I know you're holding onto it. I can see it there, clutched tightly against your chest. You shield it from our eyes, you turn your back when we catch a glimpse of it, but we know you're holding onto something.
Let it go. No, don't gimme it, I don't want it. Just drop it. Right there, right where you stand, right now. Drop it on the ground and step away.
No? You're not ready. Ok, hold onto it longer. Let those knuckles whiten, those muscles cramp. Does it make you feel better, to hold so severely? No, not really. Ah. Why then must you hold onto it? Oh, you're used to it. So, you're used to holding onto that weight, that burden, and you're going to continue to shoulder it. I'm just trying to understand.
It's so heavy, isn't it? The weight is crushing you. You're shorter than you used to be. I remember you being taller and now your posture, it's slumped. All of this holding is aging you.
How will you ever fly? How will you fly when you're holding and clutching and shouldering? You're strong, I can see that, but nobody's that strong.
But I get it, so I'll stop. I know, the weight is yours and yours alone.
Well, if that's the case, then stop making it everyone else's, too.
You've become a real ass lately and we wish you'd just drop it.
Why are some fruits labelled 'organic' and some aren't? I was under the impression that 'organic' meant that the item labelled such was grown naturally. How else are you supposed to grow an apple? On a metal pole? They all grow on the trees, I thought. Perhaps, I guesstimate, the 'organic' in this instance refers to the healthy nature of the fruit's development and growth, ie., the lack of antibiotics, rat death poisons or pesticides sprinkled on top of the blossoming fruit in its infant stages.
That could be 'organic,' I supposed. That apple over there was grown on a metal, pesticide-dipped, stripper's pole and this apple right here was grown in a sunny orchard on the most healthy tree in the entire damned known universe. And the difference in price is a buck a pound.
Well, I don't trust any of it anymore. Misinformation stifles and drowns. Our news channels, our internet's social sites, our stream of consciousness. We're inundated. And yet we continue to use the labels. Organic. Farmer's Choice. Nature's Own. Democrat. Republican. Gay. Straight. Gypsy.
The thing is, you'd think we'd have learned our lesson with using labels. We once labelled fountains, after all. Look where that got us.
It got us to not label fountains.
But no matter! Still to this day, we continue to apply the labels! On clothing. On foods. Drinks. On campaigns. Movements. Labels are plastered, stuck, glued, sewn, adhered, and pinned to every single item you come into contact with on a daily basis. Every. Item. (This blog, even. It's called 'Blogger.')
When's the last time you used a non brand-name anything? An unlabeled bag of chips? Drank from an unlabeled cola? And no, Dr. Thunder doesn't count. Still a label, still a brand.
Yet, that all makes sense. We need labels, don't we? How are we supposed to tell things apart if there are no labels on them?
The labels remind of us the product's integrity. We must have them. Lord knows I label (sign) every single piece of art I've ever been proud of. The ones I'm not proud of? I label with someone else's name, of course, what's it to you. #CLAUSSTUDIOS
And the same goes for the big name manufacturers. They're proud of their product, proud of the way you've become addicted to its fantastically so-so taste, aesthetically horrific package design and magnificently mundane logo.
It's Gluten-Free! The label says so. May as well take a couple then, label-believer! I bought a bushel!
And to think I used to peel off labels on beer bottles! They'd get a little moist from the chilly delight inside and the labels, they'd dampen, making them ripe for a speedy peel-off. This served no purpose other than to pass the time or to satisfy a nervous tick I'd developed for when too long of an awkward silence elapses on a drink-date with a non label peeler.
Wellp, that label-peeling I did? Guess what.
Oh my. This is the part when I was about to compare the peeling off of a beer label to desegregation.
Man, whatta damn mess this post has become. It had promise in the top portion, maybe the first couple of sentences. I liked 'labels' as a through-line, but somewhere along the way it went astray. It was supposed to be about damned 'organic' food and how quickly I could make you fall asleep by pontificating on said subject, which, of course, I know absolute jackshit about.
But it doesn't matter because I lost track.
And that's fine. That's fine. Losing track keeps it interesting. If we always kept track, well then, we'd always know. And where's the adventure in that. The damned joy of it all. I despise the Know-It-All.
I was thinking about a little comic scene for N.O.A.H. the other day and it involved a cargo/loading bay and the Recon Team's Space Cruiser. I've thus far steered clear of environment designs for the ARK 2056X Spacecraft but decided to give it a shot with this 'loading bay' idea in mind.
I looked at some reference online to get the general idea of 'loading bays.' Usually they had a lot of criss crossing lattice work, canisters on the floor, numbers on the ground, and wires randomly making their way about the space. I sketched a rough layout and began blocking in the shapes.
I wanted the language of the Loading Bay inside of the ARK to feel like something we've seen before, but with subtle twists. I decided to add a neon green to Loading Bay 3, maybe each one is color coded per vehicle it houses, or maybe it's absolutely arbitrary. I noticed that once I added the neon green reflective light to the hanging wires they took on the look of vines, which was pretty cool considering the ARK is full of animals.
At any rate, here's the duo of Agent Sly and Agent Coo returning from a quick jaunt around the galaxy, looking for sustainable resources and possible ARK landing zones.
I tweeted a time lapse of this piece, if you're interested in seeing the process.