Follow me to Iceland. 
Posted on Tue, Jul 29th 2014
CrowBar: An Ad Campaign for Death

I hear French.
There’s a bunch of foreigners speaking the opulent language. Can’t really tell whether they’re from the mother country or just have a blast practicing the language out in the field. I felt enchanted. Coincidentally, I was reading a book by Milan Kundera with the title “Identity.” I made the purchase just a few days ago. Interestingly enough, Kundera is a Franco-Czech author. The book is about a couple in France.
In the past I blatantly confused Maurice Blanchot with Milan Kundera. There’s no real connection between the two authors, apart from them being contemporary novelists dealing with death, melancholy and love. And Blanchot is French. In one world: “existentialists.”
Moving on, however, I realized the music the little café had on was the soundtrack to “Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain.” It was all too obvious. It was all too French all of a sudden.
Thank God for these teen Italian bellas strolling through the street and breaking my French line of thought. Grazie Mille!

Not an hour ago a gypsy roamed through the street of my apartment building. He broke Sunday’s silence. He did it by playing a bal-musette song.
He was looking for somebody as he was gazing at the sky like he knew it was about to fall.
With every long-standing gaze he never forgot to press the right ivory of his accordion or take a leisurely step forward. Still playing the same sad, but beautiful song, he chanted at the skies with his eyes.
Whoever he wanted to summon never showed up.
He disappeared within Sunday’s silence.

My beat-up watch is a divergent.
It chooses to let time pass by whenever it pleases.
Does it have free will? Of course not, silly.
It’s a fucking inanimate object.
It doesn’t breathe. It doesn’t do photosynthesis. It doesn’t have gills. What it has is one tiny rose window announcing your death.

image

(Image Source

Posted on Sun, Jul 27th 2014
newyorker:

On the newly redesigned newyorker.com, our entire archive—dating back to 2007—will be available, for free, through the fall. Take a look. We hope you enjoy it.
Read more about the changes, in a note from our editors: http://nyr.kr/1rDjmZ0
Illustration by Barry Blitt.

The New Yorker redesigns its age and opens up archive dating to 2007.
Posted on Mon, Jul 21st 2014
jamespdavies:

Productive day!
Posted on Mon, Jul 21st 2014
CrowBar: Haunted by Beauty

For some reason I’d like to have a conversation with you. Filled with varying points of views, disagreements, common ground and mutual interests. For some reason I’d like to talk to you about depths of field, shimmering light and sunsets. There would be laughter, quiet moments and we will look away to catch our breath from staring each other up. More than just a few words. More than just a simple exchange. More than just a tease. For some reason I’d like to talk to you.

You’re entering a world you won’t be able to escape so easily - “World of Beauty.” There will be no redemption. Nothing will be easy. You will have a hard time. It will be a chore to distinguish between truth and fiction. You, darling, will be our next top model.

She stupefies me with her simple yet engaging glamor. These fleeting moments of grace. I’m drawn to her like a mosquito is drawn to a glimmer of light on a moonless night. I’m unable to hold myself back from looking at her. She doesn’t even know that I exist. It fills me with remorse.
You poisoned me with questions. Cursed me with your skin, smell, radiant eyes, soft hands and feminine movements. I’m struck down. Kneeling in front of you ready to be your servant. Take my hand, for I shall protect you for eternity.
An exuberant sigh escaped from the man’s part of the couchette. Nobody payed attention. The muffled speaker all of a sudden cleared out and the train conductor announced the next station. The girl put her coat on and barely uttering a goodbye to the remaining passengers left. As the train pulled into the station he tried to catch one last glimpse of the woman. It was raining and most people altered their looks when getting off the train. Umbrellas, hoods and frowns made them almost unrecognizable. She escaped his sight within the mass. The train jerked a few times and edged itself slowly out of the station.

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(Image Source)

Posted on Sun, Jul 20th 2014
Posted on Sun, Jul 13th 2014
1000drawings:

雨宿りby S

Reminds me of Miyazaki.
Posted on Sun, Jul 13th 2014
CrowBar: Spring Commission

Window panes began to utter hush sounds of the night. Muttering and murmuring in voices nobody could understand. As lonesome as they were, their words were not inviting, nor did they have a warm tone. Accompanied by a slight whisk of the wind they protruded into the room and filled its silence with theirs. They entered one by one, although they did not receive an invitation of any kind. The room was occupied by a single light tucked away in a corner. It’s flush source had a hard time illuminating but a quarter of the entire space it was commissioned to.
The room’s occupant was breathing silently. He steadily listened to the outside rumbling. The cold of the night began creeping in. Feeling a slight change in the rooms temperature he immediately tuck the sheets tighter against his body. In order to preserve the amassed warmth he pulled the duvet higher and covered the remainders of his upper torso. The trickle no longer occupied the window pane, now it was its stronger, bigger brother. The occupant sighed a little. He knew about the coming storm from the weather forecast he had seen a day before. It was a relief as he always imagined the weather man would underestimate the storm and that it would turn into a hurricane or other natural disaster waiting to happen. Knowing he would get a little paranoid about these sort of premonitions he would make himself a large cup of chai and drink it slowly right about when the storm was to begin. He had this intriguing ability to sense a storm when it was around the corner. He would hurry home to make tea, crawl into bed and slowly sip his warm beverage until the storm would settle and eventually pass.

image

(Image Source)

Posted on Sat, Jul 12th 2014
unculturedmag:

Always…

Protect me from what I want.
Posted on Sat, Jul 5th 2014
1000drawings:

by Ivonna Buenrostro

Rushmore.
Posted on Thu, Jun 26th 2014
Posted on Tue, Jun 24th 2014
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