Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Chocolate

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".

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