Wednesday, December 31, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº72

Glowing objects! Symmetry is good, assymetry is good, everything is good if it glows in the dark.
Happy new year!
This is a fraction of a poem I MUST learn by memory, love it so much! It is supposed to be more proper for Christmas but I prefer it for a new year.

Glow in the dark, people! Empower your purple! Have a great year.



Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.


Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold:
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.


Alfred Lord Tennyson, "In Memoriam A.H.H.".

Monday, December 29, 2008

Purple sun

It is not a stroke of genius in life when an eleven year old comes to inspire the very technical solution that no ex-professor could help you to articulate for over two years? All parents should know very well.
Now I can use glowing and transparent objects in 3D, and it is due to a Muse called Annie Kosh.

And purple is the colour of royalty. We all know.
Purple is the less common colour in nature. Purple is the colour of orchids, so it is associated with femineity, and receptivity. It is the colour of heliotropes, which leaves follow the sun; so purple is also associated with masculinity, and activity. Then, in human colour psychology it represents confusion at a certain level; or a perfect blend, a commonality of senses, on a opposed one.
Purple is not a spectral colour, as violet is. So in a deep hue is a colour for mystery, for the enlightenment that follows, and for the final wisdom that lays as a reward.
It is associated with creativity. There is a theory of purple auras belonging to artistic spirits. It is a spiritual colour, it represents spirituality as if it would be opposed to the forces of nature. But as purple is itself the colour of perfect blends, it represents the vibration that blends strong nature forces with intense spiritual ones.
Purple is the colour of royalty. ...And that shade of purple I like the most, the memory of the grapes hanging outside my childhood house, under the purple sun.

Purple—is fashionable twice—
This season of the year,
And when a soul perceives itself
To be an Emperor.

Emily Dickinson, 980.


There is a flower that Bees prefer—
And Butterflies—desire—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire—

And Whatsoever Insect pass—
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity—

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture—
Or Rhododendron—worn—

She doth not wait for June—
Before the World be Green—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen—

Contending with the Grass—
Near Kinsman to Herself—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun—
Sweet Litigants for Life—

And when the Hills be full—
And newer fashions blow—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy—

Her Public—be the Noon—
Her Providence—the Sun—
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—

The Bravest—of the Host—
Surrendering—the last—
Nor even of Defeat—aware—
What cancelled by the Frost—

Emily Dickinson, "Purple clover". (from "Poems: Three Series, Complete", Part III, XIV).

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Red and blue and blue and red

Last year for Innocents' Day I posted an image, and now wanted to make a 3D version, well this is it. Pasting the text of that previous post:
If you are one of those, like me, who can't take a side on red or blue, this is for you. :-) The image is simply red and blue and blue and red, but not red or blue nor blue or red, nor only red and blue, nor only blue and red, but just red and blue and blue and red. So that's the name.

By the way, have a nice innocents' day.


Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Christmas star

At Christmas time from clime to clime
Each star to star doth sweetly chime,
Till all the heavens are ringed with rhyme

Then loosed above, a note thereof
Floats downward like a wandering dove,
And all the world is ringed with Love!

John Bannister Tabb, "A Christmas chime".

EDIT:  and a bluer version, just because:

Christoween life form

Happy Christoween, bitches!

In the "spirit" of the season I send everyone to ***k themselves. ;-) I found this life form on the cristal clear snow, I thought it was a christmas wreath and hung it on my door, it sucked up my relatives brains, and it didn't even got drunk on self-absorption. hihi
Don't come knocking on my door with a freaking christmas carol, this is christoween and you may become a zombie when Munchie (as I call him) drink your brain on the rocks.

"Happy Christmaaas" (with a mocking tone), for the unbelievers. ;-) ...But for real.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Creature of the Light Nº4

One, two, three, four, We don't want your fuckin' war,
A, B, C, D, Get someone else, hey don't get me,
Left, right, left, right, You know the whole damn thing puts me uptight.

Country Joe McDonald, "Kiss my ass".

Saturday, December 20, 2008


This heavy arch reflects a rainbow.

The Lord's arc plows the sphere
And blesses us. In the great pure arc
Are the blessings of the future,
But also my love, my waiting love.

J.L.Borges, from "The Iron Coin".

I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.

Genesis 9:13

As the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud in the day of rain, so was the appearance of the brightness round about. This was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord. And when I saw it, I fell upon my face, and I heard a voice of one that spake.

