Posted 1 day ago
the absence of humility and the passion for truth-silencing that add up to pure and radical evil
Infinite Jest
Posted 1 day ago
Posted 2 days ago



The Aftershocks

I was asked to create a .gif of a house interior during an earthquake. The article chronicles the controversial aftermath of the devastating quake that happened in L’Aquila, Italy in 2009. I wanted to capture the movement of the “tremors” before the full-on earthquake, although this tremor is infinite, never resolving.
This image and the all the animation was made in Photoshop. thanks AD Erich Nagler!

Rebecca is amazing!

Posted 4 days ago


Varieties of religion

Abandon all
Varieties of religion
And live in peace.

Go with the Supreme Truth
And live in peace
It is like watering the root of a tree.

Give love
And live in peace
And see everything all right.

Wait not for the result
Go on performing your own duties
And live in peace.

Peace peace and peace
It is in you, my dear, please see.

Posted 4 days ago



(Source: blackspider)

Posted 6 days ago


Ty Segall. His new Double LP by the name of Manipulator just came out. 

Before I saw this video and I was listening to Manipulator in the bathtub, I had a sneaking suspicion that Thom Yorke was in fact secretly churning out 3 or 4 albums a year under the name Ty Segall.

While that isn’t the case, there is something to be made of the comparison. Ty seems to grapple with the very heart and soul of rock while comfortably alienating his own output as an observer, a newcomer. A weirdo that seems to understand how fun and rare his music is.

His favorite album of mine, Sleeper can be heard in full here. And Manipulator is temporarily streaming at NPR’s first listen here.


Posted 1 week ago

The Mountain

I climb a mountain in the dark
I wait for the sun to rise

In the city, hear insecure hearts
Shyly say
“Give me everything,”
They’re right;
Hesitant encouragement
Could indict a man.
The light, among friend’s
eyes gather.

Looking in, trying
Silence, inadequate
Silence, asking for
A gaze is falling


The timepiece rolls down
You are climbing a mountain
And your watch is free


Your eyes see the city
But not really,
The way a beast sees

The darkness on the mountain
is unthreatened by the black sky
Your feet move without will
If you could speak to the hill
You would quote Nietsche
Never having read him
And continue to climb.

It’s hard to speak, though
With no witness to enjoy

Despite being alone,
And the barrier
Hunting, your feet
Touch the skin of
Dark quiet stone.

Unlistening, the mountain
Incapable of listening
You put your quietness aside
And whisper “I’m ok.”

The sun turns over to you
Lovingly and gives
Light to your eyes.
Wills you from afar
To forgive, and you
Burn in transfigurative fire

Hot on the mountain,
Your quiet friend giving
You the creeps.

Posted 1 week ago

Needing a Day to Dream

The tapestry of the day weaves,
half of its face, and leaves
someway natural at twelve
Am I specific

Blue lines,
Drowned and battered chords,
Whispered into the wind litanies
Come torn and face me

My execution and judgement wait
My memories grow eyes and teeth

I seek the containment, the way
To put my day where it belongs
an intro to sleeping silence

I use
The blankets, green glass, pink pills
Yellow street light pissing on the sill

My world less

New life, my lonely children; their mother is
And my lover, my light
Is a way
Our children run in the crabgrass.
Their trials brushing my neck I recollect
A history unimportant and senseless,
Sensed lost beyond the woven fences.

Spinning wheels and children
Have long been melting
The symbol for their life has been stolen

Leaving scars I cannot see;
The deafness of my cloaked periphery
If again she comes I will not cease
Our fertility gracious

And I’m growing now, I’ve again scared
Some now ancient generation, crying saying
They can see no room in my ashen mind,
Designed by my inner child’s
Six fingered phantom hand
Against the touch of one dream,
Clutching my chest against the hope
Of a thousand offspring in between
A moment, and the death
Of their dream.

The generations forming a council,
My life returning through reverie
Solitude singes the hair of my nostrils
And it has escaped with all my secrecy.

My children are surrounding me, about
To kill or transfigure my mutilated silence.
As I let the choices I have made be quiet,
Everything disappears in florid violence

I see myself in every form, even hopeless
Danger, I look to myself as I would a stranger
As if destruction has ever imbued an ethos
By informing frailty, like wilting vividly.

The browning of white buds, my childish ghosts,
Have died upon my breast,
A thousand old men now awake,
refreshed and breathless.

Have I grown younger in sleepless haunts?
Have I saved even the day from my daydreams?
Or my screamless day terrors, mouth
Closed upon my lips, teeth dislodging
Desire to give away
I step on my own feet
And smile.
To make stay until I’m awake.

Posted 1 week ago



From Elon James White Tuesday night.

This better have hundreds of thousands of notes at the end of the day or else

Posted 1 week ago

Mikhailovsky Ballet dancers in ‘Le Corsaire.’ 

(Source: katbot)