as above, so below
Apr. 22nd, 2015 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yamamanamaSorry about the string of melancholy entries.
A thunderstorm woke me up at around 5:05 AM on Tuesday. And it was a really bad one too, the kind with constant lightning that hurts my eyes because it's so early in the morning. It's weird because on Monday, it only reached 45° F.
I saw a guy with a tattoo of a bumblebee on his wrist.
One guy, an older fellow with a bandana and a white beard was getting off before I had a chance to draw him but he told me about his collection of prints by an artist whose name I can't remember, kachinas, and masks from all over the world. I tried to show him the two masks I made but didn't have time.
What I didn't notice until now is that some of the stuff on the Russian World War I posters is written in obsolete letters. There's no і or Ѣ. Greece, you can learn something from this. English and really most languages that use the Latin alphabet, do the opposite of what I suggest for Greek.
I got to see the coins and box and bits of plaster that surrounded the box from the time capsule this time. The wait wasn't that bad even though I needed to pee by the time I saw the stuff, and the people in front of me ran the Marathon on Monday.
I remembered that I needed to get details about the sculpture of a woman spoon-feeding an owl but didn't get those details.
The Rothschilds (from German for red shield if you're like me and need help spelling it) bequeathed some of the art requisitioned (read: stolen) by the Nazis to the MFA, along with some of the jewelry they had with them when they were away for the Anschluss.
There are daguerrotypes. I am reminded of She Who Tells A Story and its inverted colors and a woman telling me that's what it's like when the bombs hit. There's a photograph of a parade of godzillas, brachiosaurs, lizards, crocodiles, and stegosaurs all clomping around, a woman in a kimono with her breasts and pubic hair exposed and a Caspian cobra is about to bite her taint, clouds, people carrying umbrellas to shield them from the black rain. There's a photograph of the moon, and a photograph of an ostrich wandering deserted city streets.
Michelangelo idealized beauty and Leonardo saw beauty in the everyday.
A woman with a leaf tattoo on her foot told me my drawings were good. She's not an artist but she's not emphatically not an artist. I wanted to draw her in more detail but she got off, phrasing, at South Station, and I had to move on to a guy in a skull and crossbones beanie and a woman with hair like a more punk more communist Marge Simpson, who had a tattoo of a birdcage on her arm. There was possibly a bird escaping from the cage, but I wasn't able to see it because of the way her hand was positioned.
No updates from Cyprus, really. They have a dinky Facebook page where they try to pretend the official Color Exchange blog on Blogspot is a thing, and I guess they're in the Greek part now and have started the mural.
On Wednesday, I woke up and thought "is it Thursday... I feel like yesterday was Sunday."
I had to show off my t-shirt to someone who likes cats. But it's still windy and not actually warm. Maybe this can be my new goal: Finish reading the Well of Echoes by the time we have a very warm day. I'm about a third of a way through Chimaera, so maybe I'll finish it before Emma gets back from Cyprus.
Rachel wanted me to send this to her. So I did. It has 2 views and I haven't shared it with the world yet so I don't know if both of the views are me and it ended up in the land of wind and ghosts thanks to an overzealous spam filter, or one of the views is me and one of the views is her.
I also have a thought about the hugos and it is as follows: I don't think Sad Puppies or Rabid Puppies 2016 is going to include Radiance or anything else by so-called social justice warriors on their slate in hopes they'll withdraw, because that would require them to be self-aware of their own toxicity, and even if they are somehow aware of their own toxicity, they'd have to tacitly admit to it.
Burning Question: Okay, so the hugos are, like, broken because things like The Water That Falls On You Like Nowhere and If You Were A Dinosaur, My Love, and The Ink Readers Of Doi Saket are nominated and they're are products of a decadent culture that can not produce talented individuals of enough insight and wisdom to write something great, so then you try to get Opera Vita Aeterna of all things on the ballot?
Whatever you say, John.
A thunderstorm woke me up at around 5:05 AM on Tuesday. And it was a really bad one too, the kind with constant lightning that hurts my eyes because it's so early in the morning. It's weird because on Monday, it only reached 45° F.
I saw a guy with a tattoo of a bumblebee on his wrist.
One guy, an older fellow with a bandana and a white beard was getting off before I had a chance to draw him but he told me about his collection of prints by an artist whose name I can't remember, kachinas, and masks from all over the world. I tried to show him the two masks I made but didn't have time.
What I didn't notice until now is that some of the stuff on the Russian World War I posters is written in obsolete letters. There's no і or Ѣ. Greece, you can learn something from this. English and really most languages that use the Latin alphabet, do the opposite of what I suggest for Greek.
I got to see the coins and box and bits of plaster that surrounded the box from the time capsule this time. The wait wasn't that bad even though I needed to pee by the time I saw the stuff, and the people in front of me ran the Marathon on Monday.
I remembered that I needed to get details about the sculpture of a woman spoon-feeding an owl but didn't get those details.
The Rothschilds (from German for red shield if you're like me and need help spelling it) bequeathed some of the art requisitioned (read: stolen) by the Nazis to the MFA, along with some of the jewelry they had with them when they were away for the Anschluss.
There are daguerrotypes. I am reminded of She Who Tells A Story and its inverted colors and a woman telling me that's what it's like when the bombs hit. There's a photograph of a parade of godzillas, brachiosaurs, lizards, crocodiles, and stegosaurs all clomping around, a woman in a kimono with her breasts and pubic hair exposed and a Caspian cobra is about to bite her taint, clouds, people carrying umbrellas to shield them from the black rain. There's a photograph of the moon, and a photograph of an ostrich wandering deserted city streets.
Michelangelo idealized beauty and Leonardo saw beauty in the everyday.
A woman with a leaf tattoo on her foot told me my drawings were good. She's not an artist but she's not emphatically not an artist. I wanted to draw her in more detail but she got off, phrasing, at South Station, and I had to move on to a guy in a skull and crossbones beanie and a woman with hair like a more punk more communist Marge Simpson, who had a tattoo of a birdcage on her arm. There was possibly a bird escaping from the cage, but I wasn't able to see it because of the way her hand was positioned.
No updates from Cyprus, really. They have a dinky Facebook page where they try to pretend the official Color Exchange blog on Blogspot is a thing, and I guess they're in the Greek part now and have started the mural.
On Wednesday, I woke up and thought "is it Thursday... I feel like yesterday was Sunday."
I had to show off my t-shirt to someone who likes cats. But it's still windy and not actually warm. Maybe this can be my new goal: Finish reading the Well of Echoes by the time we have a very warm day. I'm about a third of a way through Chimaera, so maybe I'll finish it before Emma gets back from Cyprus.
Rachel wanted me to send this to her. So I did. It has 2 views and I haven't shared it with the world yet so I don't know if both of the views are me and it ended up in the land of wind and ghosts thanks to an overzealous spam filter, or one of the views is me and one of the views is her.
I also have a thought about the hugos and it is as follows: I don't think Sad Puppies or Rabid Puppies 2016 is going to include Radiance or anything else by so-called social justice warriors on their slate in hopes they'll withdraw, because that would require them to be self-aware of their own toxicity, and even if they are somehow aware of their own toxicity, they'd have to tacitly admit to it.
Burning Question: Okay, so the hugos are, like, broken because things like The Water That Falls On You Like Nowhere and If You Were A Dinosaur, My Love, and The Ink Readers Of Doi Saket are nominated and they're are products of a decadent culture that can not produce talented individuals of enough insight and wisdom to write something great, so then you try to get Opera Vita Aeterna of all things on the ballot?
Whatever you say, John.
