“Never interrupt someone doing something you said couldn’t be done.”
As it is, we are merely bolting our lives—gulping down undigested experiences as fast as we can stuff them in—because awareness of our own existence is so superficial and so narrow that nothing seems to us more boring than simple being. If I ask you what you did, saw, heard, smelled, touched and tasted yesterday, I am likely to get nothing more than the thin, sketchy outline of the few things that you noticed, and of those only what you thought worth remembering. Is it surprising that an existence so experienced seems so empty and bare that its hunger for an infinite future is insatiable? But suppose you could answer, “It would take me forever to tell you, and I am much too interested in what’s happening now.” How is it possible that a being with such sensitive jewels as the eyes, such enchanted musical instruments as the ears, and such a fabulous arabesque of nerves as the brain can experience itself as anything less than a god? And, when you consider that this incalculably subtle organism is inseparable from the still more marvelous patterns of its environment—from the minutest electrical designs to the whole company of the galaxies—how is it conceivable that this incarnation of all eternity can be bored with being? — Alan Watts, The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are (via zadi)
Eons of lily-buildingemerged in that one flower.Eons, eons. Pinsand wool, thread and needle,all materialmade of itself and circumstance.It was a terrible century:consisting of blastedoil refineries and stuck ducks,fish with their lips sealed by plasticand tar in the hair of cooks.Filth had penetrated the vents.Institutions moan.Balls of used cottonfrom the hospital dumpster, redden.Yawning on obsolescencethe computer wonderswho punched in such poor grammar.First-padded virginsgraduate to this suffering dramaall by her-selves.Who once were cells.* * *History is more than just another surmisinggrandmother at a windowor a reminiscence twisted in the scrim of translation.Some long-ago light is pulsating in a trout’s hearton a laboratory dish.That light has entered all the holes,no matter how small, because it is the light that wants to live.
(669) 221-6251 -
next time someone demands your digits and you want to get out of the situation, you can give them this number: (669) 221-6251.
when the person calls or texts, an automatically-generated quotation from feminist writer bell hooks will respond for you.
protect your privacy while dropping some…
Gaze-activated dress by Ying Gao
The gaze-activated dresses are made of photo-luminescent thread and are embedded with eye-tracking technology that responds to an observer’s gaze by activating tiny motors to move parts of the dresses
Summer Music Festival cellist Armen Ksajikian plays for the resident bears at the Fortress of the Bears bear sanctuary Thursday, June 10, 2010, in Sitka, Alaska. Ksajikian was inspired by the acoustics at the converted pulp mill clarifier tank and played a selection of music, including a Berlioz piece, for the bruins. With Ksajikian is Les Kinnear director of the sanctuary.
Always reblogging this.
(Source: pasha-hasid, via iwanttogothere)
Nine washing machines stacked on a my new hero’s truck. by sampotts http://ift.tt/Tpp30n