tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:/posts mark von rosenstiel is present. 2018-03-13T16:15:20Z tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1260532 2018-03-12T22:44:20Z 2018-03-13T16:15:20Z that time we built a super straight clock tower (?)

They said we were stacking stones, waiting for god. The best I could tell, we were just  making a clock tower with a big bell in it. The bell currently hung between two mules parked outside of a blacksmith's shop. They didn't have names, but everyone said their ears were perfectly shaped like almonds. The bell was suspended by a small bamboo stalk, across the mule's backs, hanging about 2 feet from the ground; dust settled easily under the bell and sound was absorbed as if carelessly walking into the ocean. Like I said, I didn't know much about why stones needed to be stacked, but over time -- cleaning the surfaces, making things square -- that bell ended up just about where the tops of the trees ended. I also don't think I ever figured out anything about god, but once that bell was struck, pulled gently by a rope attached to the braying of a donkey, the sound didn't walk aimlessly into the ocean, it seemed to wander around in the clouds; maybe a bit like someone sitting quietly alone reading a newspaper.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1259382 2018-03-10T14:14:59Z 2018-03-10T14:15:00Z Eastern European Apple ad. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1250192 2018-02-20T04:42:33Z 2018-02-20T18:11:22Z MOMENTS THAT HELP KEEP THE PACE OF TIME (this may possibly be a duration)
I know a woman who mumbles words into my armpit. I never can hear what she says, but I love that it reminds me of how much more there always is to say to her.

Under this boat, a hull supports, which is held up by water.
the water goes, actually becoming quite bright. Stones sit on shores with wispy seaweed hair as videos are made for high school loves. 

Tilt your head and squint an eye against oblique sunlight through cafe windows and you'll see a single stone, perhaps on a shore or at some ocean depth, where kelp is seeded, growing
towards parted waves that hold a song about home. Home is large sunglasses and musk. Home is a lot of things I have yet to see.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1233930 2018-01-18T17:20:51Z 2018-01-18T17:20:51Z siskel and ebert
Has anything every been too fast? Or too furious? Seems impossible...
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1233795 2018-01-18T13:29:09Z 2018-01-18T13:29:09Z daydream
I had this thought while I was sitting in a cafe, that there was the possibility that the next time I came to the cafe it would be in the middle of a robbery. The robber would only let people go who could prove they had been in the cafe before. I became really excited when, in the present moment, I saw this small, golden tack pressed into the ceiling near my table. 

I envisioned my future self, strolling into the cafe with headphones on, oblivious to the current state of affairs. As I wipe my feet on the entry mat, I look up to see myself face-to-face with a man in a ski  mask holding a gun, demanding if I have ever been in this cafe before. I maintain eye contact, and slowly raise my right hand towards the ceiling, off to my right side out of my line of site, finger extended. I simply say: A golden tack.

I am set free.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1233440 2018-01-17T18:49:44Z 2018-01-17T19:50:04Z ham and cheese Waiting for a traffic light to change green, she and I decided to start a band called "Rome Was Totally Built in a Day". In the lane next to us was a panel van that had a bobble head of Seattle icon Ken Griffey JR on the dashboard. The man driving the car was shaving himself with an electric razor; one of those ones that has three circular cutting heads organized to be as close as possible on a planar surface. 

We'd practice together everyday while laying around on the floor of a friend's garage. Our first song was titled "Ken Griffey JR doesn't care how I drive, he just loves me." We thought it was hilarious and talked about what our friends would think about it when we eventually played it for them. We'd go round and round changing verses.

One night it got a bit late and we decided to go to the cinema after practice and see some Marvel movie that was in theaters. It was one of the ones where no one is wearing a cape. The theater had a new addition of ham and cheese popcorn; we both were really excited. I suggested we write a new song called, "Ham and cheese popcorn tastes good while falling in love in a theatre." She laughed and rolled her eyes. 

We never played any of our songs to our friends.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1233435 2018-01-17T18:45:59Z 2018-01-17T18:52:37Z we're either destroying ourselves our discovering the words for color
It's been exciting to see this piece come to life. It's also been awesome to finish a whole two days early from opening and have 48 hours to sit around, bite my nails, and hope nothing breaks. This has also been one of the more nebulous pieces I've made in recent memory, in that the ideas that have gone into it have contracted and expanded within my head a lot more than usual. Where it started is still there, but it's a bit like a 40 year old talking about what sort of lunches he had in kindergarten and how it currently impacts his life.

tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1229296 2018-01-09T18:20:33Z 2018-01-09T18:20:34Z the gang. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1228687 2018-01-08T20:42:38Z 2018-01-08T20:42:39Z A few more nests and one ton of mineral dust and I'll call it finished. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1227476 2018-01-06T14:41:47Z 2018-01-06T14:41:48Z the walk from apartment to buying a welding helmet
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1219769 2017-12-21T12:42:19Z 2017-12-21T12:42:20Z tumble weeds from the future. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1216900 2017-12-14T21:36:33Z 2018-01-14T18:09:19Z too much butter

He started buttoning his shirt from the very top button: the one that is hidden by the knot of a tie. Most people start at the button 3 or 4 down and then work their way up or down like a beagle following the scent of some wounded animal; or maybe a black lab, golden retriever mix with the buttons like small cookies as she makes her way along the outdoor seating area of a bakery.

He owned a small restaurant that was very expensive and didn't have many tables. The only hors d'oeuvre was an entire stick of butter elegantly presented adorned with edible flowers and drizzled with extremely rare olive oil; olive oil created from olives picked from a tree outside the kitchen and ground using human-powered grindstones. A single, toasted piece of bread was served cleaved into the mass of butter; wedged like airplane wreckage among an earth made of dairy. 