Ezekiel 1:28

Monday, December 15, 2008

Pendant of the spider queen

This was rendered using radiosity, and area lights of course (something geeky for the unbelievers), first ever that I post. The render started december 12 and ended today, too long to repeat this insanity.

As Christmas comes closer, and as I don't feel worst or better than any other day, I still try to embelish my thoughts with edible darkness, just to keep the balance and do not float when I'm lighter.
The heat is striking hard, so the winterly thoughts of Mallarmé are a poor consolation but welcome anyway. I had a good time repeating teenage readings; I think I was a better reader then.

This is not a compliment at all, but a pendant for human arthropodes, asymmetry intended.

I don’t come to conquer your flesh tonight, O beast
In whom are the sins of the race, nor to stir
In your foul tresses a mournful tempest
Beneath the fatal boredom my kisses pour:

A heavy sleep without those dreams that creep
Under curtains alien to remorse, I ask of your bed,
Sleep you can savour after your dark deceits,
You who know more of Nothingness than the dead.

For Vice, gnawing this inborn nobleness of mine
Marked me, like you, with its sterility,
But shroud-haunted, pale, destroyed, I flee

While that heart no tooth of any crime
Can wound lives in your breast of stone,
Frightened of dying while I sleep alone.

Stéphane Mallarmé, "Distress".

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Creatures of the Light Nº2 and Nº3

Two organic art creatures, siblings of sleepless nights, text messages, love and books altogether, in a measure of each that only an alchemist should know.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e e cummings, (LVII).

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
around we go who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one

e e cummings, (LIV).

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Creature of the Light Nº1

Sometime ago I finally came up with another idea for a series. It was thankfully inspired by e-mails exchanged with Megan; what a deeply cherished spiral of influence. I think it's my third serie already, but the first in 3D. I'm somewhat thrilled because of its possibilities (although nothing here is a big deal, except having the fresh air of inspiration). It'll be a "double-helix" serie of organic art: Creatures of the Light and Species of the Dark; it may allow me to post very cherished poems about good and evil, and about the paradise won and the paradise lost. I'm excited with the possibilities, although I really don't like to work on a serie of a concept because it restricts the creativity, but my creativity has been clearly unexistent for months and surely that's why I'm excited about this and thankful to know Megan; it gives me a glimpse of an objective. All this is based on my teenager fantasy of becoming a mural painter, I wanted to paint a struggle between good and evil on every worldly scene, every human act, but I never found the opportunity of studying visual arts. So this is a very reduced version of that teenage dream, downgraded to organic art, but it requires my fullest attention to the escorting poem. So I wish to cope with it.
It is ironic that this came up under the pressure of a hard time in my life, but who can't say something different?, nothing shows up on a perfect moment and in its perfect place.
This is the first one, best viewed full-screen. Next ones will not include so much babbling.

You can play the song with this gadget:

Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting night and day
I didn't see the time, I waited half my life away
There were lots of invitations and I know you sent me some,
But I was waiting for the miracle,
For the miracle to come

I know you really loved me
but, you see, my hands were tied
I know it must have hurt you,
it must have hurt your pride to have to stand
beneath my window with your bugle
and your drum,
and me I'm up there waiting for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Ah I don't believe you'd like it, you wouldn't like it here
There ain't no entertainment and the judgments are severe
The Maestro says it's Mozart but it sounds like bubble gum
when you're waiting for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Waiting for the miracle there's nothing left to do
I haven't been this happy since the end of World War II

Nothing left to do
when you know that you've been taken
Nothing left to do when you're begging for a crumb
Nothing left to do when you've got to go on waiting
waiting for the miracle to come

I dreamed about you, baby; tt was just the other night
Most of you was naked, Ah, but some of you was light
The sands of time were falling from your fingers and your thumb,
and you were waiting for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Ah, baby, let's get married, we've been alone too long
Let's be alone together, let's see if we're that strong
Yeah let's do something crazy, something absolutely wrong
While we're waiting for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

When you've fallen on the highway
and you're lying in the rain,
and they ask you how you're doing
of course you'll say, you can't complain --
If you're squeezed for information,
that's when you've got to play it dumb:
You just say you're out there waiting
for the miracle,
for the miracle to come

Leonard Cohen, "Waiting for the Miracle".

Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Blue Flower

I knew I had to redo the blue flower of Novalis (my utterly beloved Novalis!), the previous attempts of the past year (1 & 2) sucked big time, were never worthy of the symbol. This time it is definitive; but the image only works in full size.

