Hello darlin', take a peek at my new jewelry drawer!

Let's talk about something that's really important and will bring light into your cold, snowy life:  COSTUME JEWELRY ORGANIZATION!

As we talked about IN 2014 I wanted to organize my mess of jewelry in concordance with my bedroom redo.  It felt right.  I'm adulting one drawer at a time.  

So in true Virgo fashion I began a downward research spiral of all the jewelry organization systems on the market until I wanted to die and then made an impulse decision.

Behold the Ampersand jewelry trays from - wait for it - Bed Bath and Beyond!  I feel so solidly Middle Class!  My 401k immediately gained 3%.  I don't think I've bought anything from BB&B in years but here we are, trying to avoid that one weird dude in a blue apron and all the good candy at the front near the checkout.  

I didn't want something plastic and these looked relatively classy and functional for my needs.  They also needed to stack inside my Malm dresser which is another reason I bought two four-drawer dressers and not one six-drawer.  Swedish space.  It's the ultimate luxury.

Not only did I like BB&B's options best I even signed up for their text alerts to get the 20% off coupon so I could get everything on sale.  I drank the Kool-Aid.  Or more specifically I inhaled that poisonous parfum they pump through their vents.  

I would get a text every few weeks and then head over and add another piece.  It took awhile but I'm not made of money.  I'm made of Cubic Zirconia and bracelets that turn my arm a little green!

The reason I went with this line was because of my bangle collection.  I have a few and if I laid them all down in their own individual compartments I'd need another Malm dresser.  So they needed to stand up like the architecture of jewelry that they are.

This collection had a good deep tray where I could stand everything up and still be able to close my dresser drawer.  [MS sidebar:  when I went to link to the products at BB&B's website I couldn't find this large three-compartment tray so maybe it's only in stores now?  I'm sorry.  That's my luck.]  

But my current setup fits perfectly in my drawer and getting ready is infinitely easier.  I'm like a real adult!

I think I could fit some smaller trays here on the right but for now it's fine with some travel jewelry bags, my sunglasses (all the cool people include them with their jewelry) and a giant bowl of pearls.  I wear them only when I'm feeling extra French vintage soooo... that one Halloween party from 2003.  

I feel like I have a lot of rings but apparently all my new rings (post 2003) have big thick bands and so they don't actually fit in the ring organizer part.  Well, damn.  But I needed those big squares so we had to make a sacrifice.

the basement level contains an even more random assortment of vintage jewelry finds and a real (?) Tiffany box.  Anytime I get too big for my britches I look at the Mr. T chain I got at Goodwill next to it and feel at home once again.

I would like to add more trays for all my earrings because although I aesthetically like looking at this mess of metal I can't actually find shit in here.  Except for my Conway Twitty pin on the middle left.  Best $3 purchase I ever made.

I have one deep tray that's half full on the bottom and is waiting for my Mema's vintage brooch collection as soon as I remember where it is...  

The weird thing is that I felt like I had TONS of jewelry but since it's been organized I feel like it's less than I thought.  So that means I should buy MOAR JEWELRY.

I wish I had this kind of jewelry horde:

Sadly, this seems to be all the way in Texas.

Like an embarrassment of fake riches but in neat orderly boxes.  What a perfect metaphor for my life.

All in all I think I spent about $80 total which was spread out over the course of a couple of months so that's not too bad.

Not only am I an organized and sparkly adult, I'm a financially responsible one!

I bet Conway Twitty liked that kind of woman.

After spending twenty minutes going through Conway Twitty pics and songs I suddenly remembered that my Mema - the same one with lots of costume jewelry I've momentarily replaced - also loved Conway Twitty!  It must be genetic.

This post wrapped up in surprisingly delightful and nostalgic ways!

And if you don't think Slow Hand is the best sexiest song ever then I can't help you.

Happy Belated Valentine's Day with that one.

Everyone else in the country wants to be tied up right now and I'm lusting after the lyrics of old country songs.  

Okay so I DID watch Secretary twice this past weekend because James Spader is JAMES FUCKING SPADER so I'm not afraid of non-vanilla things.  

Sometimes I just prefer things in nicely-lined, imitation-suede boxes.

This post has now gone further down the spiral so I'll stop talking before I drag Trent Reznor into this mess.

