|FILTH + FEATHER, BONES ||AT||| SEA |

"The animate earth – this moody terrain that we experience differently in anger and in joy, in grief and in love – is both the soil in which all our sciences are rooted and the rich humus into which their results ultimately return, whether as nutrients or as poisons. Our spontaneous experience of the world, charged with subjective, emotional, and intuitive content, remains the vital and dark ground of all our objectivity."

Everything is coming out roses --or it can, if you want it to. Newly filling the air of the world-beauty market is a Perfume Candy that will give your taste-buds extra sweet internal-attention, while your externals emit and attract the same. Inspired by ongoing oral fixations with floral-flavored confections, addictions to that which can seamlessly perform double-duty, olfactive affairs with the timeless scent of the geranium flower (a Victorian-era obsession), and modern perfume's most notorious confidant: the rose, the Bulgarian company Deo has created a candy that will, post-consumption, leave you smelling like a walk in the garden. How does this all work? The candy contains the ingredient Gerniol. Gerniol is a chemical that after ingestion- and most importantly, the lack of digestion- emits itself (and in this case in a blossoming, aromatic sort of way) out of your pores. I admit I am tempted to try it. Who doesn't to eat their candy and smell like it too?! 

(download)

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My mind today -and in recent days flocking behind me- has been fixated on and simultaneously carried away by, the remarkable words of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz. 
Schulz was an artist, painter and illustrator whose work combined an evocative, poetically profound  mix of autobiographical and fantastical elements bursting with life; Seemingly tangible assets that create mini apellations for every city block walked and contained within the pages blooming with a garden of detail between each mark of punctuation. He could create something's spring even within the deadness of winter.

"Events here are not an ephemeral phantom on the surface; they have deep roots into things, and touch the very essence."

His words breed and extricate bits of color and imagination even in the dampened, lifeless grayness of the shadows and the typically mundane. His collected words could almost be deemed erotica. They sink into your conscious and then seep deeper into your subconscious, and turn on every fiber of your being. Or at least they do mine.

"That greenery burns, kindled by the sun, while book lungs of leaves pant their fiery chlorophyll. Straggling and voracious armies of nettles devour the floral cultures; they invade the gardens; they proliferate at night where the back walls of sheds and houses go uninspected; they rut in the roadside ditches. Strange, how much frenzied, vain and unproductive vitality is in that eager dash of green substance, that product of sunshine and groundwater."

“...the deep meaning of that weakness, that passion for colored tissue, for papier-mache, for distemper, for oakum and sawdust? This is,' he continued with a pained smile, 'the proof of our love for matter as such, for its fluffiness or porosity, for its unique mystical consistency. Demiurge, that great master and artist, made matter invisible, made it disappear under the surface of life. We, on the contrary, love its creaking, its resistance, its clumsiness. We like to see behind each gesture, behind each move, its inertia, its heavy effort, its bearlike awkwardness.” 

If you've grown acquiescent you will continue on behind these words

Yesterday, as my night moved methodicaly past midnight into the early-morning witching hours before dawn, I noticed the swelling of the moon in the inky Denver sky. As the breath of myself, and my company, filled the cold air, my thoughts flipped through files as I tried to recall the given identity of this particular full moon that I once read about in the pages of a book on Pagan ritual. Full moons are known to various Pagans, Native Americans and various cultures around the globe by their epithet. The November moon is most commonly known in the Northern Hemisphere as The Beaver Moon, The Frost Moon or The Hunter's Moon. Each name bestowed is indicative of what happenings are unfolding during the month as the seasonal progressions continue, and for the conjoining intentions set by the tribes that turned to these moons, these measures of calendric time, for guidance. In addition, and for centuries expanding continents, it has been thought that the time of the full moon is a time to work on your own growth, personal and spirutal lessons and enlightment. In other words it is an excellent time to set intentions.

 As I type with still-cold, stiffened fingers from the air filling the city of Omaha Nebraska, and think what November means in terms of fall slowly growing colder to meet winter, and the preparation of most to build and collect materials for warmth, I set protective intentions for myself and those I love. Protection from the 'cold' that could try to sweep in and seemingly freeze one's personal/spirtual/creative (and so on) evolution. I set these intentions with a deep inhale and a soft howling exhale at the moon. I suggest you do too.

This post is more of an update than my usuals... As some of you may, or may not, know, I am currently on tour with Mastodon / Dillinger Escape Plan / Red Fang, wearing the hat (or hats, in my case. I pack a few) of Tour Manager for D.E.P. This fall we are occupying cities throughout the U.S. and Canadialand. ||||||||||| At blast off I started occupying my mind, journals and these digital spaces; filling boxes with galactical dust, incandescent ideas, illustrious inspiration, extractions, ephemera and euphoric-renderings. I hope to adorn myself, and others, with what becomes of these cosmic-collections post-tour when I start a beyond-mental collaboration with a gal friend named Sarah. Until then I work with what materials I have packed, dreaming night into day of metallic geometrics under winter-white warmth and black, patterned interwoven fabric danier --forty three percent and more. Triangles and squares beneath daybreak spiked with color circling hips and falling like feather-light streams, and glowing embers, to the floor. Diamond third-eye tiaras and headdresses that would please the likes of Cleopatra to Clara Bow. I have been cloaked in mostly black, a precious rose-gold planchette, by BloodMilk, hanging around my neck, and dust from the days and cities anterior to the one my fingers are currently tracing maps on. The season is rolling by hiding its characteristic-charm- seemingly every other day- leaving me in a perpetual (day to state to city to state) state of weather submittance ::: tights on // tights off, but always smiling. As we head deeper into the U.S., I can feel that winter is creeping in with the time-zone transitions. It does make a tucked-in, radiating home-call a little louder (even amidst a stellar time out here). Thankfully I have thickly-spun cozy cotton hoods, layers of black beefy blankets, tea-lit tight spaces breathing warmth, body heat, L O V E and photo inspiration like this of the always-stylish and inspirational Chloe Sevigny to keep me warm and my mind reeling.