How Time Flies

My father decided to go sky-diving with some university students some weeks ago. He did it as a birthday gift for himself. Just a little bit more time and he'll turn 50!

Manifested Manifestos

So I did have a brief ramble about this amazing article (The Generation M Manifesto. do click the link to read more) I discovered through my boss, Anna. For some time now we, the teachers at My Masterpiece, have been developing and redefining what it is exactly that we want to create for the school and the future/world we wish to take part of and contribute to. Some evidence of our exploration and collaboration can be seen through The Splots Project and also in the curriculum the teachers have developed, the expansive approach to teaching through art. Its pretty amazing. =)

Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of your love, your peace.

Sweetness

Sometimes I think adult life is all about armory and kevlar, the thickening of the skin, the fattening of that layer of lipids, that dam holding the rich red life we hold so dear. Children couldn't care less and so do the elderly among us, well, some of them at least. Now and then in our daily interactions, sometimes violent collisions, our skin breaks and when it leaks, it bleeds. Nothing tragic, really. We've all bled at some point and blood is something so common among bodies. Its just our focused attention to clothing that makes us forget.

Steady Footing

Yarr.. deep breathing. Smoking some of the time just to see evidence of breath. And yes, also for no-brainer purposes. Mental calisthenics has been the activity for the last couple of (time escapes me) days? And all talk about change and the fast changing times always seems to be the case at all times, no - especially during these times, yes. Like I have to be constantly reminded that it is 2009 and that means 3 years to go before the great BIG CHANGE 2012 Hallelujah.

Anticipation blows.

The Splots Project

(reposting from The Splots Project blog)

There is a Whelming

There is a whelming inside that wants to go over. My legs are crossed and a cig is lit, false attemps to keep it under. Pictures of people and sounds of their voices takes me on a bus to places I can only see from a window. When I yell STOP, the music drowns my voice and there I am again, in transit, inevitably back to where I was and always been - until I'm not and I yell STOP.

There is a whelming, here and there. It smokes itself to sleep. It crashes against concrete dams, damns in persistent symmetrical harmony. Who are the friends and who are the strangers? Is black coffee the new grey? What we do with nothing has much to do with all. Blurbs like that paired with pretty ribbons and bells - and dare we say no, only to mean yes?