Apr 9
massage my brain w ur words
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Ireland
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from T1
seen from Greece
seen from Germany
massage my brain w ur words
A Logical Love
Kento Nanami didn’t believe in distractions.
Life was a simple equation: work, eat, sleep, repeat. There was no need for unnecessary socializing, no point in engaging in fleeting conversations.
Yet, for some reason, he had stepped into this café that evening.
It was a rare moment of indulgence—he needed caffeine after a mind-numbing day at work. As he scanned the menu, a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
“You look like you need something strong,” she said, leaning slightly over the counter.
Nanami looked up.
She was… cute. Not in an overbearing way. There was a certain ease to her presence, a quiet confidence that wasn’t overly cheerful nor dull—just comfortable.
“I recommend something sweet,” she continued, tapping the menu. “Sugar helps with stress.”
“I don’t like sweet things,” Nanami replied flatly.
She smirked. “That sounds like something a tired person would say.”
He sighed. “Just make whatever you think is best.”
She handed him a honey latte. He took a sip. Considered it. Nodded. “Acceptable.”
“That’s it? No details?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It is coffee. It serves its function,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “High praise.”
As he turned to leave, she quickly called out, “Wait! Before you go, would you mind filling out a customer feedback & improvement form?”
Nanami arched a brow. “A form?”
She nodded, holding up a clipboard. “Company policy. Helps us improve.”
He took it. It was standard—service quality, drink satisfaction—but at the bottom, she had added something extra:
“Leave your number for future feedback discussions.”
Nanami exhaled slowly. Clever.
He could have ignored it. Could have walked away. But, for some reason, he wrote his number down.
She smiled as she took the form back. “I’ll send you a message if we need improvement ideas.”
He nodded and left, not thinking much of it.
That night, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: So, Mr. Coffee Critic, any additional thoughts on your drink?
Nanami stared at the message for a moment before responding.
Nanami: It was acceptable.
Unknown Number: You already said that. I need detailed feedback.
Nanami: Fine. The sweetness was well-balanced. The texture was smooth. Nothing to improve.
Unknown Number: Wow, you sound like a corporate food inspector.
Nanami: I am efficient with words.
Unknown Number: Efficient or just grumpy?
Nanami huffed. This was already more talking than he usually did outside of work. Yet… he didn’t mind it.
Over the next few days, their conversations continued. What started as coffee critiques evolved into something deeper.
Conversations Between a Logical Man and an Optimistic Dreamer
One night, she asked, “So, what do you do?”
“Finance.”
“Ah. A suit-wearing corporate drone. Explains why you look dead inside.”
Nanami nearly choked on his drink. Instead of irritation, he found himself… entertained.
She wasn’t afraid to tease him. Most people either avoided him or tiptoed around his bluntness. But she? She poked at him like it was second nature.
The next night, the conversation turned philosophical.
“Do you ever think about how ridiculous it is that people work themselves to death just to retire and finally start living when they’re old?” she mused.
Nanami leaned back, considering. “Most people don’t have a choice. Survival requires sacrifice.”
“But don’t you think it’s a flaw in the system? We trade our time—our only nonrenewable resource—for money. And for what? A comfortable death?”
He tapped his fingers against the desk. “You’re not wrong. But systems don’t change just because we acknowledge their flaws.”
“So you accept it?”
He thought for a moment. “No. I just refuse to waste my energy on things I can’t change.”
She sent a quick reply. “Spoken like a true corporate drone.”
Nanami smirked. “Spoken like a dreamer who thinks coffee and optimism can change the world.”
She sent a single emoji—a laughing face. Then, after a pause, a more thoughtful message.
“I just think… there has to be more to life than this.”
Nanami stared at her words for a long time.
For the first time in a while, he didn’t have an immediate answer.
The Shift
Their conversations continued. They talked about books, economics, the absurdity of corporate hierarchies. Some nights, they discussed the universe—black holes, time dilation, the possibility of alternate realities.
She had an unusual way of seeing the world—half cynical, half hopeful. A paradox, much like the honey latte she had insisted he drink.
“You pretend you don’t like sweet things, but you still keep drinking them,” she pointed out one night.
Nanami glanced at his cup. “I drink them because they’re… acceptable.”
“That’s the worst way to give a compliment.”
He almost smiled.
Then, out of nowhere, her texts started changing.
Mentions of other men. Subtle hints that she was talking to someone.
Nanami recognized it for what it was—a test. She wanted a reaction. Jealousy.
