Funky Paradise

some

2010-02-17T03:44:00.001-08:00

this is all it is

Free to Decide

2010-02-06T02:22:00.000-08:00

I'm free to decide. If words are spelled upside down. If words are said in the first case. If it's purple instead of gray. If....I'm just free. Like a photo composition.

Free [Dom]...

2010-01-26T01:01:00.000-08:00

...is when Horizon is one with Consciousness
...is when the Eye ceases to be Perspective
...is when the Body and the City transgress experience
...is when Dreams are no longer prisoner to Human Hopes
...is when we ebb and flow like a stream in the wilderness clashing against reason, faith and reality, eventually overcoming, ebbing onwards as Souls must

[There is always a horizon beyond the City where no streets or alleys roam, where no window sees. We all have the Vision, we know the words. We all hope to get there]

back

2009-12-14T01:01:00.000-08:00

before computer generated models, we did what we could... in a spirit closer to freedom --- far from civilization

Beauté / Beauty

2009-12-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

"Beauty" had a dream. She imagined herself flying, above the city searching for something that wasn't obvious. A detail? A place? A feeling? That was her ultimate goal. Escape from behind bar and start searching. She wasn't quite sure she'll find it. But "Beauty" was a dreamer. And she knew it was out there. Or maybe she was just waiting for us.For you, me, him. To break the bar and let her go free.

Birth Of The Dreamer

2009-11-01T23:40:00.000-08:00

There was a time when Souls were heard and Love was kept in a little box of Secrets
Virgin Dreams trembled in hands of despair
Among the hearts of Men whose songs were sung
A Music no instrument could play
A voice unwielded by the mouths of Earth
Only Believed

Like so many plights, it lingered in the Dreams of
The Righteous
The Psalms of the Devout
And the Cathedrals where Hearts are as vast, epic and empty
Save the crystalline Light falling on
Prayers ancient as Dust

There was a Time when the Darkness gave us Light
We ranted
We converted
We conquered
Zealous and Hungry was our Dark-Light
So many Souls
Gone

We who are Sword are no more
We who are Gun are no more
We who are Serpent are few
The weight of the Human Body wakens
Soon shall become prophecy,
Dream
And wake no more

slippery

2009-10-28T16:04:00.000-07:00

high

Eternal Lingering

2009-10-27T03:33:00.001-07:00

Temporary eternity. Time. Passing by. In history. In your everyday. On a wall. Layers. Of completeness. Each layer adds more time. One word more to complete our life sentences. There is more. To our eternal lingering.

go

2009-10-09T00:46:00.000-07:00

enough smog. enough traffic. enough enough enough.

Entries In Passing

2009-10-05T01:04:00.000-07:00

He listens desperately to his portable clock hoping to find that moment when nostalgia walked naked among men lighting candles within Human darkness

11th and Broadway I watched the afternoon Sun stroll patiently down the facade of a building. It paused in wonder at one who looks up while others mill and scurry on the streets below

The patterns and movement of vehicles and pedestrians find their death and life within the Urban system

The heightening of elevations offers varying perspectives of travel and observation: on the one hand, the City is a malevolent monster. On the other, poetry of beauty and structure

Each place is but a moment and is never the same place as before. It spreads before us like an open road: the Day, the Night, where the Earth meets Humanity and Humanity struggles to meet that place where the journey is everlasting

Territory

2009-09-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

The land. Through time. A change in form. Conquest. Loss.

Moments

2009-09-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

It's very subtle, almost quiet, that moment between contemplation and motion, between thought and scenario; a man turns a page, a child laughs and plays with her brothers a few seats away, the bus growls and sighs at each burden it dismisses and accepts. Within all these things, a destination is taking place. A transformation as the City scrolls past the windows framed by moments between consciousness and dream.

It's very subtle, almost quiet, yet he turns the page while the cinema of the City plays out around him; unconscious that even he is playing in a story that involves us all...

shut down

2009-09-10T01:01:00.000-07:00

A Luthier's Coffee Break

2009-09-03T09:35:00.000-07:00

And there they were. By the window. Now they could do a different thing. They could listen to the sounds of the the city outside. Usually it is their job. To produce music. Sounds. Symphonies. Now that the daily break had come they are free, to listen. To the music. From outside. And we look. Trying to imagine their absent poetic sound. The luthier will be back. Soon.

"..............."

2009-09-02T01:49:00.000-07:00

Who am I?

It's an ancient question even the most remotely sentient homosapien has either uttered it or thought of it at some point in their lives but this is his life, which casts a vague uniqueness; not entirely epistemological, more so into the metaphysics of human nature. The bus rides seems an eternity, especially when these questions stranges the mind, one becomes aware of how unwelcome the vast horizon becomes. He tried to focus on today's paper. More of the same: Cooperation fighting to gain control of their dwindling assets, skirmishes and wars breaking out in foreign countries, the government still trying to push the docile beast of public duty over its half-witted subjects and politicians--mindless serpents--still gambling over public ignorance. He put the paper down in despair. He thought about his two sons and their families. His youngest just had his third child, Amelia, but they only sent him pictures of the newly remodeled room and the crib. An empty room! Who sends their father pictures of empty rooms? His eldest son would send him medium format photographs of places he's been, of things and, what he could tell, of vacation spots he and his wife were on but none of them showed himself nor his wife.

I am 56 years old. I work security for an industrial firm in Van Nuys. I have two sons who never step foot in the house after we sent them to college. I am married, for 32 years now, but haven't seen my wife for twelve of those years... He looked down at his hands, they were tensing up, shaking violently. He didn't understand why he felt so much anger. The thought of returning home night after night to an empty, desolate home burned, to the very core, his heart. They were away, far beyond his reach. Soon, though he dared not think it, he might forget them entirely. The hairs stood on the back of his neck and he felt a cold chill pass. He rubbed his forearms, looking over, unconsciously, across from him. A strange woman seated with an unusual skin color. piercing black eyes bearing a hauntingly beautiful yet expressionless face. Their eyes met a moment. He saw, for the brief time his eyes investigated her, a gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a heart. In the center of it a name he could not pronounce: Dauthr. He unconsciously touch his chest. His heart was racing. He was perspiring as well. He turned his head away and closed his eyes. Who am I? He grinned at himself. 'My stop is coming up. I guess I'll find out then.'

better

2009-09-01T04:09:00.000-07:00

too much all the time. more nothing.more absence. less less of so much.