I'll not bore you with the hard work it took, or my exhaustion, but only say that the computer work is less and less everyday, and the human work is more everyday; the "interactive" part, in "interactive genetic algorithms" is the most compromised here lately. The more you look for something in particular, the less you should trust fate; also the symbol of this image means exactly that; interesting.

Well, it is amazing to have a literature buddy :-) It inspires me the best ideas and inspires me to work hard just for the pleasure of it, the possibility of beauty arising, constantly pushing the Dharma wheel, the relentless quest for truth. My darling Megan, without knowing, pushed this through.

If you have never read the unfinished novel "Heinrich von Ofterdingen" and didn't clicked on the wikipedia link, the blue flower that Novalis thought is "a central symbol of Romanticism. It stands for desire, love, and the metaphysical striving for the infinite and unreachable." With enough luck, this image of blue petals and a starry night, can get close to symbolize that, and if you see it full-size and get close to this dark image, will see the tiny little divine stars, reflected like nightly dew on the petals.

"The flower" (previous post) becomes now the infinite divine flower, an interrogation of life, love, motivations, experience, purpose and infinity.
Incidentally enough, my town these days is populated with blue morning glories, and they seem to capture the sun within them, like the one to whom this image is made for:
It is yours, Bronwyn; and the quotes below.

"It's not the treasures I care about" he said to himself "such coveting is miles from my mind, but I long to see the blue flower. I cant get rid of the idea, it haunts me. I never felt like this before, its as if I dreamed of it years ago, or had a vision of it in another world, for who would be so concerned about a flower in this world? and I've never heard of anyone being in love with a flower. Where did this stranger come from? None of us had ever seen anyone like him. I don't know why his words impacted on me so deeply, the others heard him, and they didn't produce the same effect on their minds. I cant even express the strange state I'm in. Sometimes rapt in delight... but when I forget about the blue flower, a nameless longing takes possession of me, no one can understand this. I'd think I was mad, if it were not for the fact that my thoughts are so clear and connected, and I understand so many new things. I've heard it said that in the olden days, animals, rocks, and flowers all spoke to humans. I'm haunted by the idea that they have something to tell me, and I feel as if I could comprehend their speech. I used to be devoted to dancing, now I love music."


Deep in this gem do mystic letters glow
Deep in my heart a hidden love does grow
From one there rises sparks of unknown fire
The other is consumed with loves desire
In one the glorious light is buried deep
The other will loves impress ever keep


Is not the yearning in me the same as in the dream, at the sight of the blue flower? What is the strange connection between Matilda and the flower? The face which I saw in the calyx was Matilda's, and I also remember seeing it in the hermit's book. But why did it not move my heart then. Oh she is the visible spirit of song, and a worthy daughter of her father. She will dissolve me in her music and become my innermost soul, and the keeper of my holy fire. I feel an eternal loyalty in me. I was born only to honour her, to serve her eternally, to think and to feel her. Doesn't an undivided existence belong with such a vision and adoration? And may I be blessed to be the one chosen to be her echo, and the mirror of her being. It was no chance there was a feast at the end of my journey, and the blessed feast surrounded the supreme moment of my life. It could not be different, her very presence makes everything festive.


With full rapture Heinrich called out 'O eternal stars, you silent wanderers, I call you to witness my hallowed oath. I want to live for Matilda, and eternal faith should bind my heart to hers. This is the beginning of a new eternal day for me. The night is over. I ignite the ascending sun as a sacrificial fire.'

Novalis, "Heinrich von Ofterdingen".

Thursday, November 13, 2008

The flower

For M.

I am a kind word uttered and repeated by the voice of nature;
I am a star fallen from the blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements with whom winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth;
I was reared in the lap of Summer and I slept in the bed of Autumn.

At dawn I unite with the breeze to announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds in bidding the light farewell.

The plains are decorated with my beautiful colours,
And the air is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace slumber the eyes of night watch over me,
And as I awaken I stare at the sun,
Which is the only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and harken to the voices of the birds,
And dance to the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.

Kahlil Gibran, "Song of the flower" (A Tear and a smile).