But he wasn’t a man who played games.
Then, one night, she created the perfect scenario.
“Hey, do you think relationships should start with a question?” she asked.
“Logically speaking, clarity is important.”
“So… ask me.”
Nanami hesitated. He knew what she was doing. He was too rational to fall for tricks like these.
And yet—despite himself—he asked.
“Do you want to start something real?”
For a moment, there was no response. Then, finally, she replied:
“No.”
Nanami didn’t flinch. He simply nodded to himself. “Understood.”
And just like that, he put his phone away. No regret, no lingering thoughts.
The next day, she sent a picture—her in a car with another man.
Nanami glanced at it, unimpressed.
“All the best,” he replied, then put his phone away and continued his morning routine.
Hours later, she called.
Nanami was busy. He ignored it.
When he finally called back, she sounded… different.
“The guy I went out with made a move on me. It was uncomfortable.”
Nanami listened as she spoke, calming her down in his usual, steady way.
After a pause, she asked softly, “Why didn’t you try again?”
His response was simple.
“Because you told me no.”
She exhaled. Then, after a long pause—
“…You should have tried again.”
Nanami exhaled, a rare, small smile forming.
“Then… I’ll ask again.”
“…Okay.”
“…Would you like to start something real?”
This time, she whispered, “Yes.”
And for the first time, Nanami allowed himself to feel something beyond logic.
I'm so sick of small talk all the time, I'm craving an intelligent conversation where I actually have to think of a response before I speak or text instead of just replying with one of the same damn adjectives that everyone seems to recycle.
Yo navego para encontrar mis márgenes, mis orillas. Mis palabras me guían pero también me anclan.
¿Qué abismos habrá en medio de mis océanos? ¿Qué extensión tienen? ¿Qué profundidad?
¿Qué tal si me dejó llevar y cambian mis creencias?
Antiguamente creía que ese mar interior tenía una extensión de cien millones de kilómetros cuadrados y una profundidad de cinco mil metros.
Hasta que naufragué y quedé a la deriva. Y mi barco de papel se hundió 14 mil metros.
Pero así aprendí sobre mí.
¿Por qué tengo miedo de que mis creencias cambien, de que mis sentires cambien? ¿Qué tendría de malo cambiar para vivir fielmente a mí misma?
Es que temo que los cambios deban ser radicales.
Temo equivocarme.
Porque en esta vida nada se deshace.
"Pero se puede volver a hacer."
¿Qué es la emoción? Todas esas sensaciones que nos recorren internamente ante una situación surgen en respuesta al mundo a nuestro alrededor.
Todo cuanto pensamos, expresamos, producimos, todo se conecta con cuanto hayamos visto, oído, vivido. Todas nuestras experiencias están vinculadas en nuestra mente. Y esta a su vez sucede en una serie de moléculas que van y vienen por nuestras células nerviosas. Y la forma en la que esas sustancias se generan y se mueven por nuestro organismo están codificadas en nuestro ADN.
Todo cuanto creemos abstracto y etéreo, ese don que llamamos conciencia, y todas las pasiones que agitan al alma tienen un correlato físico.
Podemos entendernos como el producto de un montón de circuitos por más que seamos de una complejidad incomprensible, inabarcable.
Sólo los primeros principios pueden deducirse pero lo que resulte es impredecible.
Quizás la magia reside en que ninguna experiencia puede reproducirse.
a typical saturday night with friends
other ppl: music and booze
my group: "you come into mY HOUSE, and you try to tell me plato was better than socrates, just...just get the fuck out, brenda" (and music and booze)
do dogs just pee on things and the other dogs see it and go "fine, bro, you can have it"
Work In Progress
This morning I was chatting back and forth with a fellow glasser. He started the conversation with the following quote.
"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." ..Edgar Degas
It prompted me to come back with...
"It is very good to copy what one sees; it is much better to draw what you can't see any more but is in your memory. It is a transformation in which imagination and memory work together. You only reproduce what struck you, that is to say the necessary." -- Edgar Degas
Back and forth we would go with quotes from Degas and Matisse to Einstein and Hawking.
I've had this project on my table for a while now. I found this photo of a stunning, desert southwest, sunset that I very much wanted to turn into a table lamp. I spent days looking at various sheets of glass to buy and finally realized I did NOT want to copy the picture itself but draw from it and make a lamp that speaks "Desert Skies" to me. I went through my glass stock and found the glass I would use for the project. This is the first section.