oof!

One of my favorite public art locations, this mural on the ENGLiSH Hotel stays fresh without ignoring the classic. Heh.

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statue

Yeah, we are just going to have this huge chrome sculpture in our front yard until we decide on a spot in the amphitheater. Sure.

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glowing

I couldn’t yet locate information about the name of this piece or the artist, but it is in the center of a little traffic circle at Park Tower condominiums on Howard Hughes Parkway. The area is one of the most rejuvenating public spaces in the core, around the corner from the Sphere.

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well

The way Elizabeth Montgomery’s Samantha said “Well.” stuck with me since I first heard it. So much happening, 3 or 4 syllables in one word. What a gem.

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abstract

Closeup of the Beverly Theater building’s facade, rotated slightly and treated with my typical “rules“, i.e. too much vignette, vivid or dramatic color push sometimes, add my signature hidden somewhere, and the prompt text.

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When the machine gets something right, like when my music service suggested this percussion parkour, I am both happy and predictably fawning in the comment thread running as a background process in my head, “Wow, how great that my service provider thought I would like this—and I do! Nifty. I love my corporate choices!” Lots of exclamation points in the comment thread.

When they get it wrong, however, I blame myself.

This last round of “new music we thought you might like” did not intersect with my audio desire much at all. I reflect on this as I hit ⏩ again: ”This is what you think I like based on what I listen to?!?! My taste in music must suck…” I lambast my poor choices, instead of the category engines outputs, whenever reality doesn’t match up with the sci-fi version I expect life to already be. I want to believe.

“Even if the only commonality they share is uniqueness do not classify as ’unclassifiable‘”. The instruction doubled-back on itself, the ticker-tape now entangled with the hole-puncher, changing its own nature by random, stumpftt, stumpftt, stumpftt, little paper flakes, thread flecked, floating.

Perhaps more self-consciously self-revelatory self-documenting than anything else I’ve posted is this:

My mum told me as a kid, so often, so softly, but with something a little different in her eyes, she would say, “Sweetie, you’ve got to fight fire with fire.”

I listened.

(aside) So, is this the guy?…okay (full throated) It’s the Wicker Man, right, it’s all those fucking antler movies, okay, but, BUT, here’s the thing, BUT—the movie itself is the straw man, y’get it?, the movie is the fucking straw man. Yeah, “summer blockbuster”, that’s good!

“I know what’s going on. We got a bunch of fucking vampires out there, trying to get in here and suck our fucking blood. And that’s it. Plain and simple. I don’t want to hear anything about “I don’t believe in vampires,” because I don’t fucking believe in vampires, but I believe in my own two eyes, and what I saw, is fucking vampires. Now, do we all agree that what we are dealing with is vampires?”

— Seth Gecko, via George Clooney, in From Dusk Till Dawn, 1996