Lunartic

Yesterday, as my night moved methodicaly past midnight into the early-morning witching hours before dawn, I noticed the swelling of the moon in the inky Denver sky. As the breath of myself, and my company, filled the cold air, my thoughts flipped through files as I tried to recall the given identity of this particular full moon that I once read about in the pages of a book on Pagan ritual. Full moons are known to various Pagans, Native Americans and various cultures around the globe by their epithet. The November moon's most commonly known in the Northern Hemisphere as The Beaver Moon, The Frost Moon or The Hunter's Moon. Each name bestowed is indicative of what happenings are unfolding during the month as the seasonal progressions continue, and for the conjoining intentions set by the tribes that turned to these moons, these measures of calendric time, for guidance. In addition, and for centuries expanding continents, it has been thought that the time of the full moon is a time to work on your own growth, personal and spirutal lessons and enlightment. In other words it is an excellent time to set intentions. As I type with still-cold, stiffened fingers from the air filling the city of Omaha Nebraska, and think what November means in terms of fall slowly growing colder to meet winter, and the preparation of most to build and collect materials for warmth, I set protective intentions for myself and those I love. Protection from the 'cold' that could try to sweep in and seemingly freeze one's personal/spirtual/creative (and so on) evolution. I set these intentions with a deep inhale and a soft howling exhale at the moon. I suggest you should too.

Occupy My Mind

I am currently on tour with Mastodon / Dillinger Escape Plan / Red Fang. Occupying cities throughout the U.S. and Canadialand. ||||||||||| At blast off I started filling boxes with galactical dust, incandescent ideas, illustrious inspiration, extractions, ephemera and euphoric-renderings. I hope to adorn myself and others with what becomes of these cosmic collections post-tour. Until then I work with what I have, dreaming night into day of metallic geometrics under winter-white warmth and black, patterned interwoven fabric danier --forty three percent and more. Triangles and squares beneath daybreak spiked with color circling hips and falling like feather-light streams, and glowing embers, to the floor. Headdresses that would please the likes of Cleopatra to Clara Bow. I have been cloaked in mostly black, a precious rose-gold planchette hanging around my neck and dust from the days and cities anterior to the one my fingers are currently tracing maps on. The season is rolling by hiding its characteristic-charm, seemingly every other day, leaving me in a perpetual (day to state to city to state) state of weather submittance ::: tights on // tights off, but always smiling. As we head deeper into the U.S., I can feel that winter is creeping in with the time-zone transitions. It does make tucked-in, radiating home  call a little louder (even amidst a stellar time out here). Thankfully I have thickly-spun cozy cotton hoods, layers of black beefy blankets, tea-lit tight spaces breathing warmth, body heat, L O V E and photo inspiration like this to keep me warm. 

Monster Post-It Notes

You don't need a monster-sized canvas to make memorable monster art. Danish artist John Kenn Mortensen animates, creates scripts and makes television shows; has contributed to producing twin babies, and, himself, births the mysterious, creepily awesome, ghoulish line-drawings you see here. Mortensen uses a modern, traditionally tiny office supply, inspiration from the likes of Steven King and H.P. Lovecraft, a drawing instrument, and a mountain range of imagination. 

Get your creep on:::>> Don Kenn Gallery 

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All Hallow's Eve

All I want for All Hallow's Eve is for all of the toxic blather that atrophies the world's imagination to dissolve and 

for it to remerge dressed as a Tim Burton set bedecked in sugar skulls, with the day's affairs narrated by Vincent Price.

Self

“  I like flaws and feel more comfortable around people who have them.                        I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions. “  Augusten Burroughs

Sleepy Hollows

If you were a kid or teenager in the 80's, Elm Street evokes more garish imagery than that of a picture-perfect, tree-lined street. In honor of spending a good chunk of time today on Elm Street (this particular one in Dallas, TX) I wanted to post something a little creepier. The  image of choice is part of the Hollow People series by Minneapolis artist Chag Hagen. While his hands aren't made of knives; I am pretty sure his wardrobe extends beyond striped sweaters, and the carvings deepened from more of a cut than a slash, the aftermath is still haunting. 

http://www.chadhagen.com/#68954/Hollow-People

http://www.flickr.com/photos/30625014@N02/

For Your Health...

"If government can legislate against drugs, may it some day require people to take them?"

Science. I always found Science class (Biology, Psychology, Astronomy...) to be the most fascinating pieces of my college-prep curiculum. Being an ever-changing subject of mastery and elusiveness, the ongoing paramount-reach for pinnacle after pinnacle, through the perpetually-revealed results of the most hardcore examples of experimentation and observation, it has just grabbed and held my attention since first grade.

