And here…a beautiful poem to match the music. Mmmmmm.
Behold. The 8 inch Barcelona tiles that will soon guide visitors to my door. Mighty purty dontcha think? I'm delighted with them and with the service from the online store where I bought them.
Exhibit numero dos: will you get a load of these little punks. Wish I could float into that photo and sit on their shoulders while they plot their bad deeds and high jinx. I do love me some cute little boy punks. Wonder where they are now?
These tiny pebbles from beneath the awe-inspiring Eiffel Tower have been in a little bag tacked to my bulletin board for the last few years. I wrapped them up in their very own vinyl sandwich this weekend. It's unfortunate that I sewed the label INSIDE the sandwich. My pen doesn't have a built-in spell check. Keeps life interesting.
The rest of the Italian treasure will get sewn up into their own sandwiches soon. Exhibit numero tres: giant thick file folder/portfolios I found in the trash while out on a moonlit walk one night in Praiano, Italy. I carefully extracted them from their tattered cardboard box and hauled them all the way to dinner, then home, then back across the Atlantic. Future journal or mailart fodder.
Exhibit numero cuatro: more vinyl sandwiches. Hungry? I hope so. You'll be seeing more vinyl sandwiches than you can shake a stick at in the coming weeks.
What I listen to while I make vinyl sandwiches and compose Typepad posts. Something beautiful is needed to take my mind off this wretched new compose screen.
Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale
Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life's ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.
by Dan Albergotti from The Boatloads