I'm a member of the Illuminati now.

If you've followed me for a hot minute you know that I'm a Beyonce fan.  Nay, I'm a stan.  I'm a proud member of the Beyhive, secret agent of the Beygency, loyal servant to my High Priestess of the Sparkle Leotard.  

If you're already rolling your eyes you might want to skip this post.

I've always had a special place in my heart for her since we are roughly the same age, both Virgos and enjoy taking glam to one step above what the situation might warrant.  I always knew her concerts were amazing and halfheartedly tried to see her last summer on the Mrs. Carter World Tour but it never happened.  

But then she dropped that album in December and shit got real.  I HAD to be in her presence.  I told myself I was going to see her next tour no matter what.  And when the On the Run tour was announced there was no question that I would give her all my money (up to $125) so I could bask in her glow in person (from more than a football field length away).

To prepare myself I began to abstain from all things Knowles-Carter-related about a month before the show: no music, no tour gifs, no Buzzfeed lists, nothing.  I needed to become a temporary born-again Beyonce virgin before the honeymoon.  

The day before the show my uterus had some plans of its own but I literally shut that shit down using willpower and verbal abuse.  I can't be bothered with such corporeal nonsense during such a spiritual experience.  My uterine lining was literally too scared to come out of my body.

Next I gathered an appropriate outfit.  I was not there to peacock around and distract from the star, I was there to sweat and act a fool and walk a mile from the hotel to get to the Georgia Dome in comfortable shoes.  

Pretty much what I look like all the time.

And I chose wisely.  I can't tell you how many girls I saw in uncomfortable latex and spandex and other -ex clothes with sweaty boobage spilling out the side hobbling through downtown Atlanta wearing house shoes or flip flops while their boyfriends carried their stilettos.  I have to respect their commitment to their freakum dresses because I saw more ass cheeks than I ever thought possible during the sunlight.  

I also didn't want to have my weak, mortal body disrupt the show so after a few cocktails with dinner I abstained from all liquids about an hour before the show started.  I could not allow my bladder to interrupt the night.  

We finally got to our far away seats and waited for the Queen.  For almost an hour.  I guess when you're royalty time is of no concern to you.  I was pretty sure I was going to cry at the mere sight of her so waiting probably worked out better for me as it calmed my nerves a bit and we could find the wifi signal.  

While we waited "This is not real life" was displayed on the large screens in case we were confused about this being an alternate universe of magnificence.  Finally the lights went down and my life finally had purpose.  Over artistically edited video "Move That Dope" started playing and I knew they were going to come HARD tonight.

Then the screens parted and they made their entrance it was everything you would hope.  

Screaming, vibrating, earth-shattering Beyness and a very large smoke machine.  

Oh and Jay Z.

I kinda forget that Jay Z is JAY FUCKING Z.  

We started with 'Bonnie and Clyde' and followed their "relationship" throughout their respective discographies - hot outlaw sex on a platter, diva power, hustling, more nasty fucking, some religious stuff, then they got married, then someone *cough* cheated, now they've forgive each other again as 'On the Run' reminded us that they are the ultimate outlaws and Bey looks way hotter in a ski mask than I ever could.

They did not disappoint.  Not for one second did I feel like I could have gone to the bathroom.

If you can imagine the excitement of the Superbowl half time show except they scrubbed away all the sweetness (Kelly) and light (Michelle) and threw in some Tarantino then you have On The Run.

It's like every Beyonce gif of perfection came to life for 2.5 hours of non stop hair-tossing, ass-shaking, dirty, gritty, boss bitch action.  If you want to know why your fun little Bootylicious girl is now the queen of the world then this is it.

here

And this.

You don't think as a grown-ass human being that you will scream for another woman's ass when it appears on a giant jumbotron screen but you will, my friend.  You will.

I wish that I had been closer so I could have really lost my shit amongst my fellow superfans where it would have been normal.  Instead I was so high up that I was afraid to dance in case I fall straight down to meet my doom or embarrass the people taking selfies.

So close yet so far...

But I did throw my diamond up very discreetly a few times.  I know they felt it.  There's a special light that shines when a white girl throws up a diamond - it's like the Care Bear Stare.  It's full of hugs and cheer.  