Monday, November 03, 2008

The Great Wave

OK, people, finally I'm sort of content with something I made, even kind of proud. This is my version, completely evolved out of interactive genetic algorithms, of the Katsushika Hokusai's "The Great Wave off Kanagawa". I utterly needed to do this, it was an urge bigger than life to me these days, I couldn't go on with my mind and my heart if I didn't try with all that I am to recreate an electronic version of it. One night I woke up with this foreboding words out of the dream: "I'm drifting and the storm wave is coming. I know." First, the words put me to think that I had one enough apocaliptic colour and vision on Dawn of the Apocalypse, but soon after I noticed: "No, no, I'm wrong, this is something else, this involves another symbol, and another connection". This dream came out of the pressure accumulated, the passion just because, the contempt about, the pulling to, the visionary response to the mediocrity to which I don't want my life to ever finally go into, if it does, it will be in total dissidence for the fact, disobedience for the universal rules prepared to push me to, and disregard for any other who don't resist to the same tragedy. Recovering any dialog with the Muse is priceless, I've been without her weird quirks for so long that any contact is appreciated to the most, so that other connection that I presumed it might be with my Muse again?... poor being, thirsty trying to get water out of the rock of my creativity, but still around, after years of yearning for it.
Being an inspiration for another being in this world (as my beloved writer Jorge Luis Borges have said) it's not a minor thing at all! Do never underestimate the power of kindness nor inspiration. The inspiration that pushed this urge to grow until it was an unstoppable impelling force (a wave itself) came from the influence that the conversations on exchanged e-mails with my kindred spirit Megan have had. Every detail pushed me to recreate this opus, the Great Wave, that I've adored since a teenager -may be insulting it too instead of doing a rendition. I know the Mount Fuji is not there, not there also the repeated Mount Fuji on the wave forms, I know the background is too simple (still, genetically evolved, and the colours gratify me), I know all the defects of it, I've been the one over it for around 10 days of feverish work!, but also I know the basic power of it it's there in a way, pushed by nightmare colours, and the fingers, the hands of the Wave are there about to grab our souls in the final cleansing of the surface of this earth. I know I'm talking obsessed about it with my actual headache and my hunger, so it's a big relief to drop it for a while, to let it go out of the system, to the restricted public view that this blog has.
Finally, some rest... hopefully ;-)

I think the connection is quite well represented by William H. Davies on its extreme lucid and eternal poem down below.

My back is turned on Spring and all her flowers,
The birds no longer charm from tree to tree;
The cuckoo had his home in this green world
Ten days before his voice was heard by me.

Had I an answer from a dear one's lips,
My love of life would soon regain its power;
And suckle my sweet dreams, that tug my heart,
And whimper to be nourished every hour.

Give me that answer now, and then my Muse,
That for my sweet life's sake must never die,
Will rise like that great wave that leaps and hangs
The sea-weed on a vessel's mast-top high.

William H Davies, "Love and the Muse".

Wednesday, October 29, 2008


Today I needed some sweetness.

If I were in charge of the world
I'd cancel oatmeal,
Monday mornings,
Allergy shots, and also Sara Steinberg.

If I were in charge of the world
There'd be brighter nights lights,
Healthier hamsters, and
Basketball baskets forty eight inches lower.

If I were in charge of the world
You wouldn't have lonely.
You wouldn't have clean.
You wouldn't have bedtimes.
Or "Don't punch your sister."
You wouldn't even have sisters.

If I were in charge of the world
A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and nuts would be a vegetable
All 007 movies would be G,
And a person who sometimes forgot to brush,
And sometimes forgot to flush,
Would still be allowed to be
In charge of the world.

Judith Viorst, poem named after its first line.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

3D - Froot loops

I started my day with this irrational, strong urge for animal crackers and milk with froot loops. If I try to go from the particulars to the generals to explain to myself what I shouldn't, then it's may be this rule out of maturity that I have -this rebellion on which something feels transcendentally wrong when I agree to some socially accepted truths: I'll not resignate to accept death as a natural thing, I won't temper to an efficient mediocrity to adapt, I keep myself wanting more than just taking care of my worldly needs. Wisdom, and play, and random kindness, and senseless acts of beauty are more needed than the previous, and this involve ethics; I think those cover the eternal topics of beauty, truth and goodness good enough, or better than they cover just plain greed and resignation. I'm 35 and finishing to define myself, I already have a set of beliefs that nobody would convince me to think otherwise, they've been collected based on what's important to me, and what I've lived. We're humans, we bloom late.

Animal crackers and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers I think;
When I'm grown up and can have what I please
I think I shall always insist upon these.
What do YOU choose when you're offered a treat?
When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?"
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It's cocoa and animals that I love most!

The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know;
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.

Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don't have nearly as much fun as I
Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;
And Daddy once said, he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea.

