Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Love!!!
Jonathan Safran Foer's Tree Of Codes
I must admit I am one of those people who skips meals and ignores my phone when I get stuck into a awesome book. And as a designer I not only like to be challenged intellectually when I read a book I also like to be visually drawn into what I am reading. So when I found Jonathan Safran Foer's latest book, Tree of Codes, I was so excited! This book takes the integration of writing and design to a new level. This book is described as much a sculptural object as it is a work of fiction. Jonathan Safran Foer has taken his favorite book, The Street of Crocodiles by Polish-Jewish writer Bruno Schulz, and used it as a canvas, cutting into and out of the pages, to arrive at an original new story. The result is a text of cutout pages, with text peeking through windows as the tale unfolds. It is amazing. This guy is amazing!!! Go check him out. (He also writes a book called Eating Animals, which is truly spectacular, every single person should read it and open their eyes to the facts of their "food") G :)
"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living" - Jonathan Safran Foer
Hello Old Friend.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Clouds
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
In Every Moon And Every Star
Monday, February 14, 2011
Live In A Love
Never—
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth,
My life is a fault at last, I fear:
It seems too much like a fate, indeed!
Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.
But what if I fail of my purpose here?
It is but to keep the nerves at strain,
To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,
And baffled, get up to begin again,—
So the chase takes up one's life, that's all.
While, look but once from your farthest bound,
At me so deep in the dust and dark,
No sooner the old hope drops to ground
Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,
I shape me—
Ever
Removed!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
On The Origins Of Things
as a renegade fragment of the sun, a solar
flare that fled that hellish furnace
and congealed into a flat frozen pond suspended
between the planets. But did you know
that anger began as music, played
too often and too loudly by drunken performers
at weddings and garden parties? Or that turtles
evolved from knuckles, ice from tears, and darkness
from misunderstanding? As for the dominant
thesis regarding the origin of love, I
abstain from comment, nor will I allow
myself to address the idea that dance
began as a kiss, that happiness was
an accidental import from Spain, that the ancient
game of jump-the-fire gave rise
to politics. But I will confess
that I began as an astronomer—a liking
for bright flashes, vast distances, unreachable things,
a hand stretched always toward the furthest limit—
and that my longing for you has not taken me
very far from that original desire
to inscribe a comet's orbit around the walls
of our city, to gently stroke the surface of the stars.