Say what you will about these two but I have mad amounts of respect for their artistic vision.  Collaborating with your spouse - who happens to be the best in the world a at what they do - to create the ultimate fantasy of love, death, sex and adventure and do it successfully is a pretty legendary thing. 

It's the apex of storytelling and gangsta shit backed with some fuck hard bass beats.

At the end they let us know that play time was over and that "This is real life" as their secret home moves were revealed on the jumbotron.   Wedding clips and Blue Ivy giggles and matching tattoos and family stuff played on screen while the royal couple stood on stage arm in arm while Beyonce sang Halo to the baby and we all cried.  

I don't give a fuck how carefully it was all orchestrated you can't look at someone's baby and not feel like part of the family.  It was worth my movie ticket price.  Whether you paid $100 or $1000 you got your money's worth.

So all 50,000 of us dried our tears (and put slippers back on if necessary) and made the walk back to the hotel safe in the knowledge that baby Blue Ivy is angel and that your life is forever changed from watching Yonce grind on some chairs.

I may have been spiritually complete but after not having had any water in five hours and screaming in hysteria for most of that I was physically depleted and possibly already hungover.  I was not able to form coherent sentences and may have even been in a trance.  I'm not sure.  

What I AM sure of is that at about 4 in the morning all of my corporeal needs returned with a vengeance.  I could only hold our for so long.

Not only did I exhaust myself, I exhausted my camera battery taking shitty pictures and video that are useless.  This is totally fine because I've spent the last week rewatching the tour from OTHER people's clips and pictures.  But not any show - the ATLANTA show.  I ain't here for your shit, Miami.

I strongly recommend that you listen to the The Read's recap of the concert because it is 700 times more entertaining than mine even if you hate Beyonce.  I listened to it twice because they GET IT.  I also listened to their review of Beyonce's album release in December again because I can't get enough.  Nostalgia and all.

If you haven't read the numerous lists out on the internet yet here are some of my personal highlights from the show:

- Those wind machines aren't just for show.  After Beyonce finished a set and we waited for Jay Z to perform I could see Beyonce bend down on the side of the stage outside of the spotlight and wipe off sweat with towel after towel and throw them into the audience.  Sometimes people bring her towels just for this reason.  Don't nobody ever say she don't love her fans.

- I love when Bey gets angry and starts cussing (The Read mentions this too).  Nothing brings me greater joy than hearing sweet little Beyonce screams "MOTHERFUCKER" while pretending to rob a bank.  Or when she gets indignant and  yells "I'M RICH!" or gestures to her fine ass while talking shit about another woman that's trying to take her man.  Ring the alarm, indeed.

- The bevy of costumes was spectacular as to be expected (read more on each outfit on her Tumblr like here with Project Runway alum Michael Costello or this Diesel outfit), but one of my favorites was her American flag train that she closed the show with.  It was actually a shirt tied around her waist (so badass) but it felt beyond luxurious and of course looked marvelous billowing in front of the wind machine.  Bitch knows how to hit her mark.

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- Although I wasn't truly there for Jay Z every time a song came on I remembered "oh yeah, this shit is fucking amazing!"  Everything from Magna Carta deserves to be listened to (and rapped along with) in a stadium.  It's that big.  Fuckwithmeyouknowigotit.  *dead*

- Flawless was on of my favorite live numbers.  Gahtdamn.  She wore a Versace bodysuit and a helmet with a gold mohawk.  I have no words.  It made no sense and yet all the sense in the world.

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However, sitting in a completely dark venue with nothing but Chimamanda Adichie's words about feminism flashing on a giant screen to thousands of rapt people felt pretty fucking powerful and I may have choked up slightly. 

- This fine couple really knows how to do other people's music.  Beyonce did Lauryn Hill's Ex-Factor while we sang every word and then we all lost our collective shit with a Michael Jackson sample in Love on Top.  She sang Justin Timberlake's part of Holy Grail better than he did. Jay Z rapped a bit of Bun B's verse in Big Pimpin and *I* lost my shit but I'm just incredibly partial to that bit, you illiterate sonofabitch.

- I go crazy for Beyonce's over-the-top, sometimes-syncopated dancing ESPECIALLY when she does street dance moves.  But when she dropped the Nae Nae IN Atlanta during 'Diva' people went bananas.  By people I mean ME.