Christopher Morley, "animal crackers"·

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Woven together

Fractal artist Dzeni is between the final three to decide the cover for the Auckland phonebook for 2009, public voting is open, and hers is the best concept, "Woven Together". Anyway, I think there's even more than this: fractal flames art it is for now an undervalued form of art, it won't be in ten years, but for it to not be then, everyone with a minimum interest on it should help to raise the exposure of it now; one way that I think is valid for this is helping another fractal artist to become more public, more visible, we must be woven together to support digital art, and a perfect and opportune way to help for that, right now, is voting for Dzeni before november the 14th, you only need an e-mail account. By voting Dzeni you're voting Project K too, it is a Youth Development programme designed to inspire 14-15 year olds to maximise their full potential; if Dzeni wins, Project K wins too.

Good luck to everyone involved, that's more than just Dzeni and Project K as I said.

This is her artwork, "Woven Together":

Monday, October 20, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº71

Continuing in any possible way.

With this abstract I close two cycles, flowers and thorns: will not post abstracts anymore for a while (although every image is an abstract here), and will not post daily anymore for a while, simply because I can't.


The flowers which is single
need not envy the thorns
that are numerous.


Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me,
O Beauty,
I am grateful.


Rabindranath Tagore, "Fireflies".

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Blogging stopped again.

If this sounds unintelligible to you, let it go.

I can just stop and simply don't explain why, or even lie about why I do stop my blogging. I don't need pity, I'm not that childish and my friends know it, I don't say things for people to get back at me saying "poor thing", anyway, I'll leave comments open, and anyway I'm saying the real thing: I'm stopping because I don't feel good, because I'm suddenly heartbroken; so it's not funny to keep over my hobby like this at all, of course. I expect to be rescued from a pain that I can't manage, like a child, and I accept that that is somewhat childish. Why saying more? I know everyone, no matter how mature is, have went through something like that, aside particular details. I want to hear that everything will be alright. I'll be ok? I just want to know: at what price; what I will lose -that I don't want to lose- in the process; I want to state that I don't want to lose anything and things must be like they were before I started suffering, so obvious. I am good, I'm pure, it took me a long time to notice and accept those two facts without blushing. Sometimes I just need people and the circumstances (that thing so difficult to define) to be good to me too.

If this sounds unintelligible to you, let it go. Can I ask you to not feel tempted to comment nor contact me, please? Don't know why exactly. I'll leave the freedom of commenting open, I believe in freedom!, and I like truth! but should ask for silence. I'll respond, if I have to, only in my head with the best of me, will not respond in written here. I can tell and talk and reveal about myself and my problem, but why boring myself and others more than with my ideals in poems and my plastic images? Drama queen I am? So funny to think that I "became" one. I'll leave this open as I opened my heart unnecessarily, just wanted to, although it may not seem that I opened my heart. I let this post here also because I feel it reveals the level of my confusion and pain somehow, or it will do to me later. And I want this ugly part of me to remain here, visible, I am like this now. I don't get it, I don't understand myself, and I don't understand anything else, I'm blocked by pain, as we've all been and felt at some moment in our lives, I guess.

The heart wants what it wants.

I love, and I'm ignored.

Friday, October 10, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº70

And a late addition for Dzeni, with a blank backround:

How shall my animal
Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull,
Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell,
Endure burial under the spelling wall,
The invoked, shrouding veil at the cap of the face,
Who should be furious,
Drunk as a vineyard snail, flailed like an octopus,
Roaring, crawling, quarrel
With the outside weathers,
The natural circle of the discovered skies
Draw down to its weird eyes?

How shall it magnetize,
Towards the studded male in a bent, midnight blaze
That melts the lionhead's heel and horseshoe of the heart
A brute land in the cool top of the country days
To trot with a loud mate the haybeds of a mile,
Love and labour and kill
In quick, sweet, cruel light till the locked ground sprout
The black, burst sea rejoice,
The bowels turn turtle,
Claw of the crabbed veins squeeze from each red particle
The parched and raging voice?

Fishermen of mermen
Creep and harp on the tide, sinking their charmed, bent pin
With bridebait of gold bread, I with a living skein,
Tongue and ear in the thread, angle the temple-bound
Curl-locked and animal cavepools of spells and bone,
Trace out a tentacle,
Nailed with an open eye, in the bowl of wounds and weed
To clasp my fury on ground
And clap its great blood down;
Never shall beast be born to atlas the few seas
Or poise the day on a horn.

