the murmurs of a lonely confession
are the skipping beats
of a heart that knows no words
Hello, Lovine.com
Wherever you go, there you are.
stronger only until broken. farther only until the last step. the depths of your trials can bring you lower than your knees - but these are where wise men distinguish themselves from the fleeting passer-by's. the truth is told in stories that either complacency or misfortunes bring.
what we bring into the world, is what we take when we leave. everything else can be left behind.
i have a total of four pet projects during the year, one collaboration that is happily purring along (http://www.paulandkat.com) and three of which are under construction. i stopped in middle of the first two projects since they both involved a bit of experimentation and random stuff that i've never done/handled before. the first one involved masonite, acrylic, and neodymium magnets but i quickly replaced the magnets due to safety and budget reasons and have one prototype sitting on my carpet. the second project involved yellow spraypaint and 80's nostalgia. i've been hesitant on doing the trimmings with acrylic because i can't paint for sh t. i've been caught up over the weekend with the third project, which i'm planning to give out to a few friends as random gifts. i completed a prototype that gathers sunlight last night and i personally think is quite spiffy.
i've been wanting to post pictures, but until project completion... silence is where secrets go.
drove down to lake moreno over the weekend, and boated. i like boating. or make that, trying to boat. :)
veins are awash with acetaminophen, caffeine and sugar, running through the length of cold fingertips. i can feel my brain swathe in a coating of numbness that makes me strangely aware of it's presence, versus normal days of familiarity that make you forget what's there.
when molecules invade your receptors, perceptions of the world is at their mercy. the world is bound to chemical alliances. the possibilities to stretch or cull patience, amplify pleasures, dull pain. artificial has no meaning when everything is real inside your mind. camera zooms out.
mouth gets dry.
heart is pounding.
palms sweaty.
the world is your stage.
the audience yours to be conquered.
i was thoroughly enjoying a sunday morning catnap and probably missed a good portion of the best of france and italy car show in van nuys. wanted to take more pictures, but the sun had already shifted across the sky when i arrived, and the tummy was not too happy about my cheap lunch that i inhaled in the car while driving. good stuff out there though, i was really glad i found out about this through an enthusiast i met at one of my clients for work. i wonder if i'll ever make the plunge for a '59?
it's easy to get lost in the rhythm of routine, when the drawl of the week comes to an end with the long awaited friday nights, lazy sundays, and non-sensical dreams that can be afforded in between. moments can be counted in seconds, but weigh far more as a whole than in parts, so we tread carefully never to be lost in between what's real and what's not. or, perhaps, the real challenge of the weekend is to find yourself situated comfortably in between both.
the big ball of earth is fat and round, and our eyes can only see till the edge of the horizon. but the universe is never-ending and our dreams can have no limits within reason.
i just got a new phone! the user manual is in german though. das ist kein problem :P i'll probably change my number too, because i like having no reasons to just be random.
imagine that the world suddenly ceased to be 'real', and became detached from all your standard bearings of measurement. the truth is that you can fool yourself into believing what you choose to believe in. after all, there really is no foundation from where your realities are built on, aside from that is learned, experienced, and passively absorbed. there can be no thought nor reality that can stand alone by itself, since the generations preceding us have already defined it all before and have shoved it down your throat. all is bound by our experiences, enslaved to the routine of tactile, auditory, mental instances that define all that we can know. in some weird way, perhaps you can really only be, who you think you are. but even then, even promises don't mean anything to the passages of time - perhaps the sarcastic fragility of which makes it bear meaning.
nobody can stop you from deciding to build your own truths and triumphs. even if they may really constitute nothing at all - all that we can really come around to.
