http://hypebeast.com/2012/02/visual-traveling-holy-cow/
Patrick Wallner’s latest skate documentary, Holy Cow, is now available for your viewing pleasure by way of the filmmaker’s Visual Traveling series. This time around Wallner and his band of audacious skaters travel through chaotic South Asia, from Bangladesh to Sri Lanka, thrashing it up and observing the unique cultures, from “dying ones hair henna, riding rickshaws, or curry-overdosing.” This ten minute short summarizes a month long journey and features riders Walker Ryan, Laurence Keefe, Michael Mackrodt and Kenny Reed.
THis is definitely wicked for checking out
Monday, February 13, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
the bullet
i always find that when i'm riding the bullet trains, the slight sway of the cart is very soothing.. if i ever sit near the window i'm usually lights out with a matter of moments. It's funny, regardless of how well rested I am, there is something extremely therapeautic about trains. Usually my only saving grace is dependent on the other 3 seats in my train cart. Typically whenever i catch the train from coppenhagen I always manage to find an empty cart, which is incredible because it's private and I get to enjoy the morning sunrises like no other, just peace of mind and the soft humming and clicking of the train on the tracks with a nice warm sun on my face.
on may 25th it was different, there was a stranger on the train with me, a woman with blue eyes black hair, shoulder length, wow. she was absolutely gorgeous. i couldnt believe it! you know, it's not unusual to get a beautiful girl on the bullet train... coppenhagen is full of beautiful women and it's also a huge business hub for other european business people.
anyways, on this particular day it was different, there was something different about everything.. it almost felt like i was floating, when i woke up, my shower, changing, driving to the bullet train station... all of it, but i really had no idea what this day had in store for me...
on may 25th it was different, there was a stranger on the train with me, a woman with blue eyes black hair, shoulder length, wow. she was absolutely gorgeous. i couldnt believe it! you know, it's not unusual to get a beautiful girl on the bullet train... coppenhagen is full of beautiful women and it's also a huge business hub for other european business people.
anyways, on this particular day it was different, there was something different about everything.. it almost felt like i was floating, when i woke up, my shower, changing, driving to the bullet train station... all of it, but i really had no idea what this day had in store for me...
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
RR Martin; why I read
"The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth."
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth."
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