joyrider

i helped move an antique desk upstairs today. my back is freaking out. i need some serious deep tissue work. instead, i am going to try to convince my brother to walk on my back.

i think you can tell a lot about a culture by it's trappings. that desk is heavy, ornate, not terribly practical. it was designed to endure. it was designed to be pretty. consummately victorian. preponderant and superfluous, but oh-god gorgeous.

i look at things we make today - everyday things. they are light and plastic, fragile, and short-lived.

a friend of mine has this thing she calls plastic psychosis: the ratio of plastic to madness in a culture is directly proportional.

i don't know if i believe that, but i do think that we could stand to look ahead more than we do. we look at a future 50 years away like it's another lifetime. it's not - it's in our lifetime.

i am not a member of the apocalypse cult. i try not to fetishize speed and death.

i'm going to go find someone to stand on my back now.