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Metal

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Metal

 “This medicine might leave the taste of metal in your mouth,” they said.

 

My mouth is full of metal.

 

I'm sorry if I'm all a bit too much. It's all a bit too much for me too. I'm either dancing on top of the table or I'm curled up in a ball hiding under it. If I'm excited to see you then you'll know it. I'm sorry if I'm all a bit too much, I don't mean to be. 

 

I saw an angel today on the sidewalk. A tiny pair of wings knotted together in a tangle of bones. Either the Fates or some other odd person gave it a halo made of pine needles, and in the afternoon sun it glowed like an Icon. "Hawks don't care much for the wings," Kat said.

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When the wind blows these days I feel it in the top of my lungs and in my bottom teeth. I taste metal across the back of my tongue like I've drunk liquid iron and I try not to gag. I taste it even more when the wind blows, and I don't know why.


They say that even adult humans sleep better with the rocking movement a train. I guess we never really leave the time when we grew from a nothing into a person inside of our mother.


Three days a week I look at my 50% opaque reflection in the deep blue of the train window and think about how the adult world tries to crush everything childlike out of you. And as the trees and the fields roll by in morning and evening blue I worry that someday I won't be able to see the lights on the mountains anymore.

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Missive From the Bohemian Forest

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Missive From the Bohemian Forest

Or, more specifically, from Red Morning Street.

Silver bike and gray skies down to Kellerstraße.

It took me three months and three days, but finally, I Have Arrived.

Your Storyteller is a storytella, and par excellence.

I’m living in the moment entirely by accident

(And if I do it by accident, then it's par excellence.)

It’s the confidence and the comfort I was promised,

The confidence and comfort that three times I was promised,

And anything You promise, it’s Par Excellence!

 

 

(Thank You.)

 

 

 

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IDEO, or, The Dream.

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IDEO, or, The Dream.

I told you all I would blog all of this. Maybe you’ve been wondering about my radio silence from the sky.

But here’s the deal. I realized that Paris was my magnum opus. My baptism by fire into international travel experience. I had never pinned all of my thoughts and emotions and hopes to a place as I had to that city. That was the one place in all the world that I wanted to go. And so when I did, after seven years of waiting, I wanted to capture every moment in words. It was a labor of love—and it was completely exhausting.

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Lights (Dec 19)

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Lights (Dec 19)

This year I've seen the lights on the mountains, the lights behind the mountains, and the shadows at the tops of the mountains when the air turned them blue. 

I always end up in the air watching roads snake through the trees. I saw the sun set and rise in a blazing red bead above Greenlandic ice sheets. I guess there's not a part of this world that isn't touched by human beings—the sky is so criss-crossed with contrails that our eyes must have passed over every inch at this point—

(Never Cry Wolf—what do we change by seeing?)

I had a sandbag in my chest for a month straight until the 28th day of November. I think all that weight may have crushed something inside of me—I was manic for a week with my loves in that computer lab, and my current level of disengagement seems uncharacteristic but I guess I got tired of worry. 

In 2015 my favorite hobby became compulsive writing and my second favorite hobby became reading articles on the Internet. Maybe I don't have enough patience to read books anymore but I've still found a way to contribute to my professional development and ways of being. 

Some people when they get older lose their spark and fire. Mine has been flaming higher for years and years but it hasn't overtaken me yet, at least not permanently. Maybe that flame inside me is getting tamed and controlled, I can send it through my fingertips rather than it raging through my body and consuming me. Those people at IDEO know I've got a fire in my blood and they said no to everyone else and yes to me. 

The skin behind my eyelids is red like all those days on the bus as a kid. Things like this happen to me all the time lately, memories of things that used to be such a part of my being but I’ve since forgotten flash across my brain. I think I can understand what happened to me now in Europe and Paris because I've had enough time to sit back and look so that I can see. 

The sky out there is blue and white, that's how it always seems to be.

Don't make me go by myself, Father. This is unbelievable to me.  

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Manifesto

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Manifesto

I'm not writing this for you, I'm writing this for me. 

What am I doing here? What am I doing?

I will follow until I know how to lead. And then, by God, I will lead. 

Someone once that wisdom begins in wonder. Is that why I put my eyes to the sky and the lights on the mountains and let it hollow out the inside of my head, because then won’t it fill up with something more pure?

Someone once told me that as a designer you're only as valuable as your most obscure reference. Which is why I cast a net to be as broad as can be, French and art and biology, sometimes I feel overwhelmed and so spread thin like butter and afraid that it’s bad that I'm going wide instead of deep, but then I can draw things together in a way that’s never been seen, don't you know that the facade of the Crystal Palace is based on the form of the world's largest water lily—?

I don't understand why my art brain and my design brain are not the same. But visual arts and writing are all that I need for self-expression, and I can turn on my science brain like the flip of a switch—

But I just want my designs to make logical sense. I want them to make sense and to fit a need and to do what they're supposed to do. But in order to get there I am going to throw out all societal rules, take a nap under the table during the freshmen’s final, use that orange peeler to open your pill bottle and use an exacto knife when everyone else is using scissors—

I feel like being a designer is a contradiction. You've got to have that neat block-letter handwriting and tight sketches with thin black lines as straight as an arrow. But then you've got to be able to think like a mess, your workshop is colorful chaos, I don't think that I'd ever be analytical enough to work out the mechanical functioning of any old object but I'll do my research to try to get into peoples' heads?

And what if I'm a bit looser of a human being? Frayed cuffs and pockets filled with gold. What if I sketch in burnt umber prismacolor instead of a black Papermate Flair? But my life is thinking and aesthetic, and I want to do the big-picture research and make 60 degree case mitre trays with sprays of purple and green.

I wrote this on my gold iPod Touch in the sun on my walk home. But then once I walked into my apartment, I looked up and realized that my manifesto had already been written a year ago, and it was hanging up above my air-dried local walnut standing desk.

I will go broad instead of deep. I will draw connections that have never been drawn before. The more that I know, the more I can see.

Design research is mad science. Creating objects is mad science.

I’m making things up as I go along. My entire life is mad science.

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