break away from old habbits - take a word of advice - serve real florida orange juice - orange juice on ice

the most deadly criticism one could make of modern civilization is that apart from its man-made crises and catastraphes, it is not humanly the end, such a civilization can produce only a mass man: incapable of choice, incapable of spontaneous, self-directed activities: at best patient, docile, disciplined to monotonous work to an almost pathetic degree, but increasingly irresponsible as his choices become fewer and fewer...

if we are to create balanced human beings, capable of entering into world-wide co-operation with all other men of good will — and that is the supreme task of our generation, and the foundation of all its other potential achievements — we must give as much weight to the arousal of the emotions and to the expression of moral and esthetic values as we now give to science, to invention, to practical organization. one without the other is impotent.

But what would become of mass production and its system of financial expansion if technical perfection, durability, social efficiency, and human satisfaction were the guiding aims. The very conditions for current financial success — constantly expanding production and replacement — works against these ends. To ensure the rapid absorption of its immense productivity, megatechnics resorts to a score of different devices: consumer credit, installment buying, multiple packaging, non-functional designs, meretricious novelties, shoddy materials, defective workmanship, built-in fragility, or forced obsolescence through frequent arbitrary changes of fashion. Without constant enticement and inveiglement by advertising, production would slow down and level off to normal replacement demand. Otherwise many products could reach a plateau of efficient design which would call for only minimal changes from year to year.

it is our utopias that make the world tolerable to us: the cities and mansions that people dream of are those in which they finally live.

— lewis mumford, 1951

django novo

something new every week

the wall:

through blurry vision

reborn eyes

i see what’s left behind

i will stumble

i will fall

on this new path of mine

by choice to see clearly

and love only dearly

this aim I hope to find

through blurry vision

reborn eyes

until once again I’m blind