equivocality.com is now running version 12, in what I suspect will be the final design iteration for this site.
The gem cannot be polished without friction
I’ve been itching for a new look for a while now, around the time I was in England, something that was reflective of the peace I’ve made with myself and the world.
Life no longer feels like a draft where I’m trying to figure things out, so I’ve abandoned the beloved graph paper background which debuted in version 9. Most elements and text have been toned down a bit to give things a slick, clean, and polished look, very much inspired by Jin Yang’s blog. I’m still in love with the large single-column layout that lets me post big pictures and videos, and most of the design is still based around that.
I’ve never been a fan of vertical rules — they always seem to claustrophobically trap content more than anything else — but I found they brought much-needed definition to the wide column, now that the graph paper is no longer there. Other elements are strong enough on their own to define the underlying grid. I’ve also added some gravity-defying page corners to bring a bit of depth to the layout.
Even though Version 12 has been based significantly on my Version 11 code and design, I decided to give it a major revision number because it’s a new theme at heart. They may look similar, but they feel very different.
Continue reading “Version 12”…
I’ve always maintained that a person isn’t alive if their heart doesn’t pound out of their chest when listening to The Island by Pendulum.
It’s a gradual build-up, most of Pt. 1 Dawn being the development until Pt. 2 Dusk hits (at about the 5:20 mark in the video) and the beats really kick in. Then it’s just waves and waves washing over my body like small orgasms and every hair stands on end.
It’s mesmerizing to literally see how this music makes me feel, as the ripples of goosebumps crest and subside. I can trace the paths of shivers across my skin; some last longer, though they may not be as strong, while others come and go quickly, my body unable to sustain the climax.
This is the only song that has this kind of effect on me. There are plenty of other tracks that give me goosebumps, but none of them do it so many times or with such intensity. By far the strongest peak is during the bridge at 7:10, when everything subsides to the organ, and it’s like you’re being bathed in the warm light of a sunrise.
All I do nowadays is dance. Not in any coordinated manner, mind you, and certainly not in the presence of anyone else.
I’m only now starting to realize how necessary it was for me to survive that crucible last year, and how important it was for me to save myself. It hasn’t tempered the extremes, but they don’t last as long anymore.
It’s comforting to know I’ve been through this before. It wasn’t all for nothing. I’m a little wiser now, and I’m not going to make the same mistakes again.
This winter hit us heavy once more, and like it I refuse to die.
All I want to do lately is go out and shoot and edit and post, but I have no stories to tell. I’m still trying to write them, so I can put them in these cuts and look back and live forever in the memories. To dance among the motion and glimmer, and blink against the brightness of the sun.
I’ve been filled with such tremendous intensity, and hope, and excitement, buoyed by the fact that I’ll always have a guitar and a disarming smile.
Peace has been made with this new-self. It’s as if every change, every cycle I go through, takes time for me to get used to the new skin. I know I’ll always be flawed. I’ll always make mistakes, but that means I’ll always be learning.
I’ve had enough of crazy developments. I’ll be happy once the dust settles and I’m back to my regular life again, some point beyond the summer. The spring is never remarkable; it’s just a haze between the heat and the snow. It already smells like hot summers nights, a comforting mix of pollen and concrete. It’s gonna be oh so good.
Rob: Sometimes it still hurts. You know how it is, man. It’s like, you wake up every day and it hurts a little bit less, and then you wake up one day and it doesn’t hurt at all. And the funny thing is, is that, this is kinda wierd, but it’s like, it’s like you almost miss that pain.
Mike: You miss the pain?
Rob: Yeah, for the same reason that you missed her… because you lived with it for so long.
I’m in my last days of high-school again. Pretty much this. Feeling like I have the rest of my life ahead of me with so much to look forward to, but only cause I’m trying to shed everything that happened in the final disastrous year.
I remember writing a lot back then in this black notebook. It was filled with all these verbal scribbles, short passages of text, words, lyrics, emotions I couldn’t contain. My thoughts were a jumble, lost somewhere between the pain and the love of how it made me feel alive.
That’s how I feel now. Old habits break hard.
About once every two years I unceremoniously threw it out and bought a new one, because I hated everything in it. I never wanted to think of myself as the person who wrote all the things in there. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll look back on these entries one day and think the same.