Sigh long, clay cold, lie shorn,
Cast high, stunned on gilled stone; sly scissors ground in frost
Clack through the thicket of strength, love hewn in pillars drops
With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth
Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye,
Clips short the gesture of breath.
Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut,
And roll with the knocked earth:
Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast.
You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light,
And dug your grave in my breast.

Dylan Thomas, poem named after the first line.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº68

Poor, homely, unloved things beside the way,
That strive in voiceless ignominy, still
Undaunted though downtrodden, to fulfill
Your appointed purpose! Patient the long day
Ye take the buffetings of scornful clay,
Sustained by that small portion of God's dew
Which thick-strewn dust permits to fall on you.
And live where finer herbs must wilt away.
Have ye too, dreams of better things to be?
Of worlds in which the crooked shall be straight,
Where all that are in bondage shall be free,
And lifted up all those of low estate?
Where, to the thought that knows the potent seeds,
Weeds shall be e'en as flowers, flowers as weeds.

William Herbert Carruth, "Weeds".

Monday, October 06, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº66

You take a piece of stone,
chisel it with blood,
grind it with Homer’s eye,
burnish it with beams
until the cube comes out perfect.

Next you endlessly kiss the cube
with your mouth, with others’ mouths,
and, most important, with infanta’s mouth.

Then you take a hammer
and suddenly knock a corner off.

All, indeed absolutely all will say
what a perfect cube this would have been
if not for the broken corner.

Nichita Stanescu, "A lecture on the cube".

Sunday, October 05, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº65

Political rights do not exist because they have been legally set down on a piece of paper, but only when they have become the ingrown habit of a people, and when any attempt to impair them will meet with the violent resistance of the populace. Where this is not the case, there is no help in any parliamentary Opposition or any Platonic appeals to the constitution. One compels respect from others when he knows how to defend his dignity as a human being. This is not only true in private life, it has always been the same in political life as well.
The peoples owe all the political rights and privileges which we enjoy today in greater or lesser measure, not to the good will of their governments, but to their own strength.

Rudolf Rocker, "Anarcho-Syndicalism", Ch. 5.

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº64

A Constitution of Government once changed from Freedom, can never be restored. Liberty, once lost, is lost forever.

John Adams, on a letter to Abigail Adams.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Starfish

I went to sea in a glass-bottomed boat
And found that the loveliest shells of all
Are hidden below in valleys of sand.
I saw coral and sponge and weed
And bubbles like jewels dangling.
I saw a creature with eyes of mist
Go by slowly.
Star-fish fingers held the water...
Let it go again...
I saw little fish, the children of the sea;
They were gay and busy.
I wanted the sea-weed purple; I wanted the shells;
I wanted a little fish to hold in my hands;
I wanted the big fish to stop wandering about,
And tell me all they knew...
I have come back safe and dry
And know no more secrets
Than yesterday!

Hilda Conkling, "I went to sea".

Friday, October 03, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Invaders

They come from the higher spheres, to get your granny drunk and put make up on your pig, they're the invaders! Pick up your water gun!

Coming by night, furtively, one by one
They infiltrate according to the Plan,
Their orders memorized and their disguise
Impenetrable. With the rising sun
Our citizens welcome them. Nobody can
Think that such charming creatures might be spies.

So feeble, so helpless, no one could suspect
They come to make this commonwealth their prey;
So few, they pose no threat; their cohort grows
So imperceptibly that we neglect
To notice how it musters day by day
And, unalarmed, we watch as they impose

Themselves, make friends in all directions, take
Impressions of all keys. They gain access
To all our secrets; learn to speak our tongue
Like natives; profit by each false move we make;
Work on our weaknesses; observe and guess
The sources of power and study them to be strong.

And when it happens, there will be no fuss,
No streets running with blood, no barricade.
We shall simply wake one morning to discover,
As those who ruled this city before us
Found by each door a headstone and a spade,
That a new generation has taken over.

A.D. Hope, "The Invaders".

Thursday, October 02, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Out of the blue

I thought "what should I post?" and logged in and noticed that this is the post 500; never expected to last this long, because never expected that the experience of forcing myself to produce and post something no matter of its quality would ever be tolerable or even rewarding at any level. It is; I like to come back here once a day.

All your cares
Now they seem
Oh so far away
All your fears
I fear I once shared
Now I know
There's a future
For all of us
Not so long ago
I was so scared
You seemed so sad
I could see
Through your twisted smile
So unsure
Always confused
Pale blue eyes
Gazing down
From your ivory tower
Through the haze
All broken and bruised
Then: out of the blue
Love came rushing in
Out of the sky
Came the sun
Out of left field
Came a lucky day
Out of the blue
No more pain
I don't mind
If it's only
A passing craze
Throwaway lines
Often ring true
If I were you
I would stay
For a little while
I you were me
Would you walk out
In style?