See the full gif set here

- Jay Z doesn't need another living soul to perform with, he's got his funky and expressive hands and that's enough.

- After some drama with my original Bey buddy I had to find someone to take my extra ticket the night before the show.  Fortunately my friends and the Knowles-Carter angel posse found a replacement.  My new date was only moderately fond of Beyonce but was very understanding when I ignored him for three hours during the show.  But in the end I made a new friend.  We have a special bond no one can break.  On the Run brings people together, y'all.

- Partly what made this show so much fun to watch is that you could tell they were having fun too.  No sourpusses allowed.  We're here to party.  Drunk In Love in Atlanta - they were so cute right at the end.

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- Les Twins.  Beyonce usually only performs with her all-ladyperson band and backup dancers except for twin brothers who happen to be French models.  Because DUH.  And they were truly spectacular and I would totally break my only-ladies-allowed policy for them too.

All images in this post by Rob Hoffman unless otherwise noted.  More of his ATL pics here.

- Towards the end of the show a very passionate fan about five seats over from me began screaming his love for Beyonce at the top of his lungs for about half an hour.  Since she was about the size of an ant to us his impassioned pleas fell on deaf ears.  Except ours.  But he kept screaming he loved her because "SHE HAD TO KNOW."  

We all laughed but we were all screaming just like him on the inside.  Bravo to you, sir.  You said what we all felt anyway.

The HBO documentary of the concert is coming in September so for all you closet Yonce fans reading (I KNOW you're out there) you can witness the event too.

I'll be watching it nightly before bed until Blue Ivy's concert footage leaks.

Summer Bucket List: Moderately qualified to represent the LBC.

Now that we've officially moved into June I figured I would jump on the blogger bandwagon and write down some things that I'm interested in doing this summer.  

I'm all about trying to capture the exquisite details of the season...  soaking up the sun...  appreciating the contrast of salty language and sweet tea... learning to relish the oppressive mantle of Southern heat that readies us for the harshness of life's cruelty...  *raises fist towards the sweltering sky*

If you read that in Nicole Kidman's Cold Mountain voice it sounds perfectly affected and overdone.

Basically I'm trying to find joyful things about this hell season to avoid thinking about crotch sweat and my driveway being infested with those red mites again, gawddammit.

A summer bucket list.  

YOLO.

Let's start out with the easy stuff...

- Keep my car washed and shiny. Like on the INSIDE.  Where I can't just rely on driving fast through the rain.  

- Make a mix cd (hey, my car is old as well as dirty) but it'll only include Doin' Time (Summertime) by Sublime.  It's the only music I needed in 1996 and the only music I need now.

- Dance to the rhythm.  It gets harder.

- Try to use cut flowers in my house sometimes even though I'm not a big flower person.  I mean, I'm not a giant humonoid/flower hybrid sentient being but I also don't really respond to cut flowers.  They die.  And frankly, I can kill a non-flowering plant rull easy and it's cheaper.  But maybe I'll pretend to be girly and elegant and grab a bouquet at the neighborhood market (Costco) for something different. This seems summery and fun.

- See lots of terrible movies just so I can sit in a deliciously cold movie theater on the hottest days in a sweater.  A summer sweater.  One of my most favorite things in the world for no reason I can come up with.  Like ice cream in winter or arson in Spring.

- Learn how to wear a headwrap with charm.  Frankly, I'm a dirty person on the weekends right now.  I'm in the yard a lot therefore I'm sweaty and have gross hair and when someone calls me to have a margarita or I need to run to the store for emergency bags of dirt I don't have time to "dress up" or "bathe." I'm thirsty NOW.  

Something vintage like this:

via Seamless

This girl is the cutest and she's gonna learn me real good.

- Get soaked in the summer rain. You smell mineral-y and when you dry your hair and skin feel amazing.  Not a substitute for actual bathing (me or my car) but can work pre-headwrap if I'm in a rush, of course.

- Lay on diving board with nothing on but pink fur.  Get 80-yr-old neighbor to Instagram me.

June Wilkinson, Hi-Life, November 1959

- Or at least recreate this.

The Birth of Suburbia by Rosaleen Ryan

- Hell, I want to GET IN SOME WATER!  I love love LOVE to swim - well, it's more like water twirling than stroking for a purpose [MS sidebar: *arches brow*] - but I never get to do it anymore.  I am not above splashing around in a kiddie pool. 