The caption above describes the ideas illuminated in the first image below. The vivid photo elucidates the fusion of an artistic expression of science and psychadelia. The picture made its debut in an edition of Life and Health that came our in 1972; A place that housed a lot of surreal, chromatic images by the illustrator, Phil Kirkland. Kirkland is most known for a slew of surreal, outstanding illstrations that shone their psychadelic lights in various science magazines and textbooks mostly based on health and psychology. Yes, I too am wondering why my school did not stock any such publications that gladly integrated such beautiful, evocative imagery. In addition to magazines and textbooks Kirkland also did illustrations for a few science-fiction magazines...naturally.

For more seventh-period Psych-Sci with Mr Kirkland you can enter here and 'open' up various textbooks. (((Bell Ringing)))

For Your Health...

"If government can legislate against drugs, may it some day require people to take them?"

Science. I always found Science class (Biology, Psychology, Astronomy...) to be the most fascinating pieces of my college-prep curiculum. Being an ever-changing subject of mastery and elusiveness, the ongoing paramount-reach for pinnacle after pinnacle, through the perpetually-revealed results of the most hardcore examples of experimentation and observation, it has just grabbed and held my attention since first grade.

The caption above describes the ideas illuminated in the first image below. The vivid photo elucidates the fusion of an artistic expression of science and psychadelia. The picture made its debut in an edition of Life and Health that came our in 1972; A place that housed a lot of surreal, chromatic images by the illustrator, Phil Kirkland. Kirkland is most known for a slew of surreal, outstanding illstrations that shone their psychadelic lights in various science magazines and textbooks mostly based on health and psychology. Yes, I too am wondering why my school did not stock any such publications that gladly integrated such beautiful, evocative imagery. In addition to magazines and textbooks Kirkland also did illustrations for a few science-fiction magazines...naturally.

For more seventh-period Psych-Sci with Mr Kirkland you can enter here and 'open' up various textbooks. (((Bell Ringing)))

Frances Bean Will Have Her Revenge On...

Visually inhaling these inky, tar-washed portraits of Frances Bean Cobain, rolled tightly with photos of her father, Kurt's, memorabilia: Christian relics, prized totems, hilarious gewgaw, are like taking a long, deep drag off of the cigarette that coyly pacifies her sultry, reminiscently-iconic lips. Lips that secure the butt end dampened by saliva containing a DNA cocktail of two of Rock's most notoriously intoxicating//intoxicated connubial characters: Courtney and Kurt. Addicted lips that blow the same brand of kiss and that her mother, Courtney, used to use (pre-botox) to spew lyrics that fueled and decorated her wild and turbulent career. That, too, almost romanticized addiction. Pillows of flesh that capture your stare before releasing you upwards towards beautiful, annular, cobalt marbles that some of us were introduced to when they first were presented to us behind straggly strands of blonde hair that decorated a now iconic man in the early nineties. Childlike eyes that seem to speak volumes - both now and then. While the emulsion on these is practically still wet, the images seem familiar. As if someone found a box of images under a pile of plaid shirts, baby doll dresses and guitars. The revealing of her seemingly newly baptized-by-womanhood face that you almost know gives life to a sonorous sound, over and under pursing, breathing life into arts and crafts created from those tattooed hands that due to straight genetics alone must hold talent. That genetically superior face staring through you behind a billowy vail of biological ghosts. The framing few inches of bleach-white paper burn sensuously against the swirling of sewn-up and chemical ebony, ivory celebrity skin and pretty doll parts.

From the origin of these photos, to what the google gods will bless you with, Frances Bean does not appear to be choking on the ashes of enemies resulting in the after-math of her parent's numerous battles. At least not on the outside. But we all know scars run deep. The scrolls of wisdom etched fathomless on outstretched arms, stained like coal if nothing else speak of someone who has experienced life far beyond her years.

For another hit:::: http://www.hedislimane.com/diary/

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Living In A Lonely World

These 'portraits' of a girl melancholically dreaming of all the things she thinks she is, or thinks she could be, are executed quite stunningly.

You could wrap yourself in the sadness and loneliness cascading from her eyes...especially the last one, with them closed.

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新交通ゆりかもめ

Appuru Pai took these gorgeous long-exposure shots of the Yurikamome in Japan, an automated railway named after the black-headed seagulls that are the official prefectural bird and often-spotted occupants of the Tokyo Bay. They make me feel like one of said birds. Like I am simultaneously moving meteorically and lithely through passages of time. 

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