Musings from my visit to the ASU Art Museum today :)

There is a painting, oil on canvas, Jacqueline Brito (b. 1973), 1996:
"ETATIS.SUA.XX (Made when I was 20 years old).

Was it made when she was 20 years old?
Or was it born when she was
twenty years old.

A ship sails to the horizon
veering sharply toward the sun
A setting sun
Chased by wind-filled masts three
And the clouds pay homage
to the last days of youth.

The sun has spawned a golden trail
sparkling in the waters
Sharply juxtaposed by the ship's inky wake.

The water bleeds down across the canvas
ETATIS.SUE.XX. It cries, it laments
And the ship of dreamers sails on
to the setting sun.

Jose Toirac, "Untitled" from "Series Gris"

Amidst the fog of swirling grey
the mess of smoke
the choking banality of
color withdrawal
Is only the vague impression
of a man
And his cigar.

The Fairest of them All (to you)

Snow White, as fair as fair can be,
Just sat around quite passively.
When evil tried to do her in,
"Some day my prince will come," she'd sing.

The cinder wench was though quite nice,
Always helping out the mice.
She never gave herself a hand,
Instead she went to snag a man.

Rapunzel, golden curls and all,
Was locked up in a tower tall.
She never thought to use her hair
To get her own self out of there.

The sleeping beauty was not brave.
She never thought herself to save.
When trouble reared its ugly head,
The Sleeping Beauty went to bed.

They each got their ever-after
in subjection and in pelf:
For a happy ever ending,
Do not think to save yourself.

"As a humanitarian worker and especially as a peace broker, you learn that if you are there to help the victims from the depths of hell, you have to speak to the devil." -Jan Egeland, the United Nations' emergency relief coordinator and under secretary general for humanitarian affairs.

Read the article here

The world is a scary, scary place.

oh dear.

cool delight found only in surprise
to learn anew each day i'm still alive...

Oh so dissapointed. It poured in Chandler, and I could glimpse lightning and rain in the distance, but neither drop of water nor echo of thunder reached tempe. It was as though the clouds parted and the sun shined only on this little city in the whole valley. Doesnt that sound like a blessing? HAH. The desert changes everything- we alone were damned in Tempe. We were left with beauty though; tonight exhibited the most spectacular sunset I've ever seen. A huge cloud encompassed the whole sky all around the sun, and was unmistakably shaped like a soaring eagle poised to swallow the golden orb. It was amazing. I was compelled to sketch it roughly- I may attempt to reconstruct the sight with some exciting new medium after visiting the art store I've been meaning to check out all summer. Especially since I have devised a way to save $ 210 on moving expenses and such. Its funny how things like that work out if you take a day now and then to set things in order.

Goodbye, goodbye
Like a part of me dies
Cause my heart has now left me
To travel with you.

Born to die, born to die
no shahid I.
I pricked my finger on a thorn
of the Rose of Sharon.
The blood that flowed so berry bright
glowed angrily against the night
made the rose seem dull and coarse-
foolish even.
I set out across the sands
traveled through the scorching land
searched cold empty skies for hope-
but it seems that all is lost.
fanatic hunger in their eyes
they've forgotten how to cry
blinded by the beauty of a rose
and born to die.

"Volare"- Domenico Modugno

Penso che un sogno cosi non ritorni mai piu
mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu
poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapito
e incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito

Volare! oh, oh
Cantare! oh, oh

nel blu dipinto di blu
felice di stare lassu
e volavo, volavo felice piu in alto del sole
ed ancora piu su...



Its a great song. I highly recommend it.

Poor Helena. I had always thought her a fool, and still do, but I know her better now, can feel pity, sympathy, even empathy for that sad maiden. She and I understand each other. We are all fools, are we not?

Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'd give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,--
And yet a place of high respect with me,--
Than to be used as you use your dog?