The Stranger and the Grid

2009-08-31T10:27:00.000-07:00

Surrounded by movement{s}. Surrender of time. Strangely fitting in an {ec}-static moment of loud silence.

Who am I? A reader? A writer? The director of the urban storyline?

Or just a stranger, a new line in the unstructural grid of life.

City Of The Uncanny

2009-07-28T01:01:00.000-07:00

We are all indentured residents of this Theater called: The City! By definition, the City is a community of Human Strangers; built, in part, by the theology of our desires: of our dreams and nightmares, of our hopes and tragedies. of our loves, fears, guilt and our hatred. Ultimately our life and death.

We are streams of poetry, blurs of passion and arrogance. We encounter the Other's Tale briefly,

then pass away; a trace, a ghost, leaving remnants of consequence to roam the streets and by-ways.

Each of us enacts our perspective and though our views, the City becomes a kaleidoscope of experience.

bright lights small city

2009-07-23T04:32:00.001-07:00

a week outside of the studio, being in open spaces, hearing different sounds, being back home, it's completely new. exploring now, all the wonderful sensations I didn't see, feel, or hear before! being a stranger in one's own space, is always so refreshing, now to start some new adventures in a familiar old place...

In emptiness we play!

2009-07-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

An empty place. A white spatial/special page. Darkness around us. Let's play! Let's start running around! Let's leave a trace. Lines, forms, directions, words, screams and lights. We can mark our territory. We can underline our presence. We can design a ephemeral castle. In emptiness. Let's play. A pure spectacle. Then, suddently the lights will disappear. Darkness will prevail. But still, we can keep playing.

"System Failure"

2009-07-07T02:03:00.000-07:00

Dance aloud and unbound!

Sing with your soul the beautiful lyrics of joy!

Play in the rain! Chase the rainbows that vault the azure skies! Remember when horizons were dreams and innocence spawned the phantastic! Death is an enchantment. Its enticements are simple but few.

Gallop through the lands of Evil unafraid and play among the Gardens of the Gods!

gardens

2009-07-05T22:52:00.000-07:00

run around. go nuts. do whatever you want. anytime you please. even if it's sometimes in your head.

Filling the Void

2009-06-30T01:30:00.000-07:00

Emptiness. Realm. Absence yet imaginary presence. Micro and macro. शून्यता. Philosophy. Identity. Languages. Urination. Music. Blindness. Height. Deepness. A word of absence. Then the creative process starts. You fill the blank. Walls, ideas, colors, notes, feelings, dimensions, time, coordinates. The absence turns into presence. But does it matter? Better the void than an absent presence.

Un-re-membering

2009-06-29T02:14:00.000-07:00

Emptiness. The abscence that fills the hollows after presence has moved on. Memories lying on the edge of consciousness. The sensation of Love after the warmth has gone. The value of objects of the arbitrary or a room that suddenly became empty encountering your presence

stone paper on wood

2009-06-27T04:54:00.000-07:00

a photograph taken at the louvre on one of my repeated escapades attempting to understand a sculpture. a big hole in my memory. without the remnants of the moment, I would've forgotten. but then and again, the photograph having found some way into my present, makes it something that maybe deals with the past...

"VERSE"

2009-06-23T00:45:00.000-07:00

I have now traversed the the threshold of twilight, standing in a quiet building while the noise of my life crashes about like some rambunctious child within my head. The fissures are showing and I get to witness my life from the dizzying heights of remembrance, staring at the vast densities as if it was the City itself--convoluted, intricate and secret--waiting for the Sun to crash among the horizon. I cannot closed my eyes for long (one cannot wander through one's life in the dark), so I jaunt through the depths of Vertigo to see what it means to be Human. I tend to forget. The claustrophobia of forgetting forces me from its narrow hallways to the open-streets where the irony of the young are displayed among the catastrophe of architecture. Steam erupts from the hyperbole of their current flesh and I see the waste of precious energy that I secretly long for...

And I get dizzy again.

The world d'volves from saturated technicolor to somber gray-scale then black. I awake in a familiar place. "Mr. Davis, your blood pressure is extremely high and your heart... your heart is enlarged..." I tried to close my eyes again. That dizzying spell was purposely medicated and now some stranger was telling me my life is...

But I couldn't focus!

I watched my room bellow and laugh in carnival about me. Yet I laid there struggling not to be a shadow.

Now I stand at the highest point of a random building. I stare down at the cluster of pedestrians and I have the urge to fly. But I don't jump. That dizzying feeling becomes a sensation that rushes through. I still don't jump. I smile to myself wryly. I just altered the space and intended purpose of this building as this building altered a fundamental psyche I held within me. I gave up the idea of throwing myself to the mercy of the City and sat on the floor next to the window and watched the City slowly burn in the encroaching night.

Looking down towards the Future

2009-06-11T00:31:00.000-07:00

I'm looking down. An empty lot. I was there in the past. Just before walking up these steps. I look above the city lights. Is that south? I'll be there in the future. When I'll drive home later on. Now I'm here. In the present. Looking simultaneously at the past and at the future. Below. And above. Tomorrow the empty lot will be full. Animated. Alive. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be south. Looking back at the past. I will not be on this floor. Someone else probably will. Now I'm dizzy. I don't like heights. I should walk back down. Towards my future.

don't look down

2009-06-09T23:10:00.001-07:00

I live on the 19th floor. but I don't see rooftops since this may be the shortest building in my area!though if I did, I'd always imagine jumping from one to the other!like in a roman polanski film, except there are no bad guys. just pigeons and lost pet parakeets!

2009-06-08T00:55:00.000-07:00

I know I will die.

Tomorrow bears a scythe!

When the storm comes the Moon rises against a terrifying Night as Dawn dissipates from our memories.

When the last of the Seraphs have fallen from God's vengeance only to be consumed by Zealots, Mad-men and religious fanatics, one discovers life is not about "Life"! Life ceased to be the very moment we were taken from our Mother's womb. We breathe the air. We walk the streets conforming to the vices and virtues of Social Humanity making friends, losing lovers and crying in the ever deepening blue of twilight.

Yet we are haunted by a "good-bye" built on an architecture of dreams. Stone by brittle stone have fallen on the heads of the wise and the ignorant alike.

The mourning burns like the Sun in the minds of the enlightened!

Salvation has taken its leave

and our stones are but dust!

L-O-S-T

2009-06-04T00:15:00.000-07:00

Lost

{E-c}-statically

Among

Visual

Enlightenments

old habits

2009-06-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

no more parties. no more preparations.no more late nights. it's all over.. . for a while. back to work.