Customers would be served this dish, no matter their desires, before their meal. Without fail, they would look cautiously around the restaurant trying to gauge if they were, in fact, supposed to eat the entire stick of butter with only the single dried piece of bread. Since there were so few tables and eating times were always staggered, they had no reference, and fearing embarrassment about not being part of the in crowd, they would consume the entire serving of butter on the tiny cracker; a dairy haystack overburdening a small wagon made of wheat.

When he went home from work, his nose would always be running, but he refused to carry a handkerchief. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling of the metro pretending to examine the route map, letting the snot drip down the back of his throat.

He was usually home by 11.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1216704 2017-12-14T14:57:57Z 2017-12-14T14:57:58Z weekend. oil pastel, lighter fluid, toothbrush. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1216218 2017-12-13T19:33:30Z 2017-12-13T19:33:30Z I get it: could not find out1. Duration/Time tests in C4D. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1216070 2017-12-13T14:21:19Z 2017-12-13T14:21:19Z new machine idea ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1216066 2017-12-13T14:19:18Z 2017-12-13T14:19:19Z budapest landscape ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1211154 2017-12-04T11:48:07Z 2017-12-04T11:48:07Z iloveyou ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1210869 2017-12-03T19:29:37Z 2017-12-03T19:29:37Z Brony ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1210309 2017-12-02T15:32:37Z 2017-12-02T15:32:38Z ghosts ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1207273 2017-11-23T15:43:51Z 2017-11-23T15:43:51Z office culture ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1206850 2017-11-22T15:26:56Z 2017-11-22T15:26:56Z around the studio. ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1203733 2017-11-06T21:17:07Z 2017-11-06T21:17:08Z A day to remember. Thanks Google.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1202554 2017-11-01T18:10:41Z 2017-11-01T18:10:41Z a leaf.

I sometimes imagine a single object and think if I have a memory of it. This object should be something generic and obvious that seems like it would have appeared in any number of moments of my life. 

For instance: a leaf. 

And there are times when I first think of this object and no memory comes to me. Just a blank slate. And it's scary because I can picture a leaf dangling; dangling from what? I don't know. And it feels in that moment like my life is a small box that I have forgotten to take the lid off of; I am an unopened cookie jar on the counter of a life I should be living.

But, thankfully, as my blood pressure starts raising, something comes to mind. Characters and locations drift in from stage left and right and bashfully take the stage. An event looks at me apologetically. An old memory of my friend Eamon, shrugs as if to say, "we're all late sometimes".

And the show goes on. The leaf dangles from a maple tree behind a shrub that is too square, by an intersection that is too round, where a steeple of a church is too triangular. I walk by it to high school, and strangely nothing of consequence has ever taken place under or near it. I just know that that tree has watched me for a large part of my life. Seen different hair cuts and failed attempts at humor.

More recently I see a yellow leaf. It falls from a woman's purple jacket who has just come to see me at a bar. The door she walks through is painted black wood, with 8 perfectly square panes of glass in it which, in their placement, make the bottom of the door look heavier than the top. She smiles and brushes hair from her face, a short asymmetrical haircut. She always has this playful, coy, but also lost and shy look to her; someone in on a joke but a little terrified they will still be left behind. 

She bends down and laughs at her carelessness and puts the leaf back in her pocket not explaining why it is there in the first place. An item with importance seemingly on par with a wallet, yet in the form of discarded foliage. There's some tears, short talk, and a plate of lentils with a side of thinly cut vegetables that come next. But none of that seems to have much to do with the leaf.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1202079 2017-10-30T23:54:36Z 2017-10-30T23:54:36Z little pointless actions can be the hub of a wheel
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1195718 2017-10-03T16:44:29Z 2017-10-03T16:44:29Z arm and deltas ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1192991 2017-09-22T08:18:44Z 2017-09-22T08:18:44Z duck pic ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1186968 2017-08-28T02:37:51Z 2018-01-18T17:37:38Z meat.
You can tell a lot about someone based on how they clean meat off of bones. Is it a delicate process of picking off a few hanging pieces of chicken from a coveted wish bone, or are scraps of meat just a pit stop on the way to cracking open bones for the marrow? 

I've dated a woman whose whole family sat around a meal so that all that was left of a chicken was splintered bones, like scraps around a firewood cutting block. The grandmother was drinking white wine with gin, which I never knew was a thing, but I would guess there is some rhyme somewhere that says you can mix any alcohol that is the same color.

Or there was someone I was seeing briefly that had no problem nibbling raw meat off of a marinating piece of steak just to see how the flavor was adding up.

And I've watched friends who's teeth turn into sandpaper and saws as they grind off the last scrap from a bone that leave the calcium structural element comically white like cartoon dinosaur bones. 

I'm not sure I have a 1-to-1 correspondence between exact personality traits and the way of cleaning bones, but I can feel the relationship in some way. It's like seeing indigo: it's hard to connect verbally, but when I see it, everything makes sense.  
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1167594 2017-06-26T06:30:14Z 2017-06-26T06:30:14Z trying my best to count dominos.
tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1167235 2017-06-25T02:28:02Z 2017-06-25T02:28:02Z Test Beds ]]> tag:markvonrosenstiel.posthaven.com,2013:Post/1156825 2017-05-24T01:12:55Z 2017-05-24T01:12:55Z people I thought I saw today, but probably didn't
1. Mike Pence in a grocery store buying some sort of energy drink.
2. Wolf Blitzer outside of a Starbucks looking worriedly at a parking meter.