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Not today Justin
taylor price

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@theartofmadeline

izzy's playlists!
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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Origami Around
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Peter Solarz
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trying on a metaphor

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@barkingmetaphase
Asthenia

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check out Larry Cuba, creative coding pioneer. heâs done some amazing stuff
Junya Watanabe Spring 2016
the cybernetic mass grave dredged.Â
u 2 can do it 2

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polychromatic grid crawler 1
appropriate space
Star Trek: First Contact (1996)
Nissan Maxima A32
It would not be an exaggeration to say that a fourth generation Nissan Maxima sacrificed its life to save me. It was the first car I ever had. One day while going down 287 in Netcong, NJ which is really just a series of roads rather than a town, I was rear ended by a Mac truck carrying asphalt. From there was I spun across two lanes of traffic while managing to do a 540. All I could think during this was how much I wanted Chipotle. Your brain does not react to sudden danger until it is either over or midway through the thing. If you are lucky the event is not long enough to have a moment of sudden clarity midway through. Eventually I hit a wall.
I got out of the car and muttered to the man who pulled over for me that I still donât believe in God. Going out to see my car I noticed that the poor purple steed was most certainly totaled. I was then told by the big grumpy police officer to move my car, I guess he must have believed in God and was punishing the unfaithful by being rude to them. I turned that ignition key and the car still ran. I drove it down a highway full of cars that were all stopped for me as if my car was in a play performing for other cars and the road was a stage.
That car was more loyal than any friend I could have asked for.
That is the theme with the mid 90âs Maxima. It is a loyal car that does not pout when it is pushed. It can take whatever is thrown at it better than any BMW ever could. The mechanics are enthusiastic about how long the engine in these vehicles can last.
I ask you to notice. Look how many of these cars you see out there. Yes, they blend in but try to notice them. Notice how god damn many there are, they last forever. With their high ground clearance for a sedan or their mundane colors. Each of those cars has been well loved like that pair of Levis that you wore for years before you started drinking too much craft beer. These cars have outlasted their counterparts. It is hard to believe that the mid 90âs was that long ago with all of that nostalgia but 97 was 18 years ago. Â
This car is no exception. It looks like it works hard day in and day out. I spot it on the same street every day in a different spot so I can confirm it does move daily. That missing hubcap? That comes from day to day use. Consider it like the tear in your Levis in the front over the knee, people call that sort of stuff âcharacterâ. There is an automatic with this car and it was never meant to be hooned around the track. This fact for me at least eliminates it from my stick shift rule I use to justify hating some peopleâs cars and or character.
This brings me to the idea that we should realize that the Maxima is an everyday hero. It has outlasted its peers and did a great job doing it. Under each hood lies this legendary engine that never quits. Even when the going gets tough it rolls over the big bumps with its high ground clearance and blends in with the rest of the crowd as if to say âlooks donât make me special, it is what I do that makes me special, I donât need you to acknowledge me, Iâll just keep going.â At the end of the day it is not a 97 Maxima that we drive, it is the 97 Maxima that drives us.
"I got out of the car and muttered to the man who pulled over for me that I still donât believe in God."Â

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Donât do what all the other little buggers are doing. Donât try to make the poem look pretty. Youâre not decorating â¨cupcakes, Cupcake. Donât think youâre the only bastard who ever sufferedâââjust write as if âyou were. Donât eat someone elseâs lunch. For eat read steal. For lunch read wife. For wife read style. Donât be any formâs bitch. Donât think ifâ you cheat on form or slip the meter, no one will notice. Theyâll know and think you a fool. Donât think it impossible to cheat on form. If you do it well, theyâll think you a genius. Donât think if âyou declare yourself avant-garde, your sins will be â¨forgiven. Donât blubber if âyou never receive prizes. Look at the poets who won the Pulitzer fifty years ago. See whoâs there. See whoâs not. Donât think youâre special. Stand in a library amid all those poets who thought they were every inch the genius you think you are. Donât double-space your lines and think the poem better. It just takes up more room. Donât think regret is 20/20. Regret is myopic. Hope is astigmatic. Trust is blind. Donât think what you have to say is important. The way you say it is whatâs important. What you have to say is rubbish. Donât think you donât have to read. You read in order to steal. Read more, steal better. Donât think your poems are good because they sound good read aloud. Get your hearing checked. Never write poems about poetry. Donât play to the audience. Your audience is full of dopes, cheeseballs, and Johnny-come-lateliesâââbesides, theyâre laughing at you all the way home. Donât think youâve been anointed by early success. Look at the critical darlings of a hundred years ago. Look at the darlings of twenty years ago. Never wish you were there. Wish you were here. Donât think you can ignore grammar. You need grammar more than grammar needs you. Never eat the pie if âyou can own the fork. Donât think new is better. Donât think new is not better. Donât think, read. Donât think, ink. Poetry is the nude that stays nude. Never write the first line if you already know the last. The best poem is the unwritten poem. Donât break the window before you look at the view. Donât think that if you have two manuscripts, you have two manuscripts. You have one manuscript. Donât eat jargon, because youâll shit jargon. Donât think poetry is a religion. Itâs more important than religion.
William Logan, âThe Nude that Stays Nudeâ. (via leash-baby)
Mosses are small flowerless plants that usually grow in dense green clumps or mats, in damp or shady locations. The individual plants are usually composed of simple, one-cell thick leaves, covering a thin stem that supports them but does not conduct water and nutrients (nonvascular).They do not have seeds or any vascular tissue. At certain times they produce thin stalks topped with capsules containing spores.
Mosses are commonly confused with lichens, hornworts, and liverworts.[4] Lichens may superficially look like mosses, and have a common names that includes the word âmossâ (e.g., âreindeer moss" or iceland mossâ), but are not related to mosses.[4]:3 Mosses, hornworts, and liverworts are collectively called âbryophytesâ. Bryophytes share the properties of not having vascular tissue and producing spores instead of flowers and seeds. Bryohpytes have the haploid gametophyte generation as the dominant phase of the life cycle. This contrasts with the pattern in all vascular plants (seed plants and pteridophytes), where the diploid sporophyte generation is dominant.
Adam Luptonâs paintings show the passing of time as a disorienting blur.
The Tide
by FalcaoLucas
fibonacci sculpture rotation perfect loop

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what happened to my imaginary friends? Â I swear I just saw them crawling the walls of my eyes...
with the cybernetic one, I planted a flag on Mars (pirate flag) with the wizard, I tamed a forest daemon (new friend) with the dog-man, I called out the moon! (told us to quiet down)
I remember them so well! Didn't think they'd leave me so soon. have you seen your imaginary friends? the explorers, the rockstars, the zebras?
I once road a striped horse in Antarctica, playing Stairway for penguins on the face of a 500 watt friend who waddled behind. Where do they go? Not that TV show... How? you ask I know I read missing persons reports of my subconsious, heard the rational media fearmongers tell their tales of a group of misfits hiding out under my belly-mind, pulling some strings of my emotions. They want desperately to be noticed, I think. But so far down in me, I have to sink, to find them and save them, an adventure I'd embark, alone but for a new Donkey, a new muse I have sparked.