Life on The New Etsy Forums
"and then they kicked me off the team! Fuckers…"

Life on The New Etsy Forums

"and then they kicked me off the team! Fuckers…"

(via ianbrooks)

sunshinesight:

8X10 print sale 2-11-2011 to 2-13-2011 (this weekend, Friday thru Sunday). All 8X10 prints have been marked down by 1/3. Regularly priced $15.00 — on sale for $10.00 each. All orders placed during this sale will be shipped on Monday 2-14-2011.

evajune:

Lucinda is a fellow etisan who has suffered unimaginable loss. Etsy wrote a short notice saying how sorry we all are.

http://community.etsy.com/?ref=hdr

I don’t feel it appropriate to post the news article, but if you would like to see it you can search for it thru the Etsy forums.

I will be…

(via zenhen)

brain-food:

I told her while pointing up, “thats pretty.” She snarled her face up at me and replied, “pretty? what on earth is pretty about power lines?” I took my camera out of my bag, adjusted myself in the middle of the street, balanced myself on my tippy toes and snapped the picture. She continued snarling her face up at me, more or less being moody that I made her bring me to my 7am doctors appointment, and taking a picture of power lines was only aggravating her more. I thumbed through the view finder, stopped at one of the thumbnails and showed her the results. She grabbed the camera from me and pressed her face closer to the screen. “How did you see that?” she asked. “How did I see what?” i said while grabbing my camera back. She said, “beauty in the most mundane.” I just smiled and tucked my camera into my messenger bag and started walking into the doctors office. As she was trailing behind me I said slyly, “I don’t see beauty in the mundane, I just give the mundane a second chance to become something else. Most of the time its not all beauty, but it sure does make a good photograph.” 

brain-food:

I told her while pointing up, “thats pretty.” She snarled her face up at me and replied, “pretty? what on earth is pretty about power lines?” I took my camera out of my bag, adjusted myself in the middle of the street, balanced myself on my tippy toes and snapped the picture. She continued snarling her face up at me, more or less being moody that I made her bring me to my 7am doctors appointment, and taking a picture of power lines was only aggravating her more. I thumbed through the view finder, stopped at one of the thumbnails and showed her the results. She grabbed the camera from me and pressed her face closer to the screen. “How did you see that?” she asked. “How did I see what?” i said while grabbing my camera back. She said, “beauty in the most mundane.” I just smiled and tucked my camera into my messenger bag and started walking into the doctors office. As she was trailing behind me I said slyly, “I don’t see beauty in the mundane, I just give the mundane a second chance to become something else. Most of the time its not all beauty, but it sure does make a good photograph.” 

Friday
vhmckenzie:

Yuh Know Mi?
“Yah mon, yuh know mi. Mi remembah yuh. A lang time you a come a Jah-mey-ka, riiiiiight?”I’m that smiling dread who Touch Fist with you the first time we meet because, “Yuh cool, seen?”I’m that smiling dread who told you, “Yuh one Original Ragamuffin, a dat mi know,” as I nodded to my bredren and we all laughed that knowing laugh, eyes wide. Made you feel like you were one of us, right?Yah mon, yuh know mi.I’m that smiling dread who said, “Nuff respect, souljah, big up di EYE, seen suh?” as I effortlessly rolled you the fattest skliff you’d ever seen. But as I drew my tongue across the edge of the rizla and then twirled the tip of that fatty inside my mouth to seal it up tight, you wondered if this was really A Good Idea.“Bless up”, I said as I handed you the sacrament. “Tek it, mon, tek it,” I said as I waved away your offer of a few jays. “Jess gwan an’ bun some weed, mon.” After all, you’re one of us, right? And after a few deep draws on that skliff, you decided it was indeed a good idea.Yah mon, yuh know mi.I’m that smiling dread who told you, “Wi muss tek one trip inna de hills an’ see deh ganja fields dem, cuz you a one-a mi I-dren, you a ragamuffin fi true, seen?” And then I told you where to rent one criss cyar so we could make a serious tour to the country and you could see the Real Jamaica.Yah mon, yuh know mi.I’m that smiling dread who told you that tourists,”Couldn’t hangle deh ruff roads” as I instructed you to slide over to the passenger’s seat while I slipped behind the wheel. And then I said, “We muss mek two more stops fi pick up chree more bredren,” before we pulled into the gas station with the “T+E+X__+O” sign to fill the tank. My friends and I share the wealth. When one of us hits the Tourist Jackpot, we all climb aboard the gravy train.“Ragga, wi wan some Guinness fi di drive, seen?” I said. It took you a moment to realize I was speaking to you, calling you “Ragga”. But when you realized you had acquired your very own yardie street name, you smiled a little smile. And moved quickly to provide me and my three friends with drinks. You didn’t realize that I just had forgotten your real name.Yah mon, yuh know mi.I’m the smiling dread who took you so far beyond the boundaries of Negril (or so it seemed) that you couldn’t believe you hadn’t had the courage to do so on your first three trips to the island. What a story you would have to tell your friends back home. You got so high you knew you could never find your way back to Negril if you had to drive yourself, so you were happy to have us guide you and show you the runnings and give us a likkle change when we brought you back to your hotel and buy each of us plates of brown stew chicken and a round of heinekens because we told you it was the right thing to do.“Come I-dren”, I reminded you, “We showed you the Real Jamaica. Yuh muss tek care a wi, a chru?”Yah mon, yuh know mi.But that’s the sad part of this story. Yuh nah even know mi real name. Yuh nah really know me a-tall.And I’m not really smiling.

