After that

the only

thing she thought

mattered was

the sunlight

coming through

the tall trees

as you and

she lay on

your backs by

the large pond

listening

to birdsong

and the wind

coming through

the branches

and she there

full of life

breathing in

the sharp air

and she said

Van Gogh could

have captured

this morning

with the trees

and sunlight

and the way

the wind moves

through branches

and you said

but Renoir

despite his

arthritic

hands could have

captured your

young beauty

on canvas

somewhere off

a dog barked

a cow mooed

and your hand

like a crab

moved over

the green grass

and touched her

small warm hand

and she smiled

like da Vinci's

painting of

the Mona

Lisa you’d

seen in that

old art book

in the…

(Detail from « American Quilt » by Natasha2006)

When I complete a composition there are often unused ideas left. Some of those I find actually pretty good but if I can’t see how to fit them into the piece then there’s not much choice but to discard them. For a while.

I rarely delete stuff, I archive. Once in a while I browse the archives and listen to such ideas in no particular order, and sometimes I get to see a way to combine some of them. Then I have the seed of a new composition.

« Leftoverturned » is a rehash of « Countless Questions, » « Informaëlstrom, » and ideas discarded from the « 1000 Radios » writing sessions. The origin of the leftover part of the title should be obvious by now, and the overturned part refers to the…

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…

The fourteenth episode of The Threshold Series focuses on Olivia Romero, the Chief Environmental Adviser of Neo Apollonia.

At the beginning of the chapter, the former activist is walking towards the church of the Community, all the while pondering the circumstances which have led her to spend most of her life on Ovel.

« Such preoccupations wouldn't have crossed her mind back when she had first set foot in the megapolis, the quinquagenarian fondly recollected. It had been almost forty years already. She was among the original generation of Ovelians born aboard a space station. She had not even visited the homeland before making the bold decision of moving…

To anyone who may be reading this, I want to apologize if you've seen my previous few blog posts because I had a bit of drama in them. This blog will have none of that bull poop so dont worry.

My brother went back to rehab and has been there for a week now. He wants to get better so Im happy :)

For almost exactly a month, I've been volunteering at the elementary school in my town, and it is such a blast. For the most part, the kids are good and so so funny, but some of them are bad, noisy and either choose not to listen or just "forget" the instructions. Im not subbing as a teacher yet, i dont even know if I ever will this summer, but the experience Im getting as an E.A is pretty good. Its really changing my plans. Initially, when I thought of being a teacher, I wanted to be a highschool teacher, but now, I think I want to teach grade 3. They are still young enough to be cute but old enough to talk to almost like an adult.

Well Im being…

Its not a pity party. Its real and horrible. Its dark and evil. It is NOT like flipping a switch. And anyone who says it is, is fooling themselves. I do not like this and I do not want to be here. I don't really know how to get out. I cannot turn off one emotion and suddenly feel another. Life does not work that way. Life is cruel and mean. I know it can be happy and wonderful. But that is too hard to see. I'm sinking in the well. I'm drowning. The well is covered and the darkness sets in. There is no light. When you are there how do you survive? How do people find the light? I don't mean to be so doom and gloom but its so hard. I am alone in the well. No one to hold me. No one to help me. No one to care. There is nothing to live for. No good reason to get out of the well or bed for that matter. This is not a pity party. I hate being told that. If it was a pity party it would be for something stupid. It not stupid how I feel. I want to be happy. I want the light. But I don't…

(« Primeval Center » by Christopher Stewart)

On a background of Wall Street Bailouts and Large Hadron Colliders, « Void » paints sunyata, the Buddhist concept of emptiness.



From Wikipedia :

In Buddhism, the realization of emptiness of inherent existence is a “state of pure consciousness” in which the practitioner realizes all particular objects and images to be appearances of the subjective mind.

The song is made up of twelve short verses, one longer vocal interlude, and no chorus. The vocal sections are tied together with short instrumental passages and one longer instrumental bridge.

While most of the lyrics attempt to highlight the failings of fundamental materialism, the last four verses…

I'm sitting here in the dark. I wonder why I'm even here. Would anyone even notice if I was gone? Everyone says to just cheer up like its some sort of switch to flip. That's not how it works. I cannot simply change like that. I want to die, because I have nothing to live for. Every morning I'm disappointed to wake up. I'm in a well of despair. The walls are slick with self loathing. Its cold and dank and a hateful place. There is no way out. Not even a rope to climb. I'm so stuck.

I feel the dark clouds roll into the back of my eyes.
I know somethings coming, it's not to far off.
I feel the drips of rain, slowly then faster and faster.
The clouds turn to dust and it becomes hard to breathe.
My mouth is always dry like the meds aren't there anymore.
It's almost useless for me to fight the clouds.
I let it lift me, and wonder, When will it drop me again.
-samantha

Art means the world to me and I really enjoy working as a graphic designer, I also love commission work and can be contacted through my email [ boesch.graphicdesign@gmail.com ] for commissions