Roxy Music (Bryan Ferry/Phil Manzanera), "Out of the blue".

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - A thousand sputniks

When the planet was suddenly enveloped by a man-made artifact, Nature flipped into art form. The moment of Sputnik was the moment of creating Spaceship Earth and/or the global theatre. Shakespeare at the Globe had seen all the world as a stage, but with Sputnik, the world literally became a global theatre with no more audiences, only actors.

Marshall McLuhan, "The End of the Work Ethic".

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº63

How many a budding plant is born to fade!
How many a May bloom wilt with quick decay!
Ofttimes the ruddiest rose holds briefest sway,
While heart and sense are evermore betrayed
Alike in nature's shine and nature's shade.
Vainly earth-tendered seeds have sought the day,
And countless threads of rivulets wind astray,
For one that joins the vast main unembayed.
O prodigal nature, why this spendthrift waste
Of light, strength, beauty given to earth or man?
Thy richest realm may lie in trackless seas,
Thy tenderest loves, perchance, die unembraced;
While faith and reason watch thy wildering plan,
The baffled soul's cloud-compassed Hyades!

Paul Hamilton Hayne, "Waste".

... And a late addition, a funny version of Deb's desert :-)

Monday, September 29, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº62

The world is crossed at sixes and at sevens,
Athwart with love.
Behind their crystal bars
The silver stars
Ache in their separate heavens,
And only these
Dear human hands on earth have ease.
To-night indeed I pity the poor trees
Even in the grove;
For though their branches mingle,
Inwoven and crossed a moment by the breezes
Each is forever single.

Philip Henry Savage, poem named after the first line.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº61

Evolution is a change from a no-howish untalkaboutable all-alikeness by continous sticktogetheration and somethingelsification.

Thomas Kirkman, a parody of an original quote by Herbert Spencer (out of the First Principles, p. 291).

Saturday, September 27, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Wing

Come to the edge.
We might fall.

Come to the edge.
It's too high!

And they came
and he pushed

and they flew ...

Cristopher Logue, "Come to the edge".

Friday, September 26, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - The celebration of the cone

Thanks to you, friends, for your encouraging words and kindness.

Alright, I'm back with a declaration, and the help of Charles Bukowski.

One day the cone will be praised as the admirable form and force of the whole Unielse! (the alternative universe where we worship the most irrelevant things relating them to the most important ones) and that day... ...Yeees, I'm deluding; but Long Live the Ice Cream Cone! Bukowski gives sense, down below, to my delusion.

too much too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or


strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking

an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place

unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say

Charles Bukowski, "the crunch".

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Kind of awards, awards of the kind

On the while that the blog has been down I got a couple of those awards that bloggers give to other bloggers.
It was Vikram the one who awarded me these two:

Brillante Weblog 2008.

Blogging Friends Forever.

So now, to keep the tradition I must pass this on.

Following the rules for the Brillante Weblog I choose the requested seven:

Megan, her intense personality makes every reading special.
Christina, her deep artistic writing makes me think the new generations are very bright as I've not seen in any other.
Tai, my most visited blog; a very creative writer.
Katie, her blog is very real, an extension of herself, a seeker of the truth. She commited the mistake of posting some of my work too.
Russ, his deeply spiritual personality and blogs are very worth a periodic visit, I've used a couple of his works here, being the only alive writer I've used on this blog.
J. Gottschalk - best fractal artist I know for now, her hybrids are very cool.
Trée George (his blog was, meritoriously, a Blogger Blog Of Note award some time ago) - exquisite and inventive.

Following the rules for the B.F.F., I give the requested 5, including one new to my blog.

Amber, my friend.
Deborah, I eagerly wait for her posts: post more often!
Nadia, my favourite in spanish.
María, she posted some of my work to illustrate poems in spanish.
Nina, she blogs about her inner life and about autism.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Blog inactive due to lack of resources.

