dall·e experiments vol. 1

I am super fascinated by this technology and the creative possibilities that it unlocks.

“hot dog man crashing his hot dog car full of hot dogs photorealistic”
“charcoal sketch of soviet propaganda”
“soccer player scoring a goal in the style of kazimir malevich, suprematism, abstract, geometric”
“oil painting of a manchester united fan crying so hard that their tears form a mighty river”
“courtroom sketch of a gigantic banana on trial for a felony”
“photo of a man getting married to a toilet 4k”
“ascii art of a business man making a telephony call”
“warehouse rave circa 1994, photograph from a disposable camera”
“autochrome photograph of the president of world circa 1974”
“photo of serene cliffs on the coast of ireland at sunset”
“photograph of a thousand people wearing different colored morph suits at a rave in the jungles of bolivia”
“photograph of hundreds of buddhist monks in line at a fast food restaurant”
“rave in santa fe in the style of Robert Rauschenberg”

poem: “ocean”

go further, i think
as if you can hear me
whispering to myself

it is hard to watch you out there
wave after wave
crashing over you
sending gritty brine up your nose

keep swimming, i think
and you will find
that the very same waves
pass beneath you
like ghosts
passing through the walls
of an old mansion

it is too deep to stand there
but you can float

two ways to be itchy

When the itch comes, appearing in the corner of my right eye, my first thought is to scratch it. More often than not, I take the automatic path without even thinking about what I’m doing. The itch is gone before I was even aware of it.

I can also let the itch be. I can notice it along with the urge to scratch it, and then decide to do nothing. Doing nothing, in general, sounds easier than doing something but in this case the situation is completely flipped. But if you can get through the first ten seconds or so, the itch changes. It becomes less… itchy. It goes away. It gets replaced by a back ache or a thought about breakfast. It comes back. It goes away again. In time it is just like any other part of your experience.

Let the itch be a teacher, a warning. Other unpleasant situations will arise today. Someone will tailgate me on the freeway and my instinct will be to shout a profanity at them (which they won’t even hear). Someone will email me about something I don’t want to think about and I may scoff, expelling some air out my nose. What do these automatic reactions accomplish? What do I gain by slowly, in small ways, learning to intercept them and reconsider?