System Identities

2009-06-03T05:21:00.000-07:00

We are assaulted by organized entanglements! Nets--genres, lifestyles, political stances, deviance--the demarcations are so well managed that they are almost invisible to our daily experiences. "So, you want to be a writer?" and they shove you into a net full of antiquated ideas and skeletons of the past.

Maybe I'm just paranoid at seeing this glut of repetition we depend on so much! But this too is a Net! "Are you here to learn Architecture?" and by default they bombard you with militaristic geometries where people's lives are defined by volumes and spaces and circumstantial situations. Even Freedom is a form of Net!

What, exactly, defines us?

Trapped

2009-06-02T02:42:00.000-07:00

Water. {in}-finite surface. I feel trapped. In my own territory. Enemies from above. And down under. Deepness. I am searching for food. Food is searching for me. Blue. Water. Sky. Mood. I need to be careful. I do not want to be trapped.
Technology. {in}-finite space. Sometimes I feel trapped. In my other territory. Enemies from the inside. And from the outside. Deepness. I am searching for food. My virtual food. Informations. Colors. Black and White. I need to be careful. I do not want to be trapped. Like a fish in the water. The net can capture you too. A techno fish in deeper space.

safety

2009-05-30T07:28:00.001-07:00

having to deal with the business of making buildings, I try to picture my projects at their most extreme possiblities. mostly, the most ridiculous... perhaps covering an entire project in a net --- (making an aviary for birds. with the house inside it.) the hot chocolate exploded in the microwave oven. fascinating to see it blow up and freeze frame in the process. virutally, throwing the limits of the liquid to it's extreme capacity. if and only if it could be built! all that is left are the markings, which looks a bit like some barnett neuman drawing... if I squinted..now, that is much easier to translate...

Where is the next Ink~Station?

2009-05-26T02:19:00.000-07:00

It takes me everywhere. Through cities, neighborhoods and alleys. It takes me to the future yet it suddently brings back the past. Words, sentences and meanings. The end of the sentence, a new beginning. New words, sentences and meanings. It underlines. It erases. It forms shapes and thoughts. Reality and imagination. Everyday real~fictional~stories. I keep going. But now I realize that I can only go on for few miles. Where is the next Ink~Station?

always new

2009-05-25T17:42:00.000-07:00

keep moving even if it's only in your head. move around. explore old concepts. read old books. open those old doors. not into the past. but into the present. driving the present into other presents that weren't evident before.

Window Shopping

2009-05-25T02:15:00.000-07:00

She strolls through the urban aisle with her swollen, sweat-stained back against the sun shopping for nothing in particular. She stopped before a picture window in awe wondering how incredibly beautiful and cold people are, motionless before a million eyes, displaying themselves for purchase.
She pushed onwards, always against the flow, making a right on Third Avenue. "This is pretty." she said to her Other, pulling the bright yellow garment from the trash bin, holding it against the ruins of her breasts with a smile full of despair. "Yes, it's very pretty." said her Other. "You will have to try it on." "I will... One day...." She slung it over the side of her shopping cart, now serving a more basic function of vehicular consumerism, smiling anxiously at the blur of pedestrians who refuse to see her; a rare time that she felt happiness and no one noticed.

It's about time!

2009-05-20T06:54:00.000-07:00

Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac Tic Tac

Can you hear it? It is the sound of time passing by. Where? In front of me. Behind me. Cogito ergo sum was once said. I am. I do not only think. I also write my thoughts down. Anywhere and everywhere. On a sheet, on a notebook, on toilet paper. I write my thoughts therefore I am. Time is passing by. It just said hallo to me with a deep intense smile. I love time. My friend and my enemy. I spend half of my time thinking. I spend the other half writing my thoughts, while time passes again by me. A goodbye. Til the next half!

almost

2009-05-20T01:42:00.000-07:00

deadlines deadlines deadlines. only I see it finished. no one else seems to know what is going on! makes me laugh! keeps the mystery alive! and some excitement!

The Other

2009-05-20T00:30:00.000-07:00

Am I the right or the left? Or am I an equation of the two? The document states: "The other side of the Right is Logic. The other side of the Left is Imagination. The interaction of these opposing forces creates the signature we call Humanity."

On a planet where the 'surface' defines the movement of Human Reality, It is the Other Half, the primordial beauty and wisdom rarely seen and experienced in our global culture (not necessarily the institutions that commercialize the lack of our halves---you already know what they are). When the time comes, our halves will meet. That will be an interesting day indeed.

Hymn Of The Vessel

2009-05-19T00:23:00.000-07:00

I am a vessel

Born from intimate strangers and cast aside to the Urban abandon.

Blue is the perennial color of absence, a twilight where emptiness roams the hearts of men.

The sun shines everyday and night falls soon after.

No one sees me mourning.

No one hear the brittle howl from this lonely soul.

All they see is a vessel shattered by the infantile hands of Life

useless

old

and Empty.

I cre-{ate}

2009-05-18T07:23:00.000-07:00

I am full. It is empty. It can be filled up again. I can be hungry again. A dish. A person. A plate. A brain. Food. Ideas. Creativity. What was on it before I started making it disappear? I swallowed it. A very artistic culinary creation. Now it is gone. Now it is my turn to put ideas "on a plate". Now that I am full. I cre-{ate}

desolate nocture

2009-05-18T06:05:00.001-07:00

too many hours in the day. my mind kicks in after the sun sets. not good when one never sleeps... the days are way too long

Life, Stages And Everything Else

2009-05-17T03:21:00.000-07:00

Humanity is the grand audience of its own performance. Each of us has a strategic place in "The Play Of Life" acting our role particular to ourselves. At once, the dawn of the first opening and the close of another act. Sometimes there's no applause, sometimes we laugh, most times we cry, sometimes one sits too far in the back row to see or hear clearly, but there will always be critics and directors and dressmakers and line specialists to help one enunciate and perform. Yet it's when the stages are empty; when the architects and politicians, sociologists and economists, scientists and engineers are busying themselves setting up the stage for the next act, this is when we see it: the eerie beauty and the poetic terror of the Stage-- an ominous shadow of the human soul, never completely dark, never completely light, always in a state of becoming.

We all live in this Global Theater. If Artaud is right in saying that the human body is immortal and that the theater offers the body transformation and memory (in which this process re-acquaints us to the drama of Life, letting us know that Life will always be the embodiment of its actors), then it's the theater, its fictions, myths, realities spanning the stages of Human existence reaffirming that ancient story, a story we have seen again and again: The Story Of You And Me.

