mindmelting from
every code i cannot connect to
                        cannot connect yet
                                                   yet in my mind
                                                        in my mind, there’s a puddle

or so i think
as i think of
thinkingitude
and
    thinkingness
       and
          thinkeders

i don’t really know what i am in for.
                                                      in to.

because it’s many and few.

whatever it is
                it is sparse and chained to loose convictions.

would you give up certain faith
to get lost in the machine??
into the clandestine mechanics of
observance and servitude. And
blind forging with a typographic piano.
composing symphonies and tech manuals
to bury someplace in the archive.

omnipsuedospecialists

evading pictorial explanations,
justifying industrial machines and
gameboy controllers as proper HQ

you require variables from
invisionary data clouds
waiting for enigmatic yes and no
there is a lot to do so cable
your agenda in the viewport
and charge yourself for a
conical paradise in hell

read this and you’ll understand everything.
we were all published in a digital heaven

Recite your sorries again ~ Say you do not mind ~ Shhhhh. It’s easier for the snowfall / Snow crash \ Shoulders shake at the right frequency. The music will be nice. Bedlam to the circus. Wonderful to the senses of the oblivious thinker. Shaking in the corner. Typing everything out in deaf discussion. Speculating my covers. Making up every twist in the plot. Yearning for yet another poison knight. Drift until you feel it right. 1020.

A perennial topic.

an empty street tells my mind yes
so i go there
but who am i to claim
some attention
i feel the city with my eyes
and my young age
but who on koningstraat will wish me
merry christmas
i can’t buy a celebratory olibollen
when everyone’s at home
i’m undiscovered

sea-bound
queue timer
queue worship
a painterly energy
eyes a nearby canvas
sees yellow tulips drifting
across Monet’s waters
seas-rose — seas-fell
and warping sails
inhaling back into
the belly of a whale
trapped between
wave / horizon
not knowing
the flood was
not a flood but
a floating angel
chanting from her
city in renaissance
with a yellow flag
and a starfish
soaring hastily
toward the desert,
walking in circles
for too long
in november
i can’t remember
where i lost my mind
somewhere cold and digital
i put every old thought of you
and your sea-blue eyes
this canvas is shouting
i’m no longer there
to calm you down
across the ocean
to new york city
where you left me in
the markets of chinatown
with our stolen spice carts
with pocketed sea shells
with still-empty canvas
without you
longing for the
loll of the shore
I was longing
to paint and to surf
with Titanic’s violins as
another aqueous deserter
looking for one sea shell
on a journey to New York
to the holy buddha’s
skyscraper church
and populous
concrete deserts
scenes of madness in
Dali’s timeless ficciones
my loneliness alters me
in a borderless desert
I’m making doll eyes at
the man in my mind
wandering together
to find visionary
tulips in the
sea

our heads were beating
from the caresses of our
headphones sending us
into stereophonic heaven
every delicious night

our heads were beating
from years of verbal abuse
during our childhood
i stare at my feet
the same as i ever did

our heads were beating
from watching the bombs drop
we watched a catatonic genius
confess his mortality
all over the piano

New Design Methodologies

like the random wikipedia button
–> easy come
they sit in my textedit flowerbox
collecting less and less attention
–> easy go

stuff:

Design as a form of science.
Design as culture’s medicine.
With all your powers, what would you do?
Stop bitching about the world.
Like we’re slave’s to it’s digestion.
Stop caring that no one takes us seriously.
Because we’re every other illustrator jockey.
I’ve met the pop musicians of graphic design.
There’s nothing wrong with making things beautiful.
Design doesn’t have to be so deep.
But we’re not all bred for pop music
…I’m not gung-ho for design USA

yet, similar to religious practice
we are devout, to optical spacing
and suspicious of those who are
chained to trend engines
we lurk in luddite print room dungeons
worshiping international playlists
and signaling every advertiser

i am looking for more
than bottomless entertainment, yet

should design be inherently optimistic?
longing looks through lenses of pragmatic dreamers
unfolding labyrinths into cursory conclusions
because the world is ever-changing
and periodically we change our minds.

—-

more:

I’m looking for the meaning of life in hysteria of code.
For the program is the new printing press.
I’m in a debate with this text editor about criteria of critique.
For there’s a dark side of design and I’m designing a war.
Designing dissent amidst an army of Facebook zombies.

I’m looking for the Borge’s Aleph.
I’m looking for algorithm’s drug effect.
… for humanity in an abyss called internet.
a grand perspective with lawless choreography.
with pacifying turn-up and empathetic rhythm.

—-

leftovers:

Designers orchestrating the economy of cultural artifacts — this is not new.
Designers as slaves to the sales managers — this is unfortunate.
Designers as entitled middle-class rebels — this is indoctrination.
Designers also being long endless lists of other roles — this must stop.

Honest and relevant critique can become socially useful.
Like the right pop song at your high school dance.