George Frederic Watts, Hope, 1886
I am
Cris Calderon.
This is my digital dump.
hello at criscal dot come
Twitter: criscal
George Frederic Watts, Hope, 1886
Leon Bakst, Narcisse Bacchante, 1911
"My mother is my father. I say, my mother is my father… my father and my mother."
Richard Benjamin Jr., 19 of Selma, Ala.
“It’s like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continuously on ant auto-pilot with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient polite manner. “Here’s your change.” “Paper or plastic?” “Credit or debit?” “You want ketchup with that?” I don’t want a straw, I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to be an ant, you know?”
“I’ve been kind of on zombie auto-pilot lately, I don’t feel like an ant in my head, but I guess I probably look like one. It’s kind of like D.H. Lawrence had this idea of two people meeting on a road. And instead of just passing and glancing away, they decide to accept what he calls “the confrontation between their souls.” It’s like, um, freeing the brave reckless gods within us all.”
Waking Life