At the corner between Reality Road and Imagination Ave

2009-05-14T08:04:00.000-07:00

A story is being told. A stage. Actors and spectator ready. Who are they? Who wrote the story? I realize it is not a theater. I am sitting in a Bistro at the corner between Reality Road and Imagination Avenue. The city a stage. The story the everyday. Who is the actor? The city or the people? Who wrote the story? The architect? A man sits next to me, his name is Guy. We are unconsciously watching time passing by right in front of our eyes. People, stores, billboards, messages and images. Suddently, after sipping a hot Espresso he softly says: "The spectacle is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images".

doubt

2009-05-13T20:08:00.000-07:00

what's really behind our images? no one knows but us.
all our realities might seem like an act sometimes. it seems that we are lying, simply because to others, it's a reality that is unreal. everything around us is flattened out by rules and 'truths'. the great divide.

At Times Reality Stutters...

2009-05-09T23:47:00.000-07:00

...and things ahve to be repeated. Is it a fundamental flaw in the fabric of the World or an error within the System of All Things?

What happens when biology repeats itself? Is it telling us that billions of life-forms (including humans) possess a definite limit to the combinations of varieties possible in Life? Everyone heard the : "Oh, you look just like a friend of mine, could be his brother..." It's creepy yet oddly disturbing.

People repeat themselves to be understood (which one can formulate the theory that all understanding is based on repitition) or seek approval on a point or other they're making, otherwise they're just rambling in circles which gets very annoying (those people exist by the way).

The Industry Of Labor requires one to adopt the virtue of Repeat: one is born, raised then spends the rest of their adult life repeating which leads to a behavior of routine which, disturbingly so, defines one's life! We should go to our jobs and our homes and kick over chairs, yell at our managers, throw the objects of consumerism into the streets and march against the System! We are not machines or devices! We do not have reset buttons! Controled deja vu shall make no claims on our lives!

You are not a Cicada so please shut up!

2009-05-08T07:30:00.000-07:00

My old {grandpa's} radio isn't playing music anymore. No sounds. No songs. But I love sounds, songs and noises. I don't like repetitions. I don't like radios that play the same songs. Don't tell me the same things over and over. Waste of time. My time. Your time.

You are not a cicada! Cicadas make sounds. Repetitive sounds. But they create music. A symphony for my soul. For your soul. You are not a cicada. You just keep repeating the same things over and over. So please shut up.

Faith In Ascention

2009-05-07T21:05:00.000-07:00

It's a valuable lesson, though not often learned. An addiction, an aspiration towards a way of life or the hope for a better one. The lesson begins, in some form, like this: acquire a ladder. Set it up in the middle of your room and climb as high as you are able. You'll notice a hint of two important things.

1. The inevitable limits of one's action in the world.

2. A satisfying lightness of Being.

Things look askew. Objects bear foreign expressions, colors shift scales, the embodiment of space transforms into horizons... But it's only a hint. A hint that compelled us to construct the Tower of Babel (hence the creation of Architecture), a hint that pushed great nations and small to war, a hint that made us betray our loves, friends and neighbors just for a glimpse.

It caused Lucifer his place among the elite of Heaven, for surely Heaven was not the highest form of expression. His Fall caused a rupture in the fabric of Creation. Now we have Gravity, Time and Death!

But we are all children of Icarus. Here, in the belly of the City, I scale stairways and ladders, bridges and tunnels and rooftops. The sensation is invigorating. It's a sad lesson but I will bear it gladly.

again

2009-05-07T08:20:00.000-07:00

to do the same thing over and over. but in different places. it can never be the same. even when I feel I still am. still the same.

what I love most about travelling is the jet lag. it's when I take pictures. they are all the same place really. an inner space. hazy and clear at the same time. all the time

The Urban Icarus

2009-05-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

I want to escape from the city. Do I need wings? I am the Urban Icarus. I do not really want to fly. I just need a different point of view. I want to experience the city. From above. No wings, just a stairwell. I see. I perceive. Movements. People are ants from up here. The neighborhood looks like a moving painting. The window its frame. I want to escape from the city. Just for a moment. And see it from above. I am the Urban Icarus. I do not need wings. Just a stairwell. And a window.

higher

2009-05-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

I wonder about these skinny delicate branches, these brittle swaying lines.

Million Dollar Hotel

2009-05-05T22:15:00.000-07:00

Something I found while cleaning.

Holding

2009-05-05T16:10:00.000-07:00

I keep for the things I remember.

I keep fro the things I forget.

I Keep, with a bare heart, the loves I once had and the sorrow that pains me still.

And here is the room of my borne sighing at the gravity of my becoming. Childhood eyes still wonder in marvel and mystery through an aging World gray with knowledge and humanity.

I keep for the things that are lost

In the End our dreams will remember us and carry us away.

Capturing moments

2009-05-05T02:48:00.000-07:00

An image. A mark. A look. Eternal? Statically moving. Away. Change of direction. With the body. With the eye. A new thought. An old memory. A path and a message. Who wrote it? Who's reading it? A story. Our story. Silence. I am rewriting my story. My foot is my ink. The street a blank page. My day a new chapter. I keep. I lose. I write and {re}-write. Through memories. And through found objects. I kept them. And they keep triggering my imagination.

remind me

2009-05-04T02:58:00.000-07:00

peep holes were placed in doors for a reason. they are too high for children to reach, that is because children should never open the door in the first place. keep safe. wolves belong in forests not cities, although they can sometimes disguise themselves in plush red cloaks. do not ingest magic mushrooms when peeping,which could alter vision and perception altogether. their appearance may seem enticing, alluring or exotic. when in fact it can be a dangerous thing lurking behind your door.(beneath that cloak is still, not a fox from the little prince, but a big bad wolf, wolves travel in packs to say the least, so keep that door shut and chained, I know I am)

***image reshot from cluadine sia's prints, installed on my front door

Faces In Twilight

2009-05-03T21:29:00.000-07:00

He laid his face near the bathroom window, studied it a moment, then proceeded to scrub that filthy smile off it. When he was done he placed it with the rest.
He went to the bedroom closet and pulled out his face of Home: domestic, slightly worn around the eyes and mouth yet it was his most honest, most sincere. He brushed it off carefully and placed it on. He could smell the mildew and the grime emanating from the pores. Age does that to faces. He remembered his heart condition, popped some diovan and lipitor (for his cholesterol), took a deep breath and reached for his gun.

