Carpe Diem VIXI

Pooja Cucumber
I am a victim of life.

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings - words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out.

—Stephen King

You say ..

You say help others. You say never to count the amount of giving you do. You say never expect anything back. You say help people-keep your heart pure when doing so. You say never to keep a record. You say help the people who do wrong to you. Help the people who deserve it. Help those who need it. Help those who do not speak of it. Help those who ask of it. Be there for mankind for that is our eternal duty here on this earth. You say we are obligated to fulfill our duty. You give him these virtues; you raise him with these values. You infuse these ideologies into his skin. You seep your wisdom into his soul. You define his character. You give him these eyes. You give him this window. He’s neurotic. He’s charred. You give this all to him, but look at you. What does he see? He sees you speaking on an elevator whose ropes have snapped. He sees you on an unstable platform quickly sliding down a dark narrow vertical tunnel. You speak words, but they are in inertia. Inertia. Remember? An object in motion stays in motion. He sees you fall away from your words so fast. Crumble his world. You give him this world with all your fantasies and stories. You create his world with all your stories and words. And then you walk away. A different identity you are. You are not what you say to him. You are not who you have made of him. Hollowness. Just like the empty dark tunnel and broken ropes swinging back and forth in the pin drop silence. 

-Cucumber 5/9/2012

Four Chicago Tribune Tower Competition submissions, c.1922, Chicago.

In 1922, the Tribune launched a worldwide competition to design the world’s most beautiful office building. The $50,000 prize attracted hundreds of architects and designers. The 4 presented here are from Loos, Gropius, Bijvoet and Duiker, and Saarinen, respectively.

The Saarinen design came in second place and it’s art deco elements are considered to be one of the world’s most important unbuilt structures.

I’m glad the neo-gothic Howells and Hood building won…I could not imagine our skyline without it!

(Source: calumet412)

Petting a deaf white odd-eyed epistatic cat at Freeport Animal Shelter. Never saw such a pretty feline before!

Petting a deaf white odd-eyed epistatic cat at Freeport Animal Shelter. Never saw such a pretty feline before!

Well, yes, ma’am, I do… I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you… to make each day count.

—Jack Dawson, Titanic

4/8/12

4/8/12

4/4/12 Made with vermilion, incense ash, wheatgrass extraction, Priya’s glitter makeup, #4 graphite, cinnamon powder, nail polish, tailors chalk, turmeric powder and eyeshadow.

4/4/12 Made with vermilion, incense ash, wheatgrass extraction, Priya’s glitter makeup, #4 graphite, cinnamon powder, nail polish, tailors chalk, turmeric powder and eyeshadow.

One of my favorite books. A good friend of mine recommended it to me 5 years ago. Every day after school, I would walk over to the library, finish up my homework for the day and read a little bit of the book until I waited for my dad to come pick me up. I’d then head over up the stairs to the same spot in the library, to the same bookshelf and place the book back where I got it from- until I’d take it out again the next day. At the end of the school year, I forgot about the book for the entire summer. Junior year- my library days to finish up homework continued. I had lost touch with my friend by then. My thoughts wandering casually somehow landed on old memories, I remembered the book. I went to search for it in the library in the vicinity of where I remembered taking it out from and putting it back each and every day of the previous school year. The title just wasn’t coming to me. All I could picture was a solid old green vintage book, with bold black small typewritten words off to the top. I searched every single bookshelf multiple times, for days, unwilling to give up. Months went by and my hope was seeing its near end. Driving a pal over to her house one afternoon, I spiritlessly explained my frustration to her. She responds, “Oh I remember this book, you used to speak of it often …it had something to do with butterflies ..and catching butterflies!” A spark of hope flew in the air again …our minds were churning and hitting machine slots one by one. The excitement rose as we fumbled over possible titles from the back of our fuzzy recollections. The Butterfly Catcher? -No! The Catcher in the Rye! -  That’s J.D. Salinger Pooja! Catching Butterflies? -Nope. The Butterfly Collector? -Eh I don’t think so. Two minutes of silence, then at the same time we both shout, The Collector! It was a great feeling of overcoming. Memory is the diary we all carry about with us, but it is often deceptive because it is colored by todays events. It’s funny how the smallest of things hold so much meaning, and become powerful enough to wreck the mazes of the cranium.  -Cucumber

One of my favorite books. A good friend of mine recommended it to me 5 years ago. Every day after school, I would walk over to the library, finish up my homework for the day and read a little bit of the book until I waited for my dad to come pick me up. I’d then head over up the stairs to the same spot in the library, to the same bookshelf and place the book back where I got it from- until I’d take it out again the next day. At the end of the school year, I forgot about the book for the entire summer. Junior year- my library days to finish up homework continued. I had lost touch with my friend by then. My thoughts wandering casually somehow landed on old memories, I remembered the book. I went to search for it in the library in the vicinity of where I remembered taking it out from and putting it back each and every day of the previous school year. The title just wasn’t coming to me. All I could picture was a solid old green vintage book, with bold black small typewritten words off to the top. I searched every single bookshelf multiple times, for days, unwilling to give up. Months went by and my hope was seeing its near end. Driving a pal over to her house one afternoon, I spiritlessly explained my frustration to her. She responds, “Oh I remember this book, you used to speak of it often …it had something to do with butterflies ..and catching butterflies!” A spark of hope flew in the air again …our minds were churning and hitting machine slots one by one. The excitement rose as we fumbled over possible titles from the back of our fuzzy recollections. The Butterfly Catcher? -No! The Catcher in the Rye! -  That’s J.D. Salinger Pooja! Catching Butterflies? -Nope. The Butterfly Collector? -Eh I don’t think so. Two minutes of silence, then at the same time we both shout, The Collector! It was a great feeling of overcoming. Memory is the diary we all carry about with us, but it is often deceptive because it is colored by todays events. It’s funny how the smallest of things hold so much meaning, and become powerful enough to wreck the mazes of the cranium. 


-Cucumber