vhmckenzie:

Yuh Know Mi?

“Yah mon, yuh know mi. Mi remembah yuh. A lang time you a come a Jah-mey-ka, riiiiiight?”

I’m that smiling dread who Touch Fist with you the first time we meet because, “Yuh cool, seen?”

I’m that smiling dread who told you, “Yuh one Original Ragamuffin, a dat mi know,” as I nodded to my bredren and we all laughed that knowing laugh, eyes wide. Made you feel like you were one of us, right?

Yah mon, yuh know mi.

I’m that smiling dread who said, “Nuff respect, souljah, big up di EYE, seen suh?” as I effortlessly rolled you the fattest skliff you’d ever seen. But as I drew my tongue across the edge of the rizla and then twirled the tip of that fatty inside my mouth to seal it up tight, you wondered if this was really A Good Idea.

“Bless up”, I said as I handed you the sacrament. “Tek it, mon, tek it,” I said as I waved away your offer of a few jays. “Jess gwan an’ bun some weed, mon.” After all, you’re one of us, right? And after a few deep draws on that skliff, you decided it was indeed a good idea.

Yah mon, yuh know mi.

I’m that smiling dread who told you, “Wi muss tek one trip inna de hills an’ see deh ganja fields dem, cuz you a one-a mi I-dren, you a ragamuffin fi true, seen?” And then I told you where to rent one criss cyar so we could make a serious tour to the country and you could see the Real Jamaica.

Yah mon, yuh know mi.

I’m that smiling dread who told you that tourists,”Couldn’t hangle deh ruff roads” as I instructed you to slide over to the passenger’s seat while I slipped behind the wheel. And then I said, “We muss mek two more stops fi pick up chree more bredren,” before we pulled into the gas station with the “T+E+X__+O” sign to fill the tank. My friends and I share the wealth. When one of us hits the Tourist Jackpot, we all climb aboard the gravy train.

“Ragga, wi wan some Guinness fi di drive, seen?” I said. It took you a moment to realize I was speaking to you, calling you “Ragga”. But when you realized you had acquired your very own yardie street name, you smiled a little smile. And moved quickly to provide me and my three friends with drinks. You didn’t realize that I just had forgotten your real name.

Yah mon, yuh know mi.

I’m the smiling dread who took you so far beyond the boundaries of Negril (or so it seemed) that you couldn’t believe you hadn’t had the courage to do so on your first three trips to the island. What a story you would have to tell your friends back home. You got so high you knew you could never find your way back to Negril if you had to drive yourself, so you were happy to have us guide you and show you the runnings and give us a likkle change when we brought you back to your hotel and buy each of us plates of brown stew chicken and a round of heinekens because we told you it was the right thing to do.

“Come I-dren”, I reminded you, “We showed you the Real Jamaica. Yuh muss tek care a wi, a chru?”

Yah mon, yuh know mi.

But that’s the sad part of this story. Yuh nah even know mi real name. Yuh nah really know me a-tall.

And I’m not really smiling.

(via zenhen)

vhmckenzie:

Driving While Rasta, 4” X 6” ink and watercolor on paper
I’d have said he was the life of the party, but that honor typically went to Peter. Instead, he was more the ever-present sidekick, the perfect foil. Laid back without being lazy, he was the first to find the humor in any situation, no matter how grim. He was usually peering at me over some miniscule sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose, more of a nod to style than to the glaring sunlight. He’d top off his mile-long dreads with a jauntily-placed and thickly-knit woolen tam, regardless of the heat, A voice deeper than a basement, he’d patiently repeat himself for me, slowly, when the patois became too thick. Then punctuate his sentence with a slow “aaaaal-riiiight?” and a big grin. Older, but not necessarily wiser, he struck more as an affable absent-minded professor, ragamuffin style. Hopping in the car on a moment’s notice, road-trip ready, he was a self-professed expert on the runnings of ‘town. He’d navigate from the backseat when we crossed the Kingston city limits.  “Go soh, go soh!”, he’d shout, as we approached an intersection. “Yah soh? or deh soh?”, Peter would shout from the driver’s seat, glancing over his shoulder, and uncertain as to whether to make a left or a right. “Soh, soh, ovah soh”, said The Professor. This particular use of patois was not exceptionally helpful when driving.  “Yah soh” and “deh soh” loosely translate into “here” and “there” respectively. And the simple us of “soh” essentially leaves it up to the imagination. We came to a grinding halt as they argued about yah so vs. deh soh until The Professor finally used his finger to point to the proper choice of roadway. Peter fumed and The Professor laughed. It’s been years since I’ve seen The Professor. I’d had no idea his peaceful easy facade was propped up by a deep addiction. But looking at him here, without the props of style, I should have known there was more to The Professor than met my eyes.

