Astronaut Douglas Wheelock’s amazing images from space via his twitter account (http://twitter.com/#!/Astro_Wheels) puts our tiny asses into perspective. Stationed on the International Space Station, him and his crew are like gods compared to our petty existences.
I mean c’mon, check this out:
That’s like. Egypt, the frickin Nile maaaan…
But his images come with similarly inspiring captions that capture a greater sense of humanity and make you think twice about taking this beautiful planet for granted.
He strolled through the bistro doors, a well cut suit, possibly Armani, but hey what do i know. Like a regular customer confidently he strolls to an empty table by the window. A waiter casually gives him his regular espresso and a croissant. Is he that predictable?
I glance around at the early birds swooping in for their daily worm before rushing to work. What work does he do? He seems to be enjoying what he has. Perhaps he’s the one who owns his own enterprise. An entrepreneur. A pioneer.
The air that orbits around him draw glances from pedestrians. Sitting by the window, basking in the morning rays, staring outwardly. Women gleam a flash of attraction across their face, men flash a streak of jealousy. All women want him, all men want to be him.
Ambition is written on his face. Although as to what that might be, it is his sinister secret. Great dynasties, Kings, Queens fall under his ambitions. A shadow that plagues, a desire that tempts. He has a legion of followers, all yearning for that same expensive looking suit, driving nice cars, fucking hot chicks.
Strange thing. Another man, also with a well cut suit, also possibly Armani, but hey, also, what do i know. He glances at the man by the window, the man in the window glances back. More men come through the doors, dressed just like the other two guys in suits. A parade of Armani suits. They all order small cups of espresso, they all take a croissant. Sometimes women dressed like men come in. You couldn’t tell if not for their tits jacked up to their chins. They also order espresso, but skip the croissant.
The bistro suddenly becomes a flurry of suits, a mob demands their coffee, they scoff down their croissants. My vision is blurred, i can’t tell one person from another. I thought one guy was some guy i know, but they all look like guys i know. I was spared a moment of clear vision, a space between the bodies. The table by the window is empty.
He walks past the bistro window, suit tail caught in the breeze, hands in his pockets and like enjoying a joke only he can understand, he grins.
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to.”—
When looking for internships at dream companies/jobs, should one play safe and keep to a familiar region to build up experience and confidence? Or should one hurtle CV’s across the globe and face shut downs soiling all sense of sell-worth?
The life of pie is usually a very short one. it comes into this world in a flurry of lusty hot air and sees its demise in the hands of the greedy human.
great pies are often discovered in the home oven. a sniff to check. a poke to double check. and a taste to confirm.
This confirmation, may often lead to many more pies being born. Sometimes, if its creator is affluent, they are born in a 2 by 5 metre commercial oven and the flurry of hot air whence they came become a wave of blistering heat.
The average human does not think when it devours the pie. where do its contents come from? who made the pie? was this strand of hair mine or did someone forget to wear a hairnet?
one cannot blame the mere human being for forgetting such questions when in presence of the pie. since the pie has the power to take over the senses, hijacking the human brain to reduce it to its most basic animal instinct. Carnal hunger.
Not all pies are great however, and luckily for many humans, this is first discovered in the home aswell. More often than not, when its creator has suffered a form of sensual retardation. it is up to his/her friends to notify the poor invalid immediately. a bad pie, if not careful, may lead to extended amounts of time in the bathroom, or more specifically on the toilet bowl.
But let us hope that this is not an occurrence suffered daily.
A horrible event may arise if the support of such friends and family should fail. and that its creator should find the means to sell it to innocent consumers for large sums of hard earned money. An authority may thus approach its creator and demand him/her to cease all reckless pie creating immediately.
And so, we are thankful for another safe guard in the preservation of humanity - The Food Health and Safety Act of 1974. (of course laws may vary in different parts of the world, to which discretion must now be taken upon the consumer)
Let us not dwell on the downfalls of the bad pies, for it is never their fault.
A good pie therefore is one of God’s gifts to His creations. With every bite a ray of joy flickers over the eyes of the mere mortal and thus signals its divine presence.