Stream of consciousness drawings are fun but never have great composition, alas.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
India Ink in June (2)
Plus dove/pigeon.
Stream of consciousness drawings are fun but never have great composition, alas.
Stream of consciousness drawings are fun but never have great composition, alas.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Henry Justice Ford
Today, after viewing this beautiful and creepy short graphic novel by Emily Carroll, I was reminded of the style of illustrator greats John Tenniel and Henry Justice Ford. I looked up drawings by the latter illustrator and my breath was absolutely taken away. The detail, the beauty, the imagination-- so, so inspiring. Here are some delightful ones from his drawings in "Colored Fairybooks" and one in "Arabian Nights Entertainments".
Monday, June 27, 2011
Mutant Skies and Passerby's.
I wrote a poem for myself, the first after perhaps two years.
I was reading one that I had written in the Winter of 2008 in Chicago and felt inspired to write one that is somewhat an anti-thesis now, in California, in the summer of 2011.
Mutant Sky
June 16, 2011
Palo Alto, California
Here,
the runners tread lightly over
sun-browned leaves, leaf-like skin
gleaming, bare feet
flying past trees like the Lorax
Here,
the sticky sun melts and drips
on ponytailed moms with
sleek roller-carriages
and a golden retriever
panting and happy
Here alone on the fair veranda, with the notes wafting
Through streets like cinnamon
The fruit is sweeter,
The chardonnay is crisper
The homeless are gentler
Perhaps I am prettier too
It is a mood I can borrow
Bobbing my brain, tuning my body
with many asanas
to this processed beat
low bass and hi-hats
wilt and lilt while
Uncold, under the mutant sky
I find my way forth
I can't believe it has almost been a year since I've been in Palo Alto. The seasons have gone through a cycle; on a warm 75-degree night like this far back in August 2010, I moved into this apartment with the help of new and old friends, opened the window with some difficulty and heard the caltrain whistle by, and later fell asleep sweating. Tonight, the first truly warm night since that night, it happens again.
I was reading one that I had written in the Winter of 2008 in Chicago and felt inspired to write one that is somewhat an anti-thesis now, in California, in the summer of 2011.
Mutant Sky
June 16, 2011
Palo Alto, California
Here,
the runners tread lightly over
sun-browned leaves, leaf-like skin
gleaming, bare feet
flying past trees like the Lorax
Here,
the sticky sun melts and drips
on ponytailed moms with
sleek roller-carriages
and a golden retriever
panting and happy
Here alone on the fair veranda, with the notes wafting
Through streets like cinnamon
The fruit is sweeter,
The chardonnay is crisper
The homeless are gentler
Perhaps I am prettier too
It is a mood I can borrow
Bobbing my brain, tuning my body
with many asanas
to this processed beat
low bass and hi-hats
wilt and lilt while
Uncold, under the mutant sky
I find my way forth
I can't believe it has almost been a year since I've been in Palo Alto. The seasons have gone through a cycle; on a warm 75-degree night like this far back in August 2010, I moved into this apartment with the help of new and old friends, opened the window with some difficulty and heard the caltrain whistle by, and later fell asleep sweating. Tonight, the first truly warm night since that night, it happens again.
Dreams
Afternoon naps generate the strangest, most vivid dreams in my mind. I believe today I had a lucid one.
Dream 1. I was half-asleep and I had an image of a long road, kind of like Hanover Street, the road I bike on almost every day, which stretches from Stanford's Hoover Tower to the bike trail by my apartment. There were a lot of people on that road; women with small hats and petticoats, men in business suits with briefcases all walking along that path in the same direction. Except a few of them could go the "fast track" - there was Flyaway Lane above them, a thin almost invisible rail with a handle attached like the ones in public buses. A few people held onto these handles and flew away faster, in the same direction. I think this is the point where conscious imagination started to blur with dreams; I distinctly remember egging on my brain to submit to the dream world so I could experience it fully, and not just think it. And it worked- I was walking along with all these people, when one of these rare handles came down and was offered me; I held onto it and immediately I was whisked away very fast up and up! Here I slid in and out of consciousness, but remained in my dream. Immediately I felt the wind on my face, brisk and cool and Californian; and then as the Flyaway zipline climbed higher and higher, I felt scared; I was too high, held only by an invisible cord and a plastic handle. I felt my stomach drop a little, but I kept going. I don't remember when the dream ended, but here comes my second dream.
Dream 2. I was in the arctic with my father. This dream is most definitely inspired by Lyra and Lord Asriel in The Golden Compass. We were walking back from exploring and there was a wooden board walk that stretched beside a small body of water, melted ice perhaps, that would lead us to our camp. The sun was going down and my dad wanted to leave quickly before it got dangerous. That was when we encountered two wolves, trotting along the board walk, hungry. I saw them first as I rounded the corner, and they saw me. My dad was 50 meters or so behind me. I panicked, then decided to climb up the small ice hills around us to the right of the board walk and next to the small lake. I kept slipping because of the ice, but managed to crouch while moving slowly. I then noticed the wolf saw me - it was trotting up the ice structures that flanked the water. Sheer panic hit me then: the realization that I may be attacked by a wolf, my dad would probably not be able to save me, and he might not survive either. I then shouted "DAD! HELP! THERE'S A WOLF!" and he yelled at me to jump into the water. We both did and it was cold but bearable and we swam to the embankment slightly further ahead, where for some reason, there were a lot of people who looked like they were taking their after-supper stroll in the arctic. We were safe.
