Yale found a beautiful image earlier this week and I went looking for the artist – her name is Stasia Burrlington, and there was an entire series of work in this style. I love her beautiful use of the bodyscape as landscape and the gently erotic nature of these images – the beauty of the bodies combined with the beauty of the flowers… makes me want to go cover my limbs in chrysanthemum tattoos! 🙂
Desktops covered in icons (useful, disused or otherwise) make me twitch.
They’re always lurking in the background and even though you can’t always see them…. you’re aware of their inherently malignant presence. They hide underneath the programs you have running like insidious little dust bunnies that hide under your bed and whose sole purpose is to evade the vacuum cleaner and multiply when you’re not looking.
I hate them. They remind me that I’m less organized than I should want to be…. and they seem to reflect the state of my house. If the house is untidy my desktop tends to likewise be in disarray. Why is it so?
And why can’t I just leave them there? Multiplying to their heart’s content? In truth they’re not maliciously causing any tangible or particular injury to myself or others. They’ve even been known to be useful from time to time… and yet I despise them so completely I’m constantly compelled to cull. And it’s not usually because I’m finished with them, but rather because I can’t stand seeing the detestable digital detritus scattered all over the desktop!
It’s normally right about when they start to overrun “Rip-My-Still-Beating-Heart-Out-Of-My-Chest” Bear is when I start to really twitch.. which of course leads to randomly deleting the little fuckers or at the very least moving the unholy little bastards off the desktop in order to keep my sanity.
Perhaps this quantifiable manifestation of my latent OCD tendencies is something I need to devote some time to with one of the multitude of allied health professionals who are supposedly monitoring my mental well being…
And while we’re at it, perhaps we might need to examine the rationale behind my having saved the image below to my aforementioned ‘creative’ desktop…. 😐
At the moment, the best I can surmise is that posting a monkey is ‘just one of those things’…. like coming out of a giant book… you just gotta do it at some point in your life.
I’ve been a bit down on the SCA since my Crux days. It was a job I never wanted. I was kinda ‘volunteered’ for the job and to inherit that partiuclar office when it was in as much disarray as that was…. well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. It was a full on nightmare, that took me about 10 months to wrestle back under control under difficult circumstances (by difficult circumstances, read- with dozens of nazi-herald types looking over your shoulder, nit picking on every little thing). The SCA is supposed to be fun, but when you find yourself in situations like that one, simply due to the lack of willing and knowledgeable applicants, then it suddenly ceases to be fun. Shrug… the old saying is true.. you get what you pay for and this is never more true than when you’re dealing with volunteers. I came away from the thankless mess saying ‘never again’ …. only to pick up another SCA mess, in the form of a truck accident, this time.
I’d like to be able to get stuck into making some seriously cool medieval ‘stuff’ again… one of these days.
strange (strānj)
adj. strang·er, strang·est
I got called strange today…. and I’m somewhat uncertain as to whether or not one ought be insulted for being called ‘strange’. Naturally, I don’t think I’m strange… well, no more strange than most of my neighbours, all of whom have their own individual little idiosyncrasies which I guess could count as points of strangeness from the norm. But then that begs the question about where the norm lies? And who’s to say what defines the norm? And so on and so forth (long winded mental tangent deleted for sanity’s sake). The more I think about it, ‘strange’ becomes such an awkward term with too many meanings yet none specific enough.
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