vhmckenzie:

Driving While Rasta, 4” X 6” ink and watercolor on paper

I’d have said he was the life of the party, but that honor typically went to Peter. Instead, he was more the ever-present sidekick, the perfect foil. Laid back without being lazy, he was the first to find the humor in any situation, no matter how grim.

He was usually peering at me over some miniscule sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose, more of a nod to style than to the glaring sunlight. He’d top off his mile-long dreads with a jauntily-placed and thickly-knit woolen tam, regardless of the heat, A voice deeper than a basement, he’d patiently repeat himself for me, slowly, when the patois became too thick. Then punctuate his sentence with a slow “aaaaal-riiiight?” and a big grin.

Older, but not necessarily wiser, he struck more as an affable absent-minded professor, ragamuffin style. Hopping in the car on a moment’s notice, road-trip ready, he was a self-professed expert on the runnings of ‘town. He’d navigate from the backseat when we crossed the Kingston city limits.

“Go soh, go soh!”, he’d shout, as we approached an intersection.

“Yah soh? or deh soh?”, Peter would shout from the driver’s seat, glancing over his shoulder, and uncertain as to whether to make a left or a right.

“Soh, soh, ovah soh”, said The Professor.

This particular use of patois was not exceptionally helpful when driving.

“Yah soh” and “deh soh” loosely translate into “here” and “there” respectively. And the simple us of “soh” essentially leaves it up to the imagination. We came to a grinding halt as they argued about yah so vs. deh soh until The Professor finally used his finger to point to the proper choice of roadway. Peter fumed and The Professor laughed.

It’s been years since I’ve seen The Professor. I’d had no idea his peaceful easy facade was propped up by a deep addiction. But looking at him here, without the props of style, I should have known there was more to The Professor than met my eyes.

ianbrooks:

Pat The Zombie by Aaron Ximm and Kaveh Soofi
A macabre mash-up of the children’s classic Pat the Bunny and the present-day zombie phenomenon, with the tactile features of the original book revoltingly re-imagined for an adult audience.In the hemorrhagic vein of other zombie parodies, Pat the Zombie presents trusting toddler Judy playing peek-a-boo with a putrefying Paul. Grownup fans of Pat the Bunny (seven million of them) will find their favorite touch-and-feel features disturbingly re-created: Judy reaches for Zombie’s decaying jaw instead of daddy’s cheek; Paul caresses Mummy’s empty eye socket instead of her wedding ring. Ximm’s twisted wit, Soofi’s sick artistic sensibility, and clever packaging that mimics the original book will bring the undead lurchingly to life in this camp popculture romp.
Available for purchase at amazon. I dont want to touch the bunny.

ianbrooks:

Pat The Zombie by Aaron Ximm and Kaveh Soofi

A macabre mash-up of the children’s classic Pat the Bunny and the present-day zombie phenomenon, with the tactile features of the original book revoltingly re-imagined for an adult audience.

In the hemorrhagic vein of other zombie parodies, Pat the Zombie presents trusting toddler Judy playing peek-a-boo with a putrefying Paul. Grownup fans of Pat the Bunny (seven million of them) will find their favorite touch-and-feel features disturbingly re-created: Judy reaches for Zombie’s decaying jaw instead of daddy’s cheek; Paul caresses Mummy’s empty eye socket instead of her wedding ring. Ximm’s twisted wit, Soofi’s sick artistic sensibility, and clever packaging that mimics the original book will bring the undead lurchingly to life in this camp popculture romp.

Available for purchase at amazon. I dont want to touch the bunny.

(via ianbrooks)

cabbagerose:

Edinburgh studio Malcolm Fraser Architects have completed this wooden treehouse housing an artists’ studio in Glen Nevis, Scotland.
via: dezeen
 

cabbagerose:

Edinburgh studio Malcolm Fraser Architects have completed this wooden treehouse housing an artists’ studio in Glen Nevis, Scotland.

via: dezeen

 

(Source: cabbagerose)