spiral, magnet, tree: THE CRAVING

The surge and the urge.
Addiction.

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2006/11/061121-giant-magnet.html

The MRI- the miracle machine that peeps inside the mind, and shows the addict brain pulse with pleasure just seeing a picture of a frosty beer, a crack pipe, the oxycontin tablet.

While the normal mind shows a stimulating sign when looking at a baby, a humming bird, a family photo.

http://www.magnetism.com/magblogarchives/2006/03/magnetism_shapes_dna_in_space.html
And DNA too!
The twists of genetic material that scribe the genes of a schizophrenic, a homosexual, and an alcoholic.
The mouth goes moist simply driving past the billboard where the woman in black velvet sips the drink or hold the bottle.

http://www.arborsmith.com/treecircus.html
And the tree!

The family tree- with little christmas lights for every relative afflicted with addiction or bi-polar or.....suicide at last.

Put on those boots.
Lace them tight and strive to be the one that lives to old age, and dies in ones bed sober.
You are not alone.
You will make it.

http://powerandcontrol.blogspot.com/2006/11/history-of-addiction.html

http://www.hbo.com/addiction/

http://creativerecovery.artbabyart.net/kimpark/artwork.htm

http://m3.alexweidmann.com/piles/?s=pancakejunkie

rascals

simonbellphotography.com

There are rascals in the world, and some of them are blue. Blue, with articulated eyebrows and feather capes.

When they first arrived, I had a misguided thought that I could train them to come to a command or clap.

I would match a clap with food.

But I was very very eager, and would find myself jumping up from my work when I heard them in the trees, stick my head out the window, and clap.

It wasn't long before I realized that they had trained me.

Trained me to pop out of the window at the sounds they made, sitting in the woods.

They can't clap, they have wings.

It doesn't matter, the rascals had won.

making it through the wasteland

Emmet Gowin

ariel photography

http://www.eastman.org/

Emmett Gowin is in transition.

I envy his chances to be above the wasteland, the refineries, the junk iron and pig metal.

We need to get distance between us and the thing that makes us suffer.

So we can see it, for the smaller thing it is.

We cannot make gold until we have gone through the wasteland.

The secret is- we MAKE the gold from the things we find in the wasteland.

If in the web of depression- today look down and bring home one found thing

- a nail, a coin, a piece of paper with some writing on it.

Begin to assemble the things you will need to make gold.

Do not dispair, do not give up.

making it out of dark times

When people say- the light is at the end of the tunnel- the ones who are not in the darkness have little idea of what they are saying. Sometimes the transition is so terribly painful.
The things that others see as small obstacles are ideas and words that are screaming inside the mind. Those voices, whether real or imagined, whether a small bout in the mania or the depression, are all we hear.

Joan of Arc

Now the flames they followed joan of arc
As she came riding through the dark;
No moon to keep her armour bright,
No man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, Im tired of the war,I want the kind of work I had before,
A wedding dress or something white
To wear upon my swollen appetite.
Well, Im glad to hear you talk this way,
You know Ive watched you riding every day
And something in me yearns to win
Such a cold and lonesome heroine.
And who are you? she sternly spoke
To the one beneath the smoke.
Why, Im fire, he replied,
And I love your solitude,
I love your pride.
Then fire, make your body cold,
Im going to give you mine to hold,
Saying this she climbed inside
To be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
He took the dust of joan of arc,
And high above the wedding guests
He hung the ashes of her wedding dress.
It was deep into his fiery heart
He took the dust of joan of arc,
And then she clearly understood
If he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
But must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?

(Leonard Cohen)

the sounds of an iceberg singing

http://www.earthsky.org/teachers/article/scientists-record-iceberg

the amazement of visual ambience

magdalena jetelova