shapes and sizes and manifestations

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    A few photos from this weekend’s Crash Detroit, a “festival of street bands and art” at Roosevelt Park in Corktown.

    Photos 1 and 5: Detroit Party Marching Band

    Photos 2, 3, 4, 6: Mucca Pazza from Chicago

    Love, love, love, love this band and everything we’ve accomplished within the year I’ve been in their pact.

    — 1 week ago with 1 note

    It’s always really freaking cool when a musician you looked up to as a teenager ends up admiring the band you dedicate a large portion of your time to.

    — 1 week ago
    Special Guests, Signings, and Etiquette →


    It’s that time of year again, and given the behaviors at Vidcon, it’s looking like some reminders may be in order before Leakycon.

    Here’s the thing, the basic rule: Do not treat a special guest in a way you wouldn’t treat someone on the street or someone you had just met.

    Some good questions to…

    As someone who’s played festivals, has been surrounded by lots of musicians who have a MUCH higher salary than me, and has reached the point where people have actually asked to take pictures with me once or twice or followed me around a small local festival (the former is silly yet flattering, and the latter is creepy), I know firsthand what behavior of fans is appropriate and okay and what behavior is downright unacceptable. THAT was a mouthful. This is a good guide not just for LeakyCon, but also for any sort of concert, festival, convention, or just running into someone you’re a fan of. They’re all humans, just like us. Stay calm and be respectful. :)

    — 3 weeks ago with 93 notes



    sleeping is hard in the summer because blankets are too warm but without blankets im vulnerable to monsters


    I’m an adult.

    (via fuckyeahwomenprotesting)

    — 1 month ago with 267503 notes
    "I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
    Maya Angelou (via wrists)

    (Source: aclockworkorange, via shakendust)

    — 2 months ago with 88335 notes


    I’m only one bottle of wine down and so far all I’ve done is watch Beyonce videos over and over again. 

    Do I need to come to terms with the fact that I’m a boring person?


    Next bottle? Dare I?

    Can we be IRL friends”

    — 2 months ago with 3 notes


    I had the pleasure of playing Cross-Linx Festival in the Netherlands this past February with my band, Detroit Party Marching Band, alongside the wonderful My Brightest Diamond. During the weeks prior, I contained my excitement by putting some of that energy into making this costume piece. It’s made of scrap polymer clay and metallic gold acrylic paint. Who wouldn’t want an excessive, “gold-plated” pizza chain?

    I make things. Check it out!

    — 2 months ago with 9 notes


this is my FAVORITE one so far

Shots. Fired. Done.



    this is my FAVORITE one so far

    Shots. Fired. Done.

    (via the-blonde-assassin)

    — 2 months ago with 205091 notes

    After hundreds of billions of years, he suddenly thought of himself as Ames. Not the wavelength combination which, though all the universe was now the equivalent of Ames — but the sound itself. A faint memory came back of the sound waves he no longer heard and no longer could hear.
    The new project was sharpening his memory for so many more of the old, old, eons-old things. He flattened the energy vortex that made up the total of his individuality and its lines of force stretched beyond the stars.

    Brock’s answering signal came.

    Surely, Ames thought, he could tell Brock. Surely he could tell somebody.

    Brock’s shifting energy pattern communed. “Aren’t you coming, Ames?”

    "Of course."

    "Will you take part in the contest?"

    "Yes!" Ames’ lines of force pulsed erratically. "Most certainly. I have thought of a whole new art-form. Something really unusual."

    "What a waste of effort! How can you think a new variation can be thought of after two hundred billion years. There can be nothing new."

    For a moment Brock shifted out of phase and out of communion, so that Ames had to hurry to adjust his lines of force. He caught the drift of other-thoughts as he did so, the view of the powdered galaxies against the velvet of nothingness, and the lines of force pulsing in endless multitudes of energy-life, lying between the galaxies.

    Ames said, “Please absorb my thoughts, Brock. Don’t close out. I’ve thought of manipulating Matter. Imagine! A symphony of Matter. Why bother with Energy. Of course, there’s nothing new in Energy; how can there be? Doesn’t that show we must deal with Matter?”


    Ames interpreted Brock’s energy-vibrations as those of disgust.

    He said, “Why not? We were once Matter ourselves back — back — Oh, trillion years ago anyway! Why not build objects in a Matter medium, or abstract forms or — listen, Brock — why not build up an imitation of ourselves in Matter, ourselves as we used to be?”

    Brock said, “I don’t remember how that was. No one does.”

    "I do," said Ames with energy, "I’ve been thinking of nothing else and I am beginning to remember. Brock, let me show you. Tell me if I’m right. Tell me."

    "No. This is silly. It’s — repulsive."

    "Let me try, Brock. We’ve been friends; we’ve pulsed energy together from the beginning — from the moment we became what we are. Brock, please!"

    "Then, quickly."

    Ames had not felt such a tremor along his own lines of force in — well, in how long? If he tried it now for Brock and it worked he could dare manipulate Matter before the assembled Energy-beings who had so drearily waited over the eons for something new.

    The Matter was thin out there between the galaxies, but Ames gathered it, scraping it together over the cubic light-years, choosing the atoms, achieving a clayey consistency and forcing matter into an ovoid form that spread out below.

    "Don’t you remember, Brock?" he asked softly. "Wasn’t it something like this?"

    Brock’s vortex trembled in phase. “Don’t make me remember. I don’t remember.”

    "That was the head. They called it the head. I remember it so clearly, I want to say it. I mean with sound." He waited, then said "Look, do you remember that?"

    On the upper front of the ovoid appeared HEAD.

    "What is that?" asked Brock.

    "That’s the word for head. The symbols that meant the word in sound. Tell me you remember, Brock!"

    "There was something," said Brock hesitantly, "something in the middle." A vertical bulge formed.

    Ames said, “Yes! Nose, that’s it!” And NOSE appeared upon it. “And those are eyes on either side,” LEFT EYE — RIGHT EYE.

    Ames regarded what he had formed, his lines of force pulsing slowly. Was he sure he liked this?

    "Mouth," he said, in small quiverings, "and chin and Adam’s apple, and the collar-bones. How the words come back to me." They appeared on the form.

    Brock said, “I haven’t thought of them for hundreds of billions of years. Why have you reminded me? Why?”

    Ames was momentarily lost in his thoughts, “Something else. Organs to hear with; something for the sound waves. Ears! Where do they go? I don’t remember where to put them!”

    Brock cried out, “Leave it alone! Ears and all else! Don’t remember!”

    Ames said, uncertainly, “What is wrong with remembering?”

    "Because the outside wasn’t rough and cold like that but smooth and warm. Because the eyes were tender and alive and the lips of the mouth trembled and were soft on mine." Brock’s lines of forces beat and wavered, beat and wavered.

    Ames said, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

    "You’re reminding me that once I was a woman and knew love; that eyes do more than see and I have none to do it for me."

    With violence, she added matter to the rough-hewn head and said, “Then let them do it” and turned and fled.

    And Ames saw and remembered, too, that once he had been a man. The force of his vortex split the head in two and he fled back across the galaxies on the energy-track of Brock — back to the endless doom of life.

    And the eyes of the shattered head of Matter still glistened with the moisture that Brock had placed there to represent tears. The head of Matter did that which the energy-beings could do no longer and it wept for all humanity, and for the fragile beauty of the bodies they had once given up, a trillion years ago.

    Eyes Do More Than See by Isaac Asimov
    — 2 months ago