He paused half-way down the stairwell arrested by the eerie semi-darkness of the living room where his wife's silhouette danced in candlelight. Aware of his presence, she turned to him. He could feel her eyes bore into him. In the act of losing interest, she turned from him to the living room windows.
"Supper's ready." she said quietly
"The usual?"
She cast a faint smile and opened the curtains. There, bathed in lunar melancholy, she despaired the loss of her expectations; nothing seemed familiar and there was her husband, a failure and a coward behind a facade of sand. It shamed her most days, enraged her most nights. As she stood watching the Moon slowly make its procession through the evening sky, she thought about the many faces she had to wear to keep him under control. It was painful but she harbored no regrets.
He stood behind her and kissed her neck.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She shivered as tears ran from her eyes. "I am ready."
He held the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

I am..NOT a liar!

2009-04-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

I am. I am an architect. But also a writer. I write spaces yet I write stories. Sometimes I take photographs. I am a photographer. I am a dreamer. Some times I have nightmares. I am not a liar. But I've told some lies. Not big ones. I am not a liar. I am a reader. I am a tourist. A wanderer in my everyday. I am a smoker. I always say I have to quit. Is that a lie? I am not a liar. I am a caffeine lover. I can't eat dairy. I am a mess. But I love order. Even structure. I do not wear a mask. Not even during carnival. I have a sensitive skin. Masks itch. I say what I think. I love being direct. Maybe too direct. I don't tell lies. I don't care. But in fact I do. Maybe too much. I am. Today? Any day? No. Everyday.

W H O . H O W

2009-04-29T02:56:00.001-07:00

------------------------------------------------------------------------ today?

alice falls into the rabbit hole, swallows a pill. she grows, she shrinks.and they call this wonderland??? that's my everyday... today... I am a ghost in the world outside.

Guidance On Art Creation

2009-04-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

What are your hidden desires?
What part of you feels the rain when it falls?
Have you found the resting place of larks and sparrows?

Intellect's Omelette!

2009-04-28T07:14:00.001-07:00

disasterblaster

2009-04-28T04:13:00.000-07:00

this morning I woke up to a brewing storm...not a metaphorical one, but a real one. summer in the tropics seems to be over. it made everyone sick! a recipe for disaster when there are deadlines, but in funky paradise, it's the ultimate opportunity to open things up to the unexpected...
the happy accidents are pouring in....
like you cannot imagine! so I say, let it rain!

2009-04-28T00:45:00.000-07:00

There was once a way Home.

There were places people discovered that altered the very fabric of their minds; dark places where Sirens wail from the sewers and alleys among the nightmares of the City; places where Enlightenment roams the streets and parks and boulevards blinding all those who will listen.

A strange World.

Our "places" are constantly, slowly if not sudddenly, evolving and destroyed, ultimately ghosting away. I relish the privilege of observing human drama, catching those brief concersations and the rare moments of human love, hate, betrayal and despair before it wanders to oblivion...

There was once a way Home until a stranger appeared on the path. He had the voice of many people yet spoke only in clouds.

As I sit here on this bench with my camera and typewriter, I wonder at the pedestrians passing by. Wondering what's on their minds? What pushes them forward? But they disappear into their own lives never to be seen again...

As the sky washed into twilight, he removed a parchment from his pocket and inscribed it with an instrument. It read......

Funkiness is Imagination!

2009-04-27T23:57:00.000-07:00

A face. A flower. A walk through the everyday urban environment. A corner shop. They are selling food and dreams. In front of it a park. Old women chatting. Young people gossiping. A pigeon is running after some breadcrumbs. A businessman kicks it unintentionally. Back on the street a police officer is giving a ticket to a car parked on the curb. Right in front of the tiny store selling food and dreams. A boy is leaving the store with a small candy bar. Funky Paradise chocolate. He thinks about pigeons. Should he give them a little crumb? What was that feeling on his head? He turns his sight towards the sky. Pigeons are flying above him. He is now the involuntary target of their daily needs. A splashing rain. No crumbs for them. Back on the Funky Paradise choco bar. An illusion. A dream. Imaginary landscapes. A place where words become a choco bar. Old women still chatting. A curious world. Where imagination takes place.

blow out

2009-04-27T02:31:00.000-07:00

light through broken undulating surfaces... hole-y things. punched out. filled and transforming. seeing the forest not just the trees.
multiplied perspectives. the un object...fading slowly into something bigger...

"Excuse Me, Is This Seat Taken?"

2009-04-26T02:08:00.000-07:00

I wander through the City as all of us do; its an experience, its a belief, its... a way of life. Though our reasons differ, our cities, our homes, our secret places offers a seemingly infinite resource of artefacts for us to ponder and gather in the many realms of our momeries. Yes, we take from them moments in time and experience, yet we sacrifice something: a small change here a slight deformity of place or that sudden fracture of obduration that cause us to question the purpose of our daily exploring and souvenir collecting.

I am a Traveler.

A child wandering through a Strange World.

Everyday I take home some part of my experiences, to hold them, to cherish them and to remember them. They are my souvenirs. They are my histories and ultimately they are the things which I must leave behind (for Others whom I've met thoughout my travels will have taken some part of me for their own histories).

Can you move? My luggage is too big!

2009-04-26T00:31:00.000-07:00

I'm a passenger of time. A transitor between two points. Memory and discovery. Am I going back to the past or departing towards the future? The sound of empty suitcases, the silence of the unknown, yet full of noisy newnesses.

Am I leaving?

Am I arriving?

Is there a line dividing these ephemeral movements or are they indeed connected with a blurred threshold?

I am a constant traveler. Through the everyday. Through the next day. Through the unknown via the known. In every hour and in every place. Am I leaving or am I arriving? Does it matter?

"Partir c'est mourir un peu. C'est mourir à ce qu'on aime. On laisse un peu de soi-même. En toute heure et dans tout lieu"

conqueretreat

2009-04-25T01:19:00.000-07:00

being a stranger in a place, wherever that may be. does our alien presence invade it? alter it? at least for a second we are part of that scape? and like napoleon take pieces of it for ourselves?

do we find ourselves in these worlds that belong to someone else? flying through their windows, walking through their open doors? realizing this jarring displacement --- we jump out?
and suddenly it closes up and realize we forgot a piece of us was left there ...

and can never retrieve it ...

Where am I?

