Lip Art Makeup – The amazing creative lips by Girl Grey Beauty Instagram — FLOW ART STATION

Lip Art Makeup – The amazing creative lips by Girl Grey Beauty Instagram In line with the creative make-ups by Tal Peleg, here are today the Lip Art creations of the Canadian makeup artist Andrea Reed, aka Girl Grey Beauty, who turns the lips of her models into true works of art, including a lovely reference […]

via Lip Art Makeup – The amazing creative lips by Girl Grey Beauty Instagram — FLOW ART STATION

 

The HOKUSAI Great Wave lips OMG.

finished sense8 season 2 finale

…and all I can say is, ridiculous.  Ridiculous.  and also, big respect to Sun for HOT DAMN ROCKING THOSE SILVER PANTS right on sister!

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Can’t find a pic with a, ahem, better view.  But take it from me, or better yet just watch the ep.  Season 2 is worth watching, because at least it always has Lito and Sun, however daft it gets.

but as I say.  It brings to mind the immortal words of Matt Damon in Will & Grace:

‘Rockin’ ass!: for he himself has said it, and it’s greatly to his credit!

SPOILERISH…-> Continue reading “finished sense8 season 2 finale”

fridge magnet poetry is strangely attractive

I do like this week’s clutch of magnet poems. The oracle is in thoughtful mood. The rain is red today, with sun spray blown in the wind. Light flickers, shot through with shadows, a drunken symphony screamed at the moon. Come dance with me and be my love hold my hand and keep […]

via Drunken symphonies before dawn — Jane Dougherty Writes

These are lovely, wistful, melancholy.  The restrictions of fridge magnet poetry produce healthier blooms than unfettered access to language, much like pruning a rose bush.

Anish Kapoor is an artist and a colossal, controlling asshole: there was that time he said that the presence of his $270M sculpture in a Chicago park gave him the right to decide who could take pictures in a public space. (more…)

via A history of artist Anish Kapoor and his assholic mission to own the color black — Boing Boing

Of course, the attention he gets from coverage like this of his jerky exploits was probably exactly what he was looking for.  We’re talking about him, right?

A) You’re adorable, B) You’re so beautiful, C) You’re a cutie full of charms

Lately, I’ve been writing five lists when I get up in the morning, first thing I do.  The first list is the gratitude list, just like they tell you you should do.

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I’ve always meant to get started on it, but somehow it’s taken me this long to actually get around to it.  I always felt like, well, I’m grateful, I’m a grateful person, I think about the things I’m grateful for all the time.  Doesn’t that count for the same?  But, when it comes down to sharpening the pencil, finding a blank page in a favourite notebook and actually getting down to making the list, it’s a whole different beast.

The process matters.  Like praying, it’s the actual words of the prayer, the getting down on your knees, the willingness to give up the time and do the work, instead of just thinking about it and thinking that makes it so.  Like the Steve Jobs quote – ‘the disease of thinking that having a great idea is really 90 percent of the work’.

So that works, and it’s been good.  Ten things I’m grateful for, every morning, varying from day to day but often the same things showing up – my partner, my parents, Theresa May getting a kicking in the election, the usual things.  It’s always ten items, for simplicity, and because an arbitrary number makes you really think – stretching for gratitude when the list is difficult to finish, making hard choices when there are too many candidates for too few spots.

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Then I move on to the second list, and another ten items.  The second list is my ‘hello universe’ list.  Signs, signals, little tips and winks and nudges from the universe to put me on another path or confirm the way I’m heading, or just to say ‘hi there, hi.  you’re not alone’.  I don’t generally get ten signs or synchronicities a day, and repetition from day to day is fine.  But almost always, I have something new to add to the list – like, I turn on the radio and there’s a discussion going on about something I’m thinking about right that second.  Or someone’s name comes up in every book I open, every song I hear.

Then there’s the third list, which is the daily To-Do list.  This is self-explanatory, and probably very little different from anyone’s to-do list.  Paperwork, shopping, phone-calls to make, nothing unusual.  The fourth list is Work, and is a more narrowly-defined to-do list with purely professional/work/money based items to be ticked off.