Tonight, the night of september the 8th, I came back to my house from work and found that people broke into my house and stole some goods out of it while I was working. Could have been during the morning, afternoon or night, because I'm some kind of a workoholic animal, of some sort. One of the things stolen was my laptop with all of my visual artworks since 2003 plus the programs I developed for generating images using genetic algorithms and L-Systems, my ex-professors in university have one of the last backups, so I can recover one of the last versions of my programs, but not the last improvements, nor my images or artworks, not the ones that I made and didn't posted yet, they are around 15, possibly lost forever.  Again, the most painful thing to lose are my "seeds", all the math data of every image, from where I evolve the next generation, last time I lost that was because of a disk failure, in 2007, now this.  I use to forget backups, because I'm an airhead.
I also lost pictures, videos, schedules, grades and sheets from my students, etc. and my e-mail database with all my e-mails and phone numbers since 2002, so if you are one of my contacts, bare with me until I recover all the data that I can, may be I'll ask you some data yet, if I can find you. Aside from that I'll have to be using a freaking web-mail interface for work, which I hate because I prefer an e-mail client, and will not have any history of previous e-mails, but well: being robbed sucks.

The blogs will be inactive until I can work on this somehow, and restart producing images. This is a space that I appreciate a lot and eventually, I'll be back somehow.
Until then.

Monday, September 08, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº 60

"Nothing is so aggravating as calmness."

Oscar Wilde, "A woman of no importance", Act II.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº 59

Those who believe in abstract painting seem to me like weavers who think they can produce a material with threads running in one direction only and nothing to hold them together. When you have no plastic intention, how can you control and make sense of your representational liberties? And when you are not concerned with reality how can you control and make sense of your plastic liberties?

Juan Gris, letter to Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, in 1919.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Abstract Nº 100

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost, "Fire and ice".

Friday, September 05, 2008

Abstract Nº 99

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Willy, Sonnet 60.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Abstract Nº 98

I'm slightly proud of this one in particular, and the link that I want to see with the poem.

I'll tell you how the Sun rose —
A Ribbon at a time —
The Steeples swam in Amethyst —
The news, like Squirrels, ran —

The Hills untied their Bonnets —
The Bobolinks — begun —
Then I said softly to myself —
"That must have been the Sun"!

But how he set — I know not —
There seemed a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while —

Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray —
Put gently up the evening Bars —
And led the flock away —

Emily Dickinson, 318.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº 58

Here is a symbol in which
Many high tragic thoughts
Watch their own eyes.

This gray rock, standing tall
On the headland, where the seawind
Lets no tree grow,

Earthquake-proved, and signatured
By ages of storms: on its peak
A falcon has perched.

I think here is your emblem
To hang in the future sky;
Not the cross, not the hive,

But this; bright power, dark peace;
Fierce consciousness joined with final

Life with calm death; the falcon's
Realist eyes and act
Married to the massive

Mysticism of stone,
Which failure cannot cast down
Nor success make proud.

Robinson Jeffers, "Rock and hawk".

Monday, September 01, 2008

Abstract Nº 97

Were it not for
the excess of your talking
and the turmoil in your hearts,
you would see what I see
and hear what I hear!

Muhammed Ibn 'Arabi, "Turmoil in your hearts".

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Abstract Nº 96

The first speaker said
Fear fire. Fear furnaces
Incinerators, the city dump
The faint scratch of a match.

The second speaker said
Fear water. Fear drenching rain
Drizzle, oceans, puddles, a damp
Day and the flush toilet.

The third speaker said
Fear wind. And it needn't be
A hurricane. Drafts, open
Windows, electric fans.

The fourth speaker said
Fear knives. Fear any sharp
Thing, machine, shears
Scissors, lawnmowers.

The fifth speaker said
Hope. Hope for the best
A smooth folder in a steel file.

Robert Francis, "Paper men to air hopes and fears".

Saturday, August 30, 2008

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº 57

I'll clutch — and clutch —
Next — One — Might be the golden touch —
Could take it —
Diamonds — Wait —
I'm diving — just a little late —
But stars — go slow — for night —

I'll string you — in fine Necklace —
Tiaras — make — of some —
Wear you on Hem —
Loop up a Countess — with you —
Make — a Diadem — and mend my old One —
Count — Hoard — then lose —
And doubt that you are mine —
To have the joy of feeling it — again —

I'll show you at the Court —
Bear you — for Ornament
Where Women breathe —
That every sigh — may lift you
Just as high — as I —

And — when I die —
In meek array — display you —
Still to show — how rich I go —
Lest Skies impeach a wealth so wonderful —
And banish me —

Emily Dickinson, 427.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Abstract Nº 95

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art --
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest-like task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors --
No -- yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever -- or else swoon to death.

John Keats, poem named after the first line.

Blog archive