Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anthro, becoming, D+G, deleuze, fashion, florals, flowers, guattari, hinduism, musubi, nietzsche, sloterdijk, thousand plateaus, trimurti
Musubi is an art director, it seems, with little known about him/her/zir apart from a penchant for flowers. I’m kind of a huge fan of florals, perhaps I should develop some love for the fresh kind? Wikipedia tells me that in addition to being a popular Japanese sushilike snack (with a disgusting sounding Spam version in Hawaii), “Musubi is the mystical power of becoming or of creation in Shinto”. I should be writing a paper on possibly becoming dehumanised – perhaps something to work in? I wonder if every culture has its own concepts of becoming – there’s definite similarities in at least Hinduisms and probably others too. Also who it was that first started spinning about becoming before D+G – would it be Hegel? D+G as in Deleuze and Guattari that is, not Dolce and Gabbana – although come to think of it they do have quite the hyperglam factor in academia. I reckon it would be quite fun to try illustrating A Thousand Plateaus with couture outfits, one for each or each concept perhaps? 
In the beginning was the language, and the language was gravity
So as it turns out, I really like florals. The implanted flowers are already crowding at roundabouts in dubai, and real ones might be out in nyc by now. Hopefully it’s summer already? Sans ridiculous cold spells in May, please. This said I’ll probably be wishing for winter pretty soon.
Filed under: art, dubai, rhymes | Tags: dead time, florals, headspace, here, phillip larkin
Maybe it’s the season of riotous florals and prints and colourbursts? But in the aftermath of two days without sleep and the washed out post-rain night buzz I’m starting to perhaps prefer the gorgeousness of experimental Canadian photographer Laflaneuse’s scapes instead. Boots with candy laces instead of Miuccia’s toadstool heels, please.
usine II by laflaneuse (cc) | maintenant c’est toujours by laflaneuse (cc)
I’m reminded of the last stanza of Phillip Larkin’s poem Here
Loneliness clarifies. Here silence stands
Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken,
Hidden weeds flower, neglected waters quicken,
Luminously-peopled air ascends;
And past the poppies bluish neutral distance
Ends the land suddenly beyond a beach
Of shapes and shingle. Here is unfenced existence:
Facing the sun, untalkative, out of reach.
