From SABBATHS by Wendell Berry

III. (Santa Clara Valley)

I walked the deserted prospect of the modern mind
where nothing lived or happened that had not been foreseen.
What had been foreseen was the coming of the Stranger with Money.
All that had been before had been destroyed: the salt marsh
of unremembered time, the remembered homestead, orchard and pasture.
A new earth had appeared in place of the old, made entirely
according to plan. New palm trees stood all in a row, new pines
all in a row, confined in cement to keep them from straying.

New buildings, built to seal and preserve the inside
against the outside, stood in the blatant outline of their purpose
in the renounced light and air. Inside them
were sealed cool people, the foreseen ones, who did not look
or go in any way that they did not intend,
waited upon by other people, trained in servility, who begged
of the ones who had been foreseen: ‘Is everything
all right, sir? Have you enjoyed your dinner, sir?
Have a nice evening, sir.’ Here was no remembering
of hands coming newly to the immortal work
of hands, joining stone to stone, door to doorpost, man to woman.

Outside, what had been foreseen was roaring in the air.
Roads and buildings roared in their places
on the scraped and chartered earth; the sky roared
with the passage of those who had been foreseen
toward destinations they foresaw, unhindered by any place between.
The highest good of that place was the control of temperature
and light. The next highest was to touch or know or say
no fundamental or necessary thing. The next highest
was to see no thing that had not been foreseen,
to spare no comely thing that had grown comely on its own.
Some small human understanding seemed to have arrayed itself
there without limit, and to have cast its grid upon the sky,
the stars, the rising and the setting sun.
I could not see past it but to its ruin.

I walked alone in that desert of unremitting purpose,
feeling the despair of one who could no longer remember
another valley where bodies and events took place and form
not always foreseen by human, and the humans themselves followed
ways not altogether in the light, where all the land had not yet
been consumed by intention, or the people by their understanding,
where still there was forgiveness in time, so that whatever
had been destroyed might yet return. Around me
as I walked were dogs barking in resentment
against the coming of the unforeseen.

And yet even there I was not beyond reminding,
for I came upon a ditch where the old sea march,
native to that place, had been confined below the sight
of the only-foreseeing eye. What had been the overworld
had become the underworld: the land risen from the sea
by no human intention, the drawing in and out of the water,
the pulse of the great sea itself confined in a narrow ditch.

Where the Sabbath of that place kept itself in waiting,
the herons of the night stood in their morning watch,
and the herons of the day in silence stood
by the living water in its strait. The coots and gallinules
skulked in the reeds, the mother mallards and their little ones
afloat on the seaward-sliding water to no purpose I had foreseen.
The stilts were feeding in the shallows, and the killdeer
treading with light feet the mud that was all ashine
with the coming day. Volleys of swallows leapt
in joyous flight out of the dark into the brightening air
in eternal gratitude for life before time not foreseen,
and the song of the song sparrow rang in its bush.

And liked.

Check it out for yourself.

Quick post here just to show you some amazing videos by Sean Stiegemeier my friend Nathan turned me on to. These are ridiculous. Enjoy

Yes, I know: it’s been months since my last post. You’d think there’d be no good reason for such a lapse, barring some near-fatal disease, a honeymoon overseas, or tax season. None of these suffice.

The one thing that makes sense of this entire mess (aside from my just being incredibly busy) is that I’ve been saving all my postworthy blogs for something truly THAT good. Today I found it.

Daniel Danger, a name only a 40s gumshoe detective could love: he walked into my office like a thug pandering blow in back alley corners, and hit like a former middleweight remembering his pre-success junior high acne. That’s how I felt (kinda) when I first saw this poster at OMG Posters. I just sat there for a moment taking in the strokes, the colors, the mood and feel of this scene. It really stopped me in my swivel, high-back faux-leather office chair.

It’s put me on a hunt of other Daniel Danger prints, and there are a good number, each with this distinctly similar feel. Dark. Moody. High contrast, with some light providing a patina for the scene’s raw emotion. I believe one can only get a print for this by going to one of the Why? concerts where they’re sold. I need to find a friend willing to go, just so I can pay their ticket, pay their gas, pay their overnight binge just to get me one of these prints.

Yes, I’m that desperate.

This is freakin’ amazing. You’re lucky I care enough to even tell you about it (that’s how I feel).

More Daniel Danger at Tiny Media Empire.

UPDATE: I just bought this poster. I never buy things for myself. It’s made me estatic. Also got two other Daniel Danger posters while I was there… Christmas has come early for me!!

Check out this amazing way-finding-system for the Eureka Tower Carpark in Melbourne. The distorted letters on the wall can be read perfectly when standing at the right position. This project won several international design awards and is the brainchild of Axel Peemoeller. Brilliant!

The Best List.

Thanks!

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Anyway…

Make sure you head over to check out more of his site, but for now here are some recent highlights.

1. Lungs

2. Stihl

Until I saw the last episode of Lie To Me, I’d never heard of Fink before (glad I watch tv!).

Can I please watch this bird hunt?

Why is it that we dream of flying? Watch the video and you’ll remember