Justin Richel’s Big Wings are meant to impress, as he so eloquently puts it:
Ostentatious men with wigs that nearly topple, billow and swirl, like plumage these wigs are meant to impress, and perhaps even threaten, evidence of wealth and power, symbols of status and examples of conspicuous consumption. These men are mocked by their own behavior, continually usurping the previous sovereign of style in order to preserve one’s self-complacency. Their mounds of hair piled high like towers reaching for the heavens render them useless, a virtuous disability that requires of them abstention from laborious labor. The beautiful becomes the grotesque; style surmounting function.
And it is just that, beautifully grotesque, that captures and holds my gaze. Those tentacles that work their way into my mind making me think that this “privileged” man is not that at all. They have to hide under all their wealth and material until that octopus swallows him whole. Until he nothing.
Get buried here: http://justinrichel.com
Happy Birthday - Darren Hayes
Darren Stanley Hayes (born 8 May 1972)
I sing these love songs. Sing them with all my heart.
They are for the man who gave me my voice.
They are for my pride. My identity. My rite.
Truly, madly, deeply - I am who I am.
Happy Birthday - Owen Hart
Owen James Hart (May 7, 1965 – May 23, 1999)
Over the edge
That is where I went when I fell.
All that muscle, all that power, all those cheers and screams.
All of that could not keep me from falling.
And now I am thinner than smoke, wearing this blue blazer.
Looking at that arena. My grave.
Happy Birthday - Robert E. Peary
Robert Edwin Peary, Sr. (May 6, 1856 – February 20, 1920)
Cutting, scraping, stacking these ice blocks.
This igloo is my refuge. My warmth from the arctic winds.
I am an explorer and this land is a scorned lover.
Cruel and seductive.
I will be the first to conquer her. To love her. To call her my own.
Happy Birthday - Chris Brown
Christopher Maurice Brown (May 5, 1989)
Beat me black and blue - so the saying goes.
It’s a reality for you. For what you’ve done.
On that stage, all is forgiven by those hypnotized fans.
Well I’m not one of them. I know what you’ve done.
I’ve seen those photos of her face, the wreckage that you caused.
Happy birthday, I hope when you blow out those candles you wish to be a better person.
Happy Birthday - Audrey Hepburn
Audrey Kathleen Ruston (4 May 1929 – 20 January 1993)
Those eyes.
Blinking, capturing like a camera my awed expression.
At your beauty, at that light that glows from your words.
Those words. You said, “I don’t want to be alone, I want to be left alone.”
And now you are, and so are we.
Finn’s Photo Fables #23
Death.
How is it that its presence plasters you to the deepest caves of gloom - like an avalanche.
Yet the person it claims leaves a profound absence -a void like the tundra.
Photo Credit: http://www.rhi-ellis.com
Finn’s Photo Fables #22
All my tears spilling over like thunderous waterfalls.
You dive in for fun. It’s all just a game, just to see if you can make me fall to my knees.
And I do. I fall so hard that the earth quakes with my grief of not being able to say “no” to you. But now I am lifting these wrists you call delicate to wipe away the storm. You can watch these wrists dangle at my sides while I turn and walk away.
Inspiration Monday - Ruby Chew
When I was in school for Visual Arts I had an obsession with patterns. I drew them all the time; in my notebooks, sketchbooks, my dorm walls, my arms, my legs, my t-shirts… it was a joyous dizzy ride. And then came “the prof” who told me to stop making my patterns. Of course I paid her no heed. I continue on with my pattern escapades till today - always finding ways to weave them through my drawings and paintings. Ruby Chew really inspires me to keep at it and proves that patterns are as interesting as realism, the combination of both are truly startling.
Visit Ruby here: http://rubychewart.blogspot.ca/p/work.html
Finn’s Photo Fables #21
Photo Credit: Toni Frissell
Tumbling so softly at first
Your limbs tangled in my hair
My hair grazing every nerve in your soul
And then we snag
we collide
we fall
into
the
chasm called
hate.