My dreams are hyper-allegorical and crazy.
Dream 1. I was half-asleep and I had an image of a long road, kind of like Hanover Street, the road I bike on almost every day, which stretches from Stanford's Hoover Tower to the bike trail by my apartment. There were a lot of people on that road; women with small hats and petticoats, men in business suits with briefcases all walking along that path in the same direction. Except a few of them could go the "fast track" - there was Flyaway Lane above them, a thin almost invisible rail with a handle attached like the ones in public buses. A few people held onto these handles and flew away faster, in the same direction. I think this is the point where conscious imagination started to blur with dreams; I distinctly remember egging on my brain to submit to the dream world so I could experience it fully, and not just think it. And it worked- I was walking along with all these people, when one of these rare handles came down and was offered me; I held onto it and immediately I was whisked away very fast up and up! Here I slid in and out of consciousness, but remained in my dream. Immediately I felt the wind on my face, brisk and cool and Californian; and then as the Flyaway zipline climbed higher and higher, I felt scared; I was too high, held only by an invisible cord and a plastic handle. I felt my stomach drop a little, but I kept going. I don't remember when the dream ended, but here comes my second dream.
Dream 2. I was in the arctic with my father. This dream is most definitely inspired by Lyra and Lord Asriel in The Golden Compass. We were walking back from exploring and there was a wooden board walk that stretched beside a small body of water, melted ice perhaps, that would lead us to our camp. The sun was going down and my dad wanted to leave quickly before it got dangerous. That was when we encountered two wolves, trotting along the board walk, hungry. I saw them first as I rounded the corner, and they saw me. My dad was 50 meters or so behind me. I panicked, then decided to climb up the small ice hills around us to the right of the board walk and next to the small lake. I kept slipping because of the ice, but managed to crouch while moving slowly. I then noticed the wolf saw me - it was trotting up the ice structures that flanked the water. Sheer panic hit me then: the realization that I may be attacked by a wolf, my dad would probably not be able to save me, and he might not survive either. I then shouted "DAD! HELP! THERE'S A WOLF!" and he yelled at me to jump into the water. We both did and it was cold but bearable and we swam to the embankment slightly further ahead, where for some reason, there were a lot of people who looked like they were taking their after-supper stroll in the arctic. We were safe.
My dreams are hyper-allegorical and crazy.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
music
Received my $45 guitar today. Nothing fancy, just a usable guitar that can provide a quick music fix when I need it. It's an electric blue acoustic, sweet sound, slightly smaller than normal size but bigger than 3/4th size. I like it very much.
Playing "Time for Heroes" by the Libertines today brought me straight back to 12th grade of high school when, weary almost everything in Manila, I dreamed of oldschool British rock, gin in teacups, the whimsy and joie de vivre of Dorian Gray combined with the residues of passion from the Romantic era, the modern backalleys and charming riffraff of Deptford, Catford, Watford, Digberth, Mansfield, or as Pete Doherty sings "anywhere in Albion".
Listening to so much synthpop, electronica, and trance these days--music that corresponds so well with fast-paced work, clubs, and big cities-- and then listening to these guys... well, it was quite a profound moodshift. I'm trying to perfect playing "Time for Heroes" because it is just such a good song. I may need a capo soon though, my voice strains at the lower notes.
Some lyrics:
The stale chips are up and the hopes stakes are down
Its these ignorant faces that bring this town down
Yeah I sighed and sunken with pride
You know passed myself down on my knees
Yes I passed myself down on my knees
What can you want now you've got it all
She says it's obscene
Time will strip it away
A year and a day
And Bill Bones
Bill Bones he knows what I mean
There are fewer more distressing sights than that
Of an Englishman in a baseball cap
Yeah we'll die in the class we were born
That's a class of our own my love
Were in a class of our own my love.
Playing "Time for Heroes" by the Libertines today brought me straight back to 12th grade of high school when, weary almost everything in Manila, I dreamed of oldschool British rock, gin in teacups, the whimsy and joie de vivre of Dorian Gray combined with the residues of passion from the Romantic era, the modern backalleys and charming riffraff of Deptford, Catford, Watford, Digberth, Mansfield, or as Pete Doherty sings "anywhere in Albion".
Listening to so much synthpop, electronica, and trance these days--music that corresponds so well with fast-paced work, clubs, and big cities-- and then listening to these guys... well, it was quite a profound moodshift. I'm trying to perfect playing "Time for Heroes" because it is just such a good song. I may need a capo soon though, my voice strains at the lower notes.
Some lyrics:
The stale chips are up and the hopes stakes are down
Its these ignorant faces that bring this town down
Yeah I sighed and sunken with pride
You know passed myself down on my knees
Yes I passed myself down on my knees
What can you want now you've got it all
She says it's obscene
Time will strip it away
A year and a day
And Bill Bones
Bill Bones he knows what I mean
There are fewer more distressing sights than that
Of an Englishman in a baseball cap
Yeah we'll die in the class we were born
That's a class of our own my love
Were in a class of our own my love.
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