s l o w d o w n

today, even at work, seemed sort of rushed. my brain was racing and my breathing was shallow. i sit for too long in front of a computer screen.

so tonight after a walk with jen,

i laid on my bed and slowed down. and i thought of these things.

white tile.

ceiling fans.

heartbeats.

the feeling of smooth legs.

shampoo'd hair.

how nice boys smell.

heartbeats.

rain when you are inside.

white kitchen light.

soft nighttime light.

this kind of piano: charlie winston.

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today i made two things based on a color palate from photographer ye rin mok. the reasoning behind this is two fold: one, find new and innovative (and possibly not so great) color combinations. two, understand color, why photographs evoke a certain feeing, and how design might do something similar.

i hope to do at least a few of these a week.

(typeface: futura)

(typeface: gill sans. lyrics: cat power.)

go now into summer.

First Year Teacher to His Students

by Gary J. Whitehead

Go now into summer, into the backs of cars,
into the black maws of your own changing,
onto the boardwalks of a thousand splinters,
onto the beaches of a hundred fond memories
in wait, where the sea in all its indefatigability
stammers at the invitation. Go to your vacation,

to the late morning cool of your basement rooms,
the honeysuckle evening of the first kiss, the first
dip and pivot, swivel and twist. Go to where
the clipper ships sail far upriver, where the salmon
swim in the clean, cool pools just to spawn.
Wake to what the spider unspools into a silver

dawn dripping with light. Sleep in sleeping bags,
sleep in sand, sleep at someone else's house
in a land you've never been, where the dreamers
dream in a language you only half understand.
Slip beneath the sheets, slide toward the plate,
swing beneath the bandstand where the secret

things await. Be glad, or be sad if you want,
but be, and be a part of all that marches past
like a parade, and wade through it or swim in it
or dive in it with your eyes open and your mind
open to wind, rain, long days of sun and longer
nights of city lights mixing on wet streets like paint.

Stay up so late that you forget day-of-the-week,
week-of-the-month, month-of-the-year of what
might be the best summer, the summer
best remembered by the scar, or by the taste
you'll never now forget of someone's lips,
and the trips you took—there, there, there,

where snow still slept atop some alpine peak,
or where the moon rose so low you could see
its tranquil seas...and all your life it'll be like
some familiar body that stayed with you one night,
one summer, one year, when you were young,
and how everywhere you walked, it followed.

a poem by Derrick Brown

Lying together in the park on Seventh,
our backs smoosh grass and I say
I will love you till I become a child again,
when feeding me and bathing me is no longer romantic,
but rather necessary.

I will love you till there is no till.
Till I die.
And when that electroencephalogram shuts down, baby
that’s when the real lovin’ kicks in.

Forgive me for sounding selfish
but I won’t be able to wait under the earth for you
(albeit a romantic thought for groundhogs,
gophers and the gooey worms).
I will not be able to wait for you…

but I will meet up with you
and here’s where you will find me:
get a pen–

Hold your finger up
(two fingers if your hands are frail by now)
and count two stars directly to the left
of the North American moon.
You will find me there.
You will find me darting behind amazing quasars
Behind flirtatious winks
of bright and blasting boom stars!

Sometimes charging so far into space
the darkness goes blue.
I will be there chasing sound waves
riding them like two-dollar pony ride horses
that have finally broken free and wild.
I will be facing backwards, lying sideways,
no hands, sidesaddle, sometimes standing
sometimes screaming zip zang zowie!
My God, it’s good to be back in space… Where is everybody?

You will recognize my voice.
You will see the flash of a fire trail
burning off the back of me
burning like a gasoline comet kerosene sapphire.
This is my voice.
Don’t look for my body or a ghost.
I’ll resemble more a pilot light than a man now.

I’m sure some will see
this cobalt star white light from earth
and cast me a wish like a wonder bomb.
And I’ll think “Hmmph. people still do that?”

I’m sure I’ll take the light wonder bombs
to the point in the universe
where sound does end.
The back porch of God’s summer home.

It’s so quiet here, you float.
It feels the way cotton candy tastes.

I say to him… why do I call you God?
He says ‘Because Grand Poobah sounds ridiculous.’
(Who knew he was so witty?)
I ask him ‘Lord, so many poets have tried to nail it and missed, what is holy?’

At that moment,
the planets begin to spin and awaken
and large movie screens appear on Mars, Saturn and Venus
each bearing images I have witnessed
and over each and every clip flashes the word holy.

armadillos–holy
magic tricks–holy
cows’ tongues–holy
snowballs upside the head–holy
clumsy first kisses–holy
sneaking into movies–holy
your mother teaching you to slow dance
the fear returning
the fear overcome–holy
eating top ramen on upside-down frisbees
cause it was either plates or more beer–holy
drunk beach cruiser nights–holy
the $5.00 you made in vegas
and the $450.00 you lost–holy
the last time you were nervous holding hands–holy
feeling God at a pool hall but not church–holy
sleeping during your uncle’s memorized dinner prayer–holy
losing your watch in the waves and all that signifies–holy
the day you got to really speak to your father cause the television broke–holy
the day your grandmother told you something meaningful
cause she was dying–holy
the medicine
the hope
the blood
the fear
the trust
the crush
the work
the loss
the love
the test
the birth
the end
the finale
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
in the rebuilt machinery of our hearts

So love, you should know what to look for
and exactly where to go…

Take your time and don’t worry about getting lost.
You’ll find me.
Up there, a finger and two dots away.
If you’re wondering if I’ll still be able to hold you
…I honestly don’t know

But I do know that I could still fall for
a swish of light that comes barreling
and cascading towards me.

It will resemble your sweet definite hands.
The universe will bend.
The planets will bow.
And I will say “Oh, there you are. I been waitin’ for ya. Now we can go.”

And the two pilot lights go zoooooooom
into the black construction paper night

as somewhere else
two other lovers lie down on their backs and say
“What the hell was that?”

-Derrick Brown, Beat Poet

(i think that is one of the most wonderful things i've ever read. found via collin. :) )

so very young, were we

+ continuing my design sketching. top two are from jack kerouac's on the road (of which i am fighting to finish. 20 more pages!). last is from death cab's 'talking bird.' the open door ep version is so pretty and sad.

+ the fonts are new! myfont.com has really nice free fonts. museo, mimix, & coolvetica, in order.

+ noble beast is andrew bird's best, for sure.

+ today was a day of on-a-whim (driving, eating, buying, moving furniture,etc.)

+ coffeeshop count: three.

+ happy easter/passover!

the clink of the glass.

exceedingly grateful for ceiling fans in the heat of summer, 

i rest facedown on my bed, and i find i am falling back into love with books for the hundredth time. 

i remember the summers of books. 

the summers spent mostly at the library, where i could walk from my house, with its cool florescent lighting and welcoming children's section. i remember the summer reading club, with the bookmark checklist and library prizes. i remember venturing into the young adult bookstacks and signing the back of my first blue plastic library card. i remember staying up late reading, laying on the cool white tile in my bathroom, fearfully listening for mom's footsteps outside my door. 

and i remember the summers of friends. 

the summers of sleepovers and swimming pools, of paige's wonderful craft closet. i remember when we watched it takes two over and over. i remember swimming at night with the lights off and the radio on, and coming inside to warm strawberry milk. i remember sunburns and cricket chirping nighttime lit softball fields, and walking with bare feet. 

of carelessness and endlessness, these summers i remember. 

fresh mint, lemon & tea goodness. 

dinner of caprese salad and low fat fettucini with pine nuts.