2009-04-24T02:25:00.000-07:00

Lines. Dots. People and Ants. Streets. Maps and Plans. Neighborhoods. Trees and Benches. Concrete and grass. Destinations. Tours and Trips. Tourists and Wanderers. Fruits and Sushi. Colored and Black and White. Viewed, lived and perceived. Space and place. Holes and Malls. Glass and Rain. Asphalt Jungle. Or just Jungle? Too much dogs poop. New shoes. Oooooooooops!

Of Human Measurement

2009-04-24T01:58:00.000-07:00

Silence demarcates a forgotton prejudice.
Within this quiet place rests a Modern effort to bind this vastness of silence, an artefact of measurement and a determinism that refuses the natural balance of things; to inscribe a "familiar" so that Man will never lose his sense of place, his center of Being (it is the reason why we have programs, education, cities, streets, suburbs...). Even though the crowds of Mankind struggle to affirm its place, Silence dances in the spaces of the unknown marking its territories... What are and who are we when the boundaries dissappear. when there is no layering, when there is no system in place to guide our behavior. when its just You, alone, naked before the emptiness?

beacon

2009-04-23T04:26:00.000-07:00

I am forever getting lost. I cannot read maps. nor can I map my own life or days out. believe me, I have tried. my driver (yes, that is why I have a driver to get me to appointments) knows my schedule more than I do ... mapping time or distance... I can only look up at the sky to guess what time it is, or where I am.

however, I can drive to milan from vico sans map and get to where I want to! I can smell a good shop from miles away! 10 corso como!

maps are there, leading to many places, I say , follow your nose!

following someone else's directions/instructions will only get you lost!

I write therefore I am,yeah, ok but heights freak me out!

2009-04-22T23:19:00.000-07:00

Exploring the unknown. Experiencing the city from a different angle. From above. Like angels? No! Like people who broke into a door with the writing "Do not open this door". Feeling new spaces. Taking pictures . Black and white. An urban dream with shadows of grayness. Writing poems. Interacting with a sign. Words in the sky.

Layering the city and words. Staring towards the future which in fact is the past. Like in a review mirror. Fantasising about a hypothetical urban funky paradise.

Yeah, ok. Looking down is making me sick. Let's get back inside. Throgh a colored black and white hotel.

crowds

2009-04-22T16:43:00.000-07:00

black out. why do we all wear black in the most sociable situations? to become shadows? to be ninjas?

***to be a true ninja, one must know loss...

Urban Locust

2009-04-22T03:46:00.000-07:00

I'm Black!

Like Man.

Like life!

Spent twenty years of it in jail

between jails

Been in jail all my life

Gonna sufha Black

Gonna dy Black

No compromis'n

No white womens

No womens in jail only the niggas

and they dont give it up

Gotta beat'em

bend them over

'Whatcha gonna do wit dat?'

"Gonna give it to ya good.'

'Where ya goin'?'

-home

'Wuz'dat?'

-my house...

'Y' you luk preety. Sut down here'

-getting off

"Significantly Structured"

2009-04-20T09:56:00.000-07:00

"Ruby red with garnet highlights. Rich and complex in the hints of red berries and small fruits; in the background there are mint, vanilla and liquorice spices. The taste is dry, generous, full-bodied and of significant structure".
Hold on! What's wrong here?
The color! The fruits! The smell! The taste!
Any description can be tricky! Imagination flies! You talk about wine showing an image of tea leaves! It doesn't matter! I adored the wine...but I honestly have no recallection of mint!!!
But I felt the "significant structure"...I am an architect after all!!

spread

2009-04-19T06:32:00.000-07:00

laundry, books, dirty plates --- things consumed tend to pile up, just like a list of things to do. whereas dinner parties, spread sideways, filling up a table with more empty glasses than guests... resulting in a scape. unplanned, unexpected and full

The Circus of Taste

2009-04-17T00:28:00.000-07:00

There it is. The spectacle begins. Lions with their combed hair. A seal playing with a green ball. Clowns and other funny characters are filling the space. A strange lady walking with a sign announcing the next artist. Number 8. A ballerina trying to accomplish a very difficult number. But she falls down and hurts her ankle. Acrobats flying in the air. Compositions and forms in the big top. Finally, the big jump. Adrenaline is swimming through my body. Artists performing a double jump inside my brain. A funky smell, is it popcorn? No, more powerful. People are screaming and applauding. Mission accomplished. The show is over. I thought it was a circus. Instead they are only wasabi peanuts. Adrenaline in my brain. A circus of taste!

go

2009-04-16T05:44:00.000-07:00

red, yellow ... go! waiting at a (traffic) light. to cross the street? cross a bridge? cross an intersection? that's what's great about the open road, it's always a green light! or the third world, where no one pays attention to the traffic light or the police!

"I am not Blind! I am just myopic!"

2009-04-15T22:47:00.000-07:00

"Honey, be careful! There is a tree right in front of you!"

"My dear you think I'm blind? I'm just nearsighted. Sometimes I think you believe I am stupid"

"I didn't say that hon! I just wanted to help you"

"First of all stop calling me "hon" second I see what's in front of me. In life you can see what you want to see. It is as simple as that. Plus, I see out of focus if I don't have my glasses on and, believe me, sometimes it is good to see life in a foggy manner. Unlike you , who wants to see clearly what's ahead of you. Stop this thing and let me ride my life the way I want"

"Hey Lady! Careful! There is a tree in front of you! You can hurt yourself!"

"Geee! What's wrong with you people? Am I the one to be careful or the freakin horse???"

What's the big moral behind this? It's good to see life out of focus. You allow yourself to avoid bad details! If you can't do that...well...blame the everyday horse!

zoom zoom zoom

2009-04-15T20:23:00.000-07:00

driving clears the inner eye ...
surfing clears the nasal passages and everything else...including the past ...

2009-04-15T12:21:00.000-07:00

Funky Paradise decided to upgrade! A new template. new theme, new stories. Order within the disorder we call "life". This is it! Everyday a word. Everyday different interpretations of it. New results, new readings new perspectives. Let's say goodbye to the past and welcome the future of this new experience we call "Funky Paradise".

scale shift

2009-04-09T04:30:00.000-07:00

finally getting some art in my studio(it's a painting my ex just gave me, he must've done it 4 years ago, it's me with our 2 french bulldogs)... the scale of the piece changed the space... finally cleaning up. getting it more organized...and maybe decorating! after 4 years of living here!

