.
Then she writes it down.
She asks you to do it again and to think of her face when you do it.
She tells you she will leave and come back.
She leaves.
For some reason you comply with her request, but her face is hard to visualize.
She returns after some time.
She writes down the number.
Next she asks you to think of a phrase.
She writes it down.
The game takes a strange turn.
The game continues.
Eventually, she seems satisfied.
She asks you if her face is hard to visualize.
You admit that it is.
She gives you a ring she is wearing, it has something written on it.
The ring is silver and looks well made.
She tells you that it is the “emergency system”
Then she leaves, and you don’t see her again.
Then it happens, it’s different for different people, but the “emergency” happens.
You forgot about her, but you remember her, when it happens.
You start to play the game you had played before, like she taught you.
You might have doubts but you also have no other hope.
Remarkably she comes.
She tells you some things but they don’t make sense.
She asks to have her ring back.
You give it to her.
She tells you not to betray her.
She leaves.
We are like you, and we are trying to make sense of what she said.
Contact us.
What does it say on the ring?

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Poem No.2

Odd Dream

It’s an old trick
Start by finding a doll or a statue.
Position yourself comfortably before it.
It will take you there.
Look into its eyes.
Nothing will happen at first.
Your legs might cramp up but don’t move them.
Don’t move anything. Allow yourself to become fixed.
Fixed in time and space.
Don’t feel. Stop Feeling.
Several hours should have passed by now.
The light has changed.
Let the light keep changing.
Two eyes merge into one.
The third eye is not located on the forehead but between the two eyes.
Beginner’s mistake.
Now look into it.
All thought has ceased, by now.
You can’t feel but you can sense.
You are being turned inside out.
The skin falls away.
Everything falls away.
There is only darkness.
You are not you any longer, “you” were left behind with the skin.
Back there.
A long time ago.
You are free finally, free from “you”.
You realize what a burden “you” are.
How heavy “you” are.
When you breathe the breath fills every part of you, each and every time.
It feels like being repeatedly submerged in cool refreshing water.
You are cleaner ever time.
Even this ceases eventually.
And you become vast.
You become dispersed.
You become bigger than reality.
You swallow up reality.
At this point the beginner will believe they have reached the place.
Another mistake.
You are not alone, now.
The vast old ones blow by in the distance.
The distances are so colossal that if you moved, you would not be moving.
You sense other beings.
Compared to them you are totally insignificant.
Fear overtakes the beginner.
They are unable to notice you, you are so inconsequential.
Your smallness terrifies you.
Not just the smallness, but the bareness.
You are fully and completely exposed.
You try to hide and the place you turn, when that happens, is the place.
It has something like a smell.
Like smoke.
You know where you are.
There is something like sound.
To the beginner it sounds like screams but that is not what that is.
It is what the truth sounds like.
The sound like thing is piercing you.
The beginner will want to quit at this point.
At this point you feel yourself being destroyed.
You feel like you are being shredded alive.
Then the burning comes.
You never sensed pain this sharp.
At this point you are really beginning to break.
All the remaining barriers are being twisted and pulled apart, as they are being incinerated.
You never sensed hurt this deep.
The energy that time gives off is combusting.
At this point you sense the truth is near.
It is not what you thought.
It demands greater sacrifice.
You have not even sacrificed the tiniest drop of what it demands.
Yet, your obliteration is so total and so complete.
You are nothing.
You are less than nothing, now.
You turn into the nothingness that you are, crushed by the magnitude of your failure.
Then you realize there is a whole additional vast reserve of yourself you never knew you had.
A monstrous landscape had been hidden from you, before.
You can spend the rest of eternity exploring it, without having seen a speck of it.
The truth demands all this and much, much more.
You hate the truth.
Never have you felt such violent hatred.
The violence of your own hatred makes you forget everything.
The hatred shatters all your memories.
All your hopes and desires splinter away.
It tears apart your aspirations, and wants and all that is good in you.
The hatred destroys your capacity to want anything, including the truth.
You are finally starting to see.
You didn’t come here to find the truth, you fool.
The truth is one of the smallest things here.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Amongst Saints

Photographer: Henrique Gendre, Model Gigi Hadid, for Lita Mortari campaign Fall 2014 source

I love editorials that remind me of those old horror movies, the ones that weren't really scary, the kind no one makes any more. I guess audiences got tired of them. I don't think I can get tired of them. Good thing so many of them were made. 

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Augustus Egg

The Traveling Companions 1862. source

 Augustus Egg was a man full of good intentions but he was a product of his times; straight laced, prudish times. 'The Traveling Companions' is supposed to be about sex. The flowers represent purity and virginity while the fruit represents sex source. The woman on the left is "exposing" herself sexually, as evidenced by her lack of gloves. Learning the motives behind his works takes the fun out of them. His works beg to be reinterpreted outside the constricting Victorian moral framework, but cannot be divorced from it.

Le Diable Boiteux source

Egg believed his duty as an artist was to send a message, to teach a lesson, to deliver a cautionary tale. Art was a tool to inform people about why it is that they should behave "virtuously". He was sincere in this, and certainly not alone, although he probably felt like he was.

Self Portrait as a Distressed Poet. source

Lady in a Green Dress source

Desdemona source

He also made a few "before and after" scenes to point out the consequences of immorality. He certainly does this in a beautiful way. The Life of Buckingham depicts an aristocrat at a party then alone. 

The most striking contrast is the Duke's expression in the paintings; his barely-visible profile on the bed shows a marked agony of greater veracity than any expression in the other painting, striking in its departure from his thoroughly vacant expression. For all its subjects and detail, the festive painting is full of emptiness; the deathbed is similarly consumed with a dense lack. In precisely balancing the images against one another, Egg sharply criticizes courtly frippery while calling into question which painting truly depicts a living subject. source

Interpreting these is practically a sport, a suitable Victorian entertainment. There is no "art for art's sake" here. The clues are unambiguously laid out, with little room for worldviews contrary to his own. This is very characteristic of those times. Yet just like the mirrors in the image below, his works are mirrors that don't really reflect people only dark old values in gilded frames. 

The Life of Buckingham source

The Life of Buckingham source

Friday, August 1, 2014

Vast and Open

Mary Lee is one of the most inspiring bloggers I know of, with her blog twistedlamb. She has taken time off from blogging to participate in the Mongol Derby. I love these pictures of her for a photo shoot and I really look forward for the edited full version. This also seems like a good time to mention why I like this aesthetic so much. I was born in ancient and beautiful Almaty, Kazakhstan. The landscape is similar to that of Mongolia; vast and open. There are many fierce and fascinating nomadic tribes who live there. My ancestors must have somehow fit into this diverse tapestry of peoples, I often wonder how. I moved to the U.S. when I was four, so I don't know this place as well as I wish I did, but  I dream of it.
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