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Sergi Brosa


The seriously enviable talent of Laurent Durieux.


Provinces of Luzon, Philippines


Can it get more epic than Scott C’s contribution to our Ghostbusters show?This painting is mind-blowing.

Come see it in person, starting TOMORROW, at our NY pop-up location at 69 Leonard St. in New York City. We will have our opening reception from 7-10 PM, then be open every day through the 26th, even Easter, from 11-7 PM.

Learn as much as you can at


The Blues Brothers

Certain kinds of knowledge rob people of their sleep.

Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (387)


The Blues Brothers


(to Ian McKellen) You were saying a dream of yours is that you wanted to host a show like this. 

Omg, this is adorable.

Marlon and Me, part 1

    “Students,” Ms. Maple cried over the din of the classroom.
    A few second passed, she sighed and stood up from the desk. I watched as she walked to the front center of the room, stopping in front of the problems she had written earlier on the chalkboard and put her hands on her chubby hips. This was the windup before the pitch. One last chance for the kids to toe her line before she rained down the playground detentions and otherwise curbing anything resembling fun.
    I, of course, was silent and staring at her.
    That’s because I like school. I like learning. It’s the other kids I don’t care for much.
    “students,” she said again. Her voice is firm, filled to the brim with authority, and with the sort of parental tones you don’t get very often these days. Most of the class settles down with that one word. There are a few stranglers, the usual few who don’t care to be talked down to. And in that, I find a bit of understanding. I don’t like it either. However, I am aware of the compromise and am a willing participant.
    I want to learn. Therefore, I submit to her authority in exchange for knowledge. For lessons.
    And therein conflict is born between. Conflict that will later take a toll on myself as I will chose to maintain the compromise over chaos. Albeit there are days where the idea of chaos does have a few things going for it.
    Her nostrils flare. There are only a pair of other students left talking. I watch her eyes flick between the two of them as they continue to play a game despite her insistence for their attention.
    “Marlon. Charyl. Please come board and solve the problems,” she says.
    Marlon, a skinny kid whose rich parents send a chauffeured car to drop off and pick up him every day, blinks at Ms. Maple’s instructions. He isn’t like the proverbial deer, his pupils are small. It is more like he is concentrating and trying to light her on fire with only his thoughts.
    Charyl is almost the opposite of Marlon. She is obvious in her lack of material wealth. The clothes she wears are hand-me-downs complete with the name of her older siblings bleeding through the thinning cloth. She also is likely facing the wrath of a parent should she get another note sent home. I have counted her bruises on the day after previous incidents. Thus, faced with direct and obvious consequences, her movements are swift. She is up and out of her chair in a breath.
    And then there is panic on her face as Marlon grabs her wrist and pulls.
    There is a gasp and Ms. Maple advances down the line of classroom desks.
    “What do you think you are doing Marlon?” she asks, standing over the pair of them.
    Ms. Maple is not very tall but like many teachers, she is crossbred with cats allowing her to look bigger when she needs to. The classroom stinks with the heavy funk of Charyl’s fear. There is the collective hiss of breath as several of us suck in a breath at the thought of the confrontation.
    Marlon takes his time looking up to Ms. Maple. When he has finally done so, there is a light smile on his lips as Charyl continues to struggle against his ever tightening grip.
    “Let go of her Marlon and get up to the board.”
    You can tell so much about how other kids behave at home. How different it is than when they are here in the classroom. Marlon’s mask is a thick one. I can see where it cuts into his skin, the lines left by how tight it is put on. Right now, he is pulling it off slow enough that everyone can see the same thing I do.
    “No,” he says.
    Charyl screeches and raises a hand to slap Marlon but Ms Maple is quicker than either one of them and catches it before anything of consequence happens.
    “Marlon, I know your parents are out of town this week but that doesn’t excuse this sort of misbehavior. Dr Marsh has the cell phone numbers and is more than willing to call them.
    “Neither one of us want that to happen. So instead of marching down to Marsh’s office, let go of Charyl, get up to the board and finish the problems.”
    There is a slight hesitation before Marlon slips his mask back on. Once it has found its usual place, he gets up, letting Charyl go in the process and goes to the board without her. Ms. Maple directs Charyl back to her seat with a finger before joining Marlon at the front of the classroom.
    There isn’t another peep from anyone the rest of the day.
    In the classroom.
    Outside on the playground? That is a different matter.

——(TBC at some future date)


Gabriel García Márquez Dies: Famed Colombian Author And Nobel Laureate Dead At 87

Gabriel García Márquez, the famous Colombian journalist, novelist, short story writer, screenwriter and journalist has died at the age of 87.

One of the most significant authors of the 20th Century, Marquez was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1982. [MORE]

Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn’t have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn’t have to be a walk during which you’ll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don’t find meaning but “steal” some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn’t make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.

Albert Camus, Notebooks, 1951-1959  (via thatkindofwoman)


Here’s a test for something I’m working on, with the theme of multiple lives and parallelism.