I keep leaving. total ADD. I keep going everywhere. camping out, trying many different 'lives'. pretending, yes, I have disguised myself in several 'jobs'...and got away with it. just for fun... until I realized, the joke's on me!

maybe now, I am finally 'home'. at least through what I am doing, I am making myself (at) (a) home.

violent femmes - blister in the sun

The Inivation

2009-04-07T00:37:00.000-07:00

If nothing else, life is interesting.

As bored as I am most days here in the City of Light, someone or some thing always finds me in the coner of my little world and pulls me out. At times its exhilarating. Most of the time its painful and aggrevating. I'm just not a part of the social euphenics currently exploiting the masses. Then the day comes, as it alweays does, when you get get invited to some function or other. I honestly don't like parties or get-togethers. I always find myself wandering away from them for various reasons. But this time a friend from work asked me to come. I immediately said no, then I thought it over in concert with a million other things I could've been doing. Then I remembered something Perry Kulper once said to me about 'thriving on experience'... hmmm.

So I said yes.

It urned out to be a very interesting experience indeed. We even had our own bartendender and weed to boot!!! Plus someone brought a Wii by and the fun continued till 4am. Afterwards we went to Ihops and had pancakes...

blue skies

2009-04-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

I read someone describe how the paris skies turn from blue to gray and gray again. I think that is the perfect lighting.
I wonder about what perfection is. everyone has rules and beliefs about this matter. I just find that I keep throwing rules and perfection out the window. not on purpose, but they keep flying out my open windows! and in my mind watch the paris skies change from blue to gray, then to blue again.

Imaginary Landscapes

2009-03-30T02:44:00.001-07:00

Mel you are not alone on this blog!! Virtually, and psychologically!!! As soon as I downloaded some images on Flickr during my coffee break, I started thinking about landscapes, imagination, reality, fantasy, places and spaces. Cities and towns. Small people and bigh people. Giants and munchkins. Covers and facades. Structures and pages. About reality being a book of our everyday stories. Dramatic, funny, noir, grotesque, comic, thriller like, documentary. For some reasons we overlay moments, situations and visual images creating sort of a real fake place. Or a fake real place. I am in a B&W moment. Sometimes it shows more details than the colored world!

why am I the only one posting here????

2009-03-29T18:42:00.000-07:00

I love this picture. I don't know why. it was taken long ago. it's always wonderful to surround yourself with your own images and imagination and of course great company! it's like a do-it-yourself world.... making it all yourself!

***http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7spjU4zDdI (all is see kylie - acoustic!)

nothere

2009-03-27T16:54:00.000-07:00

I keep mis reading this sign in my friend's studio, does it say 'not here'? or 'no there?'

right outside this door there are vines falling,and a small garden. last night I saw a huge potted sunflower, here in the philippines? how bizarre!

there isn't much that is really inspiring out here. but in the past 24 hours, somehow, it was different. I went to a couple of friends' studios and they were all these mad crazy worlds... not just physically, in the objects and spaces they dwell in. but also in our conversations. in the way they dressed. the way they all lived were pretty fascinating.(all have relocated from someplace else, mostly new york ... paris, milan...)the structure is this gestalt, more than it is prescribed by time or productivity. things just unfold. I guess there are many funky people living out here ... secretly, and in private.

perhaps this is a place where you can really do whatever you want. and become who you really are. no rules. except to have as much fun as possible at every single moment.

still rockin to kylie!
and kanye - paranoid

in between days

2009-03-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

another proustian moment. another picture that shouldn't have even existed.
the reality was a mess. mixed up flight schedules. I arrive in manila with 3 other full flights in the torrential rain. the driver leaves my car in the middle of it all. I run into the car with all my luggage...soaking wet. driver is missing. (car left running)the past couple of hours were the opposite of paradise...thank god, he left the cd player blasting some kraftwerk.... ahhhhh. nice...so it's those little things that make a huge disaster, funky and funny.

thank god no one bothered to steal my car.

why is it freezing here in manila??? what's going on?

amazing to be back in my forest of an apartment. (plants are all in good shape, dog is missing) a jar of nutella on my desk, and a bottle of wine... wow... how did that happen? who left that (for me?) there's this talented janitor in my building who made me some little ecologies in pots for me too (4 different species in one pot! and well a carafe and rocks with plants growing out of them.) ok not good, how did that happen???)! so sweet (to be back home!) my brother left a huge photo of water bubbles, framed. with ribbons hanging all over it in my room.

my 6 fluffy pillows and organically dyed sheets... ahhhh ... my funky paradise!

jose gonzales (cover) - love will tear us apart

Above the world!

2009-03-16T09:08:00.000-07:00

I am back in my little freaky town after a fantastic week in St. Moritz. I really had fun skiing like there was no tomorrow and descending the slopes like a funky avalanche!!! Just some pictures from, litterally, above the world! I love the snow! But now I am here, sitting in front of my computer wearing a tshirt...it's unbelievably warm here in Bellinzona. I am not sure if I rather preferred the cold or, the warm weather with the birds singing and the flower already blossoming. Now, since Mel keeps talking about surf I want to learn too! Maybe Efrem and I should join you on the waves!!!!

so what

2009-03-15T07:34:00.001-07:00

I miss my old roommate, gabby. no matter what was going on. we always just danced and celebrated the things that we loved....today I ran into him, and it was hilarious.in one of our secret spots in this city.I won't tell you where it is...

I don't know what anyone else is thinking or feeling. and I don't really want to hear it. I don't understand why it's not enough just to celebrate the things you love. enjoy it. and just be!

why does everything have to make un-funky sense? to me, I love funkiness. if it means playing kylie all day for 3 days, why not?

when we had nothing to do, we'd make party boxes. just in case, you wanted to throw a party spontaneously, you had this magic box from which an instant party could just pop out of! molto ghetto chic

*** thats's gabby (we're cousins) and my sister, they used to live close by, him in milano and she in bcn - 'gay-ciample, him in the red light district, with models and tartugos and a fantastic rooftop terazza! so funny!

he told me the other night 'mel, when things aren't working, just play kylie'

***of course I am wearing eairth, my funky paradise! I can't do much about my surroundings, but man, I could wear my own (funky paradise!)

all I see - kylie
your love - kylie

the funkiness I can't see

2009-03-08T01:55:00.000-08:00

erika, emmylou's little sister works with me now... and it turns out she takes the funkiest pictures... here are some she shot from somewhere in our building. every afternoon she and gogo take a vertical stroll through our building, to get some air...

wished you were here

2009-03-06T03:42:00.000-08:00

this one's for milena gruber! ah ah ah... let me post some when the party starts.. will pop some champagne for the 9th wonder fo the world...too bad I cannot cook, I had to order out... no garlic tonight... sorry milena...

