Made by Shozy (@sshhozzy) • Instagram
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2001-2022
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
– – WH Auden
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
FSA/8d22000/8d224008d22491a.tif
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.
I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.
BY GARY SNYDER
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
– – W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
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clever
Ghost: You’re an architect. So tell me: Does that addition seem safe? Why? There are some engineering concepts in that “corner office” that I do not understand. Would you have an office in such an addition?
Could be safe Mike, don’t have enough information from that pik.
The part that is sticking out in midair is called a “cantilever condition”.
The part that was there all along is called the span, but we can’t tell from the pik how long the span is. The basic rule of thumb is, you can cantilever up to 1/3 of the span.
Just a guess, that the lowest level cantilever protrudes out from the wall about 20 feet.
So, the floor joists that support that cantilever must go back into the existing span at least 60 feet. 1/3 of 60 = 20.
The hovering one is a little bit different, but still doable.
In architecture all things are possible, if you have enough money.
What we have right here is an illustration of government policies solving the homeless problem.
sorry to burst your bubbles…
it’s not photoshopped;
it’s trompe-l’oeil.
do you see the link under the pic?
“Made by Shozy (@sshhozzy) • Instagram ”
Go there, look for the link:
linktr.ee/sh0zy
“Shozy, whose real name is Danila Shmelev, was born in Moscow, Russia, in 1989.
From childhood, he felt an urge to draw. Upon discovering the first graffiti in Moscow, he felt a wild energy in this artistic and visual manifestation.
In 2000, Danila produced her first work.
For three years he studied graphic design at MHPI, Moscow, Russia, after which he spent 3 years in the fine arts studio of Ilykhin Boris.
In 2010, Shozy found his unique and hyperrealistic 3D style, always taking an interest in various aspects of graffiti culture.
In 2015, he tried his hand at street art for the first time. Since 2016, he has participated in many street art festivals in Russia.
In 2017, he participated for the first time in a street art festival abroad – in Dubai, where he received the second place among the great artists present. Since then he has participated in many graffiti festivals as a participant and judge.
Shozy works in a hyperrealistic way, using the elements of the’anamorphosis and trompe-l’oeil, by studying the possibilities of’3d art and geometry.
Over the years, Shozy has painted murals in Russia, Belgium, Holland, Germany, Italy and the United Arab Emirates. He has also participated in group exhibitions of urban art in Italy and France.
Like that dood that does the sidewalk art, these things only work from one specific spot. If you step to the side a foot the whole illusion is blown.