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The fifth list is maybe the most important.  It’s the ‘The Ones I Love’ list, and what could be more important than that?  Listing off ten people you love – changing little from day to day, maybe the slightest variations according to the vicissitudes of life and relationships – is guaranteed to open the heart, lighten the spirits, make the world a more beautiful place.

I find it so, anyhow.  It makes every day a good day. 

Every morning, the ritual, then.  Except that yesterday morning, my brain was on the fritz, glitching away with senior moments.  The first four lists I dashed off fine, pleased with my spiritual and practical processes and progress.  Then when it came to the Love List, I had a dyslexic moment.  Instead of ‘love’, you see, I wrote ‘evol’.

The Evol List – I was writing – apparently – the Evol List.  It sounds a little sinister, doesn’t it?  Packed full of supervillainy and miscreants, you’d think.  Who needs a list of evol-doers in their life?

I went to strike it out, to correct it.  And then I hesitated, and I thought.  Well, if you believe in signs and synchronicities – and I do – don’t these things happen for a reason?  At minimum, maybe my brain was talking to me.  Unconscious to superego, are you reading me, superego?

Evol.  Hmm.  Take a look at it.  It’s not exactly love in reverse.  It’s more of a mish-mash, the ingredients of love taken and misused by a terrible cook.  What would an Evol List consist of?

I didn’t think about it too much, then.  There were ten spots on the list, and I filled them up, quick, not too much pondering.  With names, with people in and out of my life.  Some of them were names of people who often appear on my Love List, too.  Maybe people I have very imperfect relationships with, but who still merit the word love in my mind, in my heart.

Some of them weren’t.

And I took the list, when I’d written it, and thought about the names on it.  Sighed a bit, and got on with my day.

Who would go on your Evol list?  Who would go on your Love List?  Would any of the names be the same, on both?

 

Image – holytimeland on Flickr, public domain.

Image – lizzi idiomas on Flickr, public domain.

Image – Jack Ambler on Flickr, public domain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!

I had the windows open this morning, while I wrote.  And while in a daze, wondering whether to throw in a few fifty-buck words just to piss off Hemingway, I became aware of a buzzing.

A buzzing, a rustling, a frantic hum, coming from behind the curtains where they were bunched up.  And when I went to have a look, it was an insect, bouncing around behind there.  Frantic with captivity, wings flickering and building up to an aggressive whine if it didn’t find the exit bloody quick.

A fly.  A fly!  OH GOD A FLY!  I ran and grabbed household antibacterial spray, found fly spray in the cupboard under the sink, ran back and MACED THAT FUCKER.

Then I got a bit of a closer look, once I’d calmed down, and it was all still and quiet and deaded.

Oh, but it wasn’t a fly.  It was a beetle.  A harmless beetle, just faintly wobbling one feeler as he wobbled off this mortal coil.  Damn it.  I’d jumped to conclusions, freaked out a bit, gone into battle: and now one poor beetle had paid the price.  He’d probably come in on a bike or a jacket earlier in the day.  He didn’t mean no harm, honestly guv!

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And now, hours later, I still feel just crummy about it.  Oh, poor Mr Beetle, I feel absolutely awufl.  I’m so sorry.

 

Image – Fowler, W. W. (William Weekes), 1849-1923; Donisthorpe, Horace St. John Kelly, 1870, public domain.

 

 

Mercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly by Patricia Briggs – Goodreads book review

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Mercy Thompson: Hopcross JillyMercy Thompson: Hopcross Jilly by Patricia Briggs

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I preferred this graphic novel short story to some of the regular installments in text-format of the Mercy Thompson story. The artwork was beautiful, the colour-scheme was perfect – moody and Gothic – and Adam in particular was beautifully drawn. He looked almost as young as he’s actually supposed to appear. (Although Mercy looked rather younger, TBH.)

It’s nice to have a Jesse-centric story, as she’s one of my favourite characters and I love her interactions with Mercy. And a genuinely unnerving old-wives’-tale Big Bad, too! Four stars all round.

ETA – must also add, as always – where the heck is the contemporary Bran-centric story, with a real romance for him? Where? WHERE? It must surely be in the works? Surely? Please?

View all my reviews

Image – Mathias Appel on Flickr, public domain.