***plus the flower market in my city is terrible these days...

blast from the past

2009-03-05T22:01:00.000-08:00

right now I am 'cleaning'--- actually I have to turn it into a very funky paradise --- up my apartment for a shoot tonight...
look what I found!

now off to buy some flowers!

invisible paradise

2009-03-02T07:20:00.000-08:00

having been what they call 'a foreign' student for 7 years, this meant I was always on very long flights several times a year. like lily I never felt I belonged anywhere, and I still don't, except of course in my own funky paradise. I love being locked in an airplane for hours hours hours! somehow, I feel in between places and time (zones).

up in the air!

on land and 'normal' days, I found another paradise, taking pictures. when I have to go to a wedding or some very social event. I take my camera and disappear in the pictures I take. recording the funkiness that I actually see within all strangeness of it. bill simonian once stopped me in the hallway and said 'your brain is always on holiday'. he was right. and you know what, it still is!

the party in my head never stops!

MUSIC FOR THE SOUL

2009-03-02T02:01:00.000-08:00

I was just posting about life on my blog and I decided to continue my thinking on Funky Paradise. I feel strange since a couple of days. Carnival as you by now all know it's over and life just went back to the normal routine. Thinking about it I have to admit it actually really sucks! On top of that I am living my last couple of days with a terrible arm and neck pain. My body isn't really functioning the way it usually does! It is even hard to write this post but posting seems to be lately the funniest thing to do! Anyway, while downloading images on Flickr (For those who didnt read my other post I am actually repeating things but hey! Who cares!!!) when I realized I didn't save all of my Paris shots. Some of them I posted already on Freeform today but these I wanted to put them on Funky. Why? Mel was writing about what she really wants (in life) and that is surf (and a hot smart surfer dude...find one for me too pleaseeeeeeeee!!!). Life is quite boring in this town of mine lately. The weather is crazy. People are insane and I cant quite fit in...like Greg (Walsh) would say "you make like them I don't"!!!! So, when I saw these images I started thinking about a musical paradise. An urban symphony. A rocking place. They say places change your mood. It's what experts called and still do "Psychogeography". Finding these images just put some music into my day. Imaginary music. You can hear whatever you want to hear! But let's think about the blog world. Funky Paradise or Keepmecompany or Freeform or Protocaust or one of my favorite Paris2e can they be a virtual urban realm in which each post become neighborhoods? Each post become a place, and your mood, your feelings change in relation to what you read, what you see and what you ultimately feel. The orchestra is playing in some store window. The instrument are waiting in the other. An this song is the soundtrack of my day...a song that is making everybody hate me here at the office!!!!

SILENT PARADISE

2009-03-01T12:56:00.000-08:00

I don't have many silent moments... There's always someone who recognizes me (Lily has seen this personally...) or someone I'm aquainted with tagentially. Like yesterday a good aquaintence named John who performs an impressive drum show on the Promenade here in Santa Monica, told me about how his father died and how his mother gave and did bad things to him that ruined him finacially, then ther was his almost fatal accident... I've known him for about a year now and this is the first time he'd ever said this to me and somehow deep inside, I appreciated this and I felt confused about it. So many people out there are hoping, dreaming and believeing... They all want paradise and the terrible reality that human life is so very frail and short, it doesn't make sense to me that evil and deception could have such a stranglehold on us: so you get people killing each other, cheating on their wives, becoming politicians, etc.

The evening my girlfriend (we would've been married by now) passed away, I realized that I hated people in general... They turned the greatest sorrow I've ever experienced into their personal crusade: 'She's in a better place now..." or 'God has her , she'll be fine...' or still, 'It was her time...' I wanted to kill them. All! I've seen where the dead go and NO ONE CAN TELL ME THAT THAT IS THE 'BETTER PLACE.'

Paradise is not a cemetary.

Paradise (at least for me) is silent, it's a quiet walk through your memories, it is listening to yourself...

Now I lie a quiet life when I'm in my apartment (my books, my drawings, my photos...) I get to do things for me, and there are a lot of 'Me' things to do.

God can never be the End of who I am (or hope to be), though the dream is seductive, we have a religion based on it. Mel, I think you're headed in the right direction (though my Life-values depend on how near Death is to me). Paradise is a personal destination. Not everbody will join you there, but I don't think its a bad thing...

simply funky common sense

2009-03-01T09:07:00.001-08:00

all I really want to do is surf. and keep doing creative things that I love. talk only to people I adore. be with people I like or love. be in places that are real. the rest --- I don't know, stay far from me please. I've been very dismissive and rude (well snotty)I hate socializing. yesterday I told someone off (my grandmother's wake has been grueling), I said I only talk to people I like. and walked away.(in my head, I imagined slicing his head off with a samurai sword, today he didn't go near me! thank god!) that's why I grew my hair out so I can cover my face when it's too dark to wear sunglasses. I always look forward or the opposite direction, to avoid all possible contact.

paradise is privacy, some isolation and making a choice about it, to hell to 'obligations', I'm so moving out (to the beach, I hope)!!!!

U2 - sunday bloody sunday

death and paradise

2009-02-28T06:31:00.000-08:00

when my grandfather passed away last year, my cousin bea and I turned the space into this marc quinn-ish garden growing out of oriental rugs. all sorts tropical flowers species mixed with colorful stargazers, and other 'western' flowers (I will get killed if anyone reads about this in manila). down to the scent... we even made sure it smelled like paradise (l'artisan candles)! we also did all the 'thank you' cards- a molto cool rephotograph of him in his 20's in rome (bea said..'oooh it looks like he's saying hello from the eternal city' and called it eternal paradise)! a few days ago, my grandmother passed away. I don't know if it's just me, but I seriously think that everyone must leave/live (same thing) in style.
***for the funeral, I wore a grey margiela vest over a black jil sander top, with drawstring heavy cotton linen yohji trousers and black balenciaga wedges... (sorry, about that)

so, efrem, I'm not sure if there is some god out there... maybe 'style', art, and the small funny things might not be so bad... to me funkiness is paradise(god???)! live free!

daft punk - digital love
player - biggest part of me

2009-02-28T02:21:00.001-08:00

2009-02-28T02:20:00.000-08:00