-  As a child/college student I would always follow swimming adventures with a box of mac and cheese so I'm turning this kiddie pool into a white trash extravaganza.  Throw in a Dr. Thunder and we 'bout to get turnt up at the Ranch, y'all.

- I think I want to get beautified this summer and do some pampering.  I love what sweating, heat and vitamin D does for my skin so I'm gonna focus on making my skin beautiful.  I already take prescription amounts of the big D so now all I have to do is use tons of clay masks and rub a sliced lemon all over my body every morning at dawn while I chant to the morning sun.

- Chant at the morning sun until my mind is quiet and the cops are called.

- Make time for reading books in the middle of the day and not 20 minutes before bedtime when I can't comprehend anything.  Hey Self, might I recommend reading in the kiddie pool you're going to acquire?  Self, you are so smart.

- Drink dirty chai lattes so much I'm embarrassed to even face my barista and bank account.  (SPOILER ALERT: I'm halfway there!)

- I love a day trip and I KNOW you love my Instagrams of abandoned sheds all over the Tennessee valley so I'll try to document the other sheds I haven't seen yet.  Also, I hear there's a really weird rock about two hours away... can't wait!  

- Make all those cocktails that I have pinned.  Drink them myself.  None for you.

Yes. It's called the Tennessee Honey Hole... I'll drink it just for the name alone even if it's bad.

- Call Neil deGrasse Tyson and figure out the magic behind avocado toast. Bitches love avocado toast.

- I'm all about smells lately so I've been laying awake at night thinking about crafting my own essential oil blends.  I would like to smell like a forest full of magic and centaur musk but fresh and girly with notes of citrus and girl power.

- Dress like a white witch. Scare everyone with how nice I am and how good I smell.

- Start selling some things on Etsy.  It's getting a little ridiculous around here and I'll need to come up with the money for the kiddie pool and boxes of mac and cheese.

- From the ashes of the plants I lost over the summer, I'll turn into a phoenix and fly into the sun where my spirit will live forever and haunt you next summer.

If there's anything good on your summer bucket list let me know so I can steal it!

Today was a good day.

I don't know what y'all were doing in the late '80s/early '90s but if you were like me you were probably organizing your Lisa Frank trapper keeper and alphabetizing your R.L. Stine books while listening to gangsta rap.  

I knew what a gangsta lean was long before I learned to drive.  I could draw you a map of South Central L.A. but probably couldn't make it to the grocery store without getting lost in the woods for a few weeks.  

It was a strange mix for us Gen Y kids.  I bet this blog is the result of that kind of childhood...

So needless to say when the following news made its way across my dashboard today (the 21st century version of my Lisa Frank trapper keeper) I almost squeed myself silly.  

Ice Cube - the icy rapper not on Law & Order: SVU if you don't know (and now you know) -

I do believe this gentleman has a connection to the Westside.

- was an architectural draftsman the same time he was a part of N.W.A.  That's right.  Those blueprints came straight outta Compton.  (What percentage of bloggers are making these jokes you bet?  I say about eleventy-seven.)

So with that kind of background he is, naturally, now narrating a video about the Eames House for the 'Pacific Standard Time: Art in L.A. 1945-1980' - the collection of exhibitions about the post-war art and design in Southern California.

Makes total fucking sense to me. 

Fantastic.  Pictures via NYT

Having this poster would make my life complete.

But the video makes my eternity:

"This is going green 1949 style, bitch.  Believe dat."

Just the greatest collection of words ever uttered in the history of the spoken language.

After seeing this I think I've finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up!  Ice Cube and I are basically the same person because according to the NY Times he was a draftsman for a year and I also have almost zero experience in the design world.  We also both think it's appropriate to check yo self before you wreck yo self.   (Sorry, I can't stop.)  And when feeling saucy, I even sound a bit like Ice Cube (if he had a lovechild with Kellie Pickler that was raised a valley girl) so I think it's only reasonable that I should also get to narrate videos of amazing spaces.  In fact, I should do it all over the world!  Like the Travel Channel meets HGTV but baked in a casserole with a can of cream of chicken soup.  

