drool

 Why, hello there sexy.

 From Appley Hoare via Cartolina.

Today I Remembered

I put up a bunch of new items in the shop and discovered a new poem.

The Buddhist

There never was a face as fair as yours,

A heart as true, a love as pure and keen.

These things endure, if anything endures.

But, in this jungle, what high heaven immures

Us in its silence, the supreme serene

Crowning the dagoba, what destined die

Rings on the table, what resistless dart

Strike me I love you; can you satisfy

The hunger of my heart!

Nay; not in love, or faith, or hope is hidden

The drug that heals my life; I know too well

How all things lawful, and all things forbidden

Alike disclose no pearl upon the midden,

Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell.

There is no escape from the eternal round,

No hope in love, or victory, or art.

There is no plumb-line long enough to sound

The abysses of my heart! 

There no dawn breaks; no sunlight penetrates

Its blackness; no moon shines, nor any star.

For its own horror of itself creates

Malignant fate from all benignant fates,

Of its own spite drives its own angel afar.

Nay; this is the great import of the curse

That the whole world is sick, and not a part.

Conterminous with its own universe

the horror of my heart!

Aleister Crowley

Let me repeat: "not in love, or faith, or hope is hidden/The drug that heals my life"  and then, "all things lawful, and all things forbidden/Alike disclose no pearl upon the midden,/Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell."  Neither in love, hope, faith nor in vice is there an ultimate salvation or damnation. 

Thus an immortal soul can feel trapped in  eternity, because "There is no escape from the eternal round." 

Because there is no black and white, no heaven and hell, just mixtures of grey, 

of pleasure and pain in this universe.  And in us, as we are the universe : "For its own horror of itself creates/Malignant fate from all benignant fates," 

because existence is made of our own spirit stuff, the snake eating its own tail, re-incarnation, eternal dying and rebirthing of only itself.

This poem made me remember how my mind expanded to encompass a very vast sense of all things, back in my college buddhist days.  And as practical and secular as I feel myself to be these (medicated) days, whenever I go to add text for my posts, I seem to automatically reach back into that abyss of All, that madness, magic and horror that made life on this pane so hard.  So I get convos from folks saying (and I literally quote) "I can see God in your work," when the work itself is just this tinkering fun...

(... Though I do seem to reach for an evoking of some impossible thing, aesthetically, wanting a mind to reach about saying "what is that?" trying to place where a piece of my jewelry came from but never arriving at an answer.  I have no choice, it's what my mind always wants to make.)

Featured

I was featured in a Storque article!  This is my first time.

Etsy Finds: Fine Specimens

Specimen 11. Rose Buds in Vial Earrings.

I wondered why they and my other dried rose in vial earrings sold so suddenly, and both at once.  Here are some others featured:

Garnet in Schist- Naturally Occurring Specimen in Sterling Silver Ring

Horse foot anatomy teaching specimen - real sheet plastinated specimen

Tiny Moss and Mushroom Terrarium Ring

Desktop Air Plant Garden Art

 Oblivous -- Original Signed Fine Art Photograph

Steamy Noir

A treasury made by mystic pieces.  

It features my Stolen From a Tooth Fairy reliquary:

I'm smitten with this collection of syrup labels from agence eurika- the blog that keeps on giving.

The mint labels are particularly enchanting.

Then there's this lovely one that repeats throughout several different flavors.

Before and After and even Afterer

This was:

Then:

But still hung like:

And now it's:

And hangs like:

Another attempt to fight PMS.

This one starts slow, but builds to a too-much-I-can't-take-it crescendo.

This is a WTF that made me almost pee my pants.

Eye Candy for the Treatment of PMS

The level of PMS I'm dealing with has sucked out my will to exist.  Guuuuhhhhh.

So I'm cheering myself up with this heavenly inspiration.

These sparks of mad glory are from the sold section in Sparrow Salvage's original shop, Little Brown Magpie.

Something about the color, vibrant against some sort of black inner background.  It bewilders me with its beauty.

And this is from someone w/a massive knee-jerk reaction against all things purple- and we're looking at a loooot of purple.

Something about all this is so LUSH.

And look at these impossible stripes:

And these shapes?  These random, ridiculous shapes?  What right do they have to look precisely correct and totally accidental at the same time?

This orange and green makes my eyes say thank you:Even these dirty whites (and I love dirty whites) seem to be struggling to push down an intense orange and green magic from behind it.

This pale dirty teal is breathtaking.

Even here, one of her earliest pieces, has the perfect raggedy layering of threadbare bits of treasures.  

How does someone have such a consistent vision over so many items and over such a long period of 

time?

In comparison, my stuff looks like it was made by an ADD sufferer with multiple personality disorder.

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