March 2010
24 posts
"the answer my friend is blowin' in the wind." ...
love this guy. →
Book →
landonfriend:
For thirty-six weeks a sketchbook was sent in random order between four artists; two in Brooklyn, two in Belfast.
a hundred words on writing.
I used to think that writers had to posses a large vocabulary of words to disseminate onto paper for readers to read and lovers of words to process and ponder, but I realize now that’s not exactly true. What is true is that each word is supposed to play into a story and it’s the writer’s job to live a story worth telling. I am not even a writer, nor an artist for that matter, but...
“The artist is a bridge between despair and hope. The artist, more than anyone...”
– Jon Foreman in his essay “What’s in a Word?”
To read the entire essay follow this link!
(via pennypensees)
i think it is about the time to tell a story...
but you have to listen closely to the details that you cannot hear, the details you cannot see, but to the details that you can imagine. the sun is high and warm is the day. robbia wants to play in this warm sun rather than sitting in this room of maroon plastered walls while her and me and the busy bodies hack away on computers or pressing pencils onto worksheets for class. i’m just in this...
i'm in love.
bread & roses.
As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day, A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts gray Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses, For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.” As we come marching, marching, we battle, too, for men — For they are women’s children, and we mother them again. Our lives...
Watchtobie milford // roomies redux
... actually i'll just tell you when i get home.
PS.The Wisconsin folk are kinda odd. It’s kinda hysterical. People watching in Milwaukee is better than people watching in New York.
and my day started with the desire for q-tips...
… and there they were in the bathroom cabby of my foriegn gathering of a hostel. I don’t know who they belonged to but I asked God for them and there they were, but I never thought God’s hand, actually no I didn’t underestimate God but I’ve never seen the hand of God so much in a day of my life, actually no, I did unestimate God but let me tell you about the rest of...
angry conversations with God, part 812.
Me: God, this is so stupid! I don't even know why I'm here. This Fujimura guy can't even speak English. Where the heck are you in this whole Shalom thing?
God: You'll see.
Me: I don't even know a soul here! I'm like a speak in this too big city.
God: Ok...
Me: Ok?
God: I brought you all the way out here to tell you that -
Anonymous Girl from England: I don't know why I'm here either!
God and Anonymous Girl from England together: YOU'RE NOT ALONE! I know how it feels.
thus far my life in new york.
I woke up bright and early in a nice cozy pink covered bed in the heart of queens to the sonar sound of my alarm, not only waking myself up, but the friend of a friend who was in the bed next to mine. I hop out the darkest shower which had an overhead spray which was incredible. I pack, unpack, change clothes three times, pack and unpack again and realize that I brought two pairs of toms and two...
satori in paris, the pale face and the hometowns...
Because of that quiet girl voice bell-tone announcing flights singing something like “Delta Airlines Flight 302 to Mexico City now loading at gate A38” or “Frontier Airlines Flight 832 to Boston now loading at gate A43” and so on leaves me in this Denver room of sojourners as I, with no choice but to turn our headphones up, sing out like with the songs of freedom all over...