Best show ever.  Even better than Hoarders and Mad Men baked in a casserole with a can of cream of chicken soup.

Check your local listings in the summer of 2017.

I'm goin hillbilly gangsta style, bitch.  Believe dat.

This makes me exceedingly happy.

here

In honor of Movember, I give you my first REAL crush.  (Don't tell Christopher Reeves. RIP)  Those 4th grade boys really didn't have the sophistication or chest hair that I required. 

Get lost in the 'stache above and next time I'll regale you with the story of my new roof.  Right now I'm busy mourning Heavy D *SOB*,  uncovering the strange completely non-erotic world of homoerotic Lord of the Rings fan art (yes, it is an entire category) and watching Muay Thai videos.  

This is called multi-tasking.  

And since you asked:

You'll have to find your own Muay Thai videos.  I can't do everything for you!

And then you can send them to me so I can watch them.  

It's called sharing, y'all.

Tennessee Honey is my new weekend type of fabulosity. Without the shame.

I was subjected to watching an actual commercial online the other day because I couldn't figure out how to X out of the screen fast enough.  I'm glad my reflexes happened to be slow because it turns out it was a commercial for Jack Daniel's.  But not just any regular Jack - a new flava called Tennessee Honey!  Hey hey heeeyyyy!!

Tennessee Honey is now my new 1-900 sex line name and it looks DELICIOUS.  And that's a big deal because I don't even drink dark liquor anymore.

After my early twenties I really can't do much whiskey.  It smells like vinyl booths and shame.  Not my shame - I'm a good girl!  It smells like other people's shame and other people's shame always smells way worse than your own.  Kinda like body odor.  At least you can temper your own stench with the sweet smell of self-righteous pity and abject longing one only experiences in a bar but heaven still can't make a Yankee Candle big enough to mask it completely.  That's including their bestselling 'MacIntosh Apple I Heart America, Katy Perry and Cracker Barrel' scent.  Needless to say I stick to clear spirits and biscuits and gravy. 

The commercial featured the Stone Foxes cover of I'm a King Bee which I rather dig.  

This version sounds like it might work equally well for a vibrator commercial (note to self: After 'Sunday side of life' outdoor furniture line design a line of sex toys! Do not enlist Pantone's color advice.) or something 1-900-TN-HONEY would listen to while getting inspired for work.  If you thought I was to cool to actually post a song from a commercial you'd be wrong.  You can listen to the original version on your own time.  


I don't know when the Stone Foxes turned into the Black Keys but least now I won't confuse them with the Stone Roses which I always get mixed up about and wonder 'why is 1994 coming back to sell be booze and do I really care?'  I didn't even start drinking until 1997 2001 as per the law.  

That's all I got really today...

Just booze, blues and bees...

*awkward silence*


That was a really long post about getting drunk and sex toys that gives you absolutely no worthwhile information or inspiration but this is pretty much what my brain sounds like all the damn time.  Welcome to my world.  


But now I AM rather inspired by booze and blues and bees so here's some honey-colored love for you:

I'm lazy and just linking to my Pinterest... sorry.  But here it is.

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GLITTER HAIR!

How'd this get here...??

here

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Nika Toroptsova via iiiinspired

DOLL HEAD HAIR!!!

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Pretty sure I've posted this before but it deserves a repost...

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Sadly, I can't wear this color because if it comes anywhere near my skin tone a unicorn shits dead babies so I'll have to just embody the spirit of honey. 

By drinking it...

So I hope my weekend is going to sound like blues and honey (does that just mean sticky?).  I've got some really sex, drugs and rock and roll things planned too like painting some furniture, tossing my hair, laundry, getting my oil changed and other sessy honey-inspired things which I can't think of because see note above about being a good girl.  

I might possibly break my ban and try some Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey - I think I feel a No Expectations party coming on...

[MS sidebar: can you believe that 1-900-TN-HONEY works out perfectly to be a phone number?  This is fate!  Somebody call it!  I would lose my shit if my phone actually rang....!]

Harmonious rebellion

No matter how hard you try you can't seem to get away from me anywhere you go on the internweb!!  I wrote a guest post yesterday for the architectural blog of fabulosity the place of dreams. 

The madame of that blog asked me to write about harmony so naturally I wrote about discord because I'm a rebel.  But then I found a