Boxtrolls…
I loved this movie! The artwork is right up my alley.
Some of the subject matter should be kept at least pre-teen and above,
but the art and heart are adorable. 9/10
Pass the popcorn.
Dan
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| Click to enlarge pic |
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Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label media. Show all posts
Friday, July 28, 2017
Friday, July 14, 2017
Spindle...
Spindle...
Around,
The creation of sound,
Mostly bright colors,
Adapting to the time.
In a digital world,
Analog sounds sweet.
What lasts is what tells,
Long after the last album sells.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/12/2017
"Rembrandt Sleeping..." poem #27
Author's note:
If ever I am wealthy enough, I will buy a beautiful old console stereo, put in a top-of-the-line turntable and sound system, one that glows like stereos used to, and gently, reverently, set needle to vinyl...
Around,
The creation of sound,
Mostly bright colors,
Adapting to the time.
In a digital world,
Analog sounds sweet.
What lasts is what tells,
Long after the last album sells.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 07/12/2017
"Rembrandt Sleeping..." poem #27
Author's note:
If ever I am wealthy enough, I will buy a beautiful old console stereo, put in a top-of-the-line turntable and sound system, one that glows like stereos used to, and gently, reverently, set needle to vinyl...
Friday, June 30, 2017
Stuffed...
Stuffed...
An eerie glow fills the room,
Flick of the switch.
My own thoughts remain unborn,
My head filled to bursting,
With the carefully-crafted thoughts of others,
People I don't even know.
Stuffed.
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-30-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping - Poem # 20
An eerie glow fills the room,
Flick of the switch.
My own thoughts remain unborn,
My head filled to bursting,
With the carefully-crafted thoughts of others,
People I don't even know.
Stuffed.
AquarianM
By Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-30-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping - Poem # 20
Prodigal Poet...
Prodigal Poet...
Pages have lain bare,
Wanting for ink,
Thirsty for soul dreams,
Lonely for mind-candy's hallowed release.
More than six years pass by,
Finally my pen is back to hand,
In the wee hours,
Absent the glow of electrons and keys.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-29-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping, Poem # 19.
Pages have lain bare,
Wanting for ink,
Thirsty for soul dreams,
Lonely for mind-candy's hallowed release.
More than six years pass by,
Finally my pen is back to hand,
In the wee hours,
Absent the glow of electrons and keys.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06-29-2017
Rembrandt Sleeping, Poem # 19.
Monday, June 19, 2017
A Matter Of Focus...
A Matter Of Focus...
What I say,
What I see,
Large-looming things I water in the garden of my life.
It maters little if I despise them,
Not a whit if I wish to uproot,
Nor love and cherish,
The flowers or weeds I speak to will grow.
All the World should pay attention,
Give that payment to the flowers,
For the weeds grow so easily.
It's really all a matter of focus.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2017
What I say,
What I see,
Large-looming things I water in the garden of my life.
It maters little if I despise them,
Not a whit if I wish to uproot,
Nor love and cherish,
The flowers or weeds I speak to will grow.
All the World should pay attention,
Give that payment to the flowers,
For the weeds grow so easily.
It's really all a matter of focus.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 06/19/2017
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Fun House Mirrors...
Fun House Mirrors...
I watch the twists and turns of light,
Like a Fresnel lens of insanity,
A beacon of changing tune,
A hurricane-driven weathervane,
An egoic Super Moon of willful ignorance.
Day-by-day we must wonder and fret,
Twisted upon an impaling spike,
Awaiting a hail of stones,
Yet hoping for the kindness of a shovel and bath towels,
Receiving a schizophrenic cyclone.
We've eaten more trail dust and grime than an ancient cowboy,
Run over by our own cattle,
No real awareness of the deed,
Oblivious to the utterly warped light,
Of these fun house mirrors in every room we inhabit.
E. R. Murrow is spinning hard enough to burst into flames,
Mirroring our sad excuse for truths and portents.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/16/2016
I watch the twists and turns of light,
Like a Fresnel lens of insanity,
A beacon of changing tune,
A hurricane-driven weathervane,
An egoic Super Moon of willful ignorance.
Day-by-day we must wonder and fret,
Twisted upon an impaling spike,
Awaiting a hail of stones,
Yet hoping for the kindness of a shovel and bath towels,
Receiving a schizophrenic cyclone.
We've eaten more trail dust and grime than an ancient cowboy,
Run over by our own cattle,
No real awareness of the deed,
Oblivious to the utterly warped light,
Of these fun house mirrors in every room we inhabit.
E. R. Murrow is spinning hard enough to burst into flames,
Mirroring our sad excuse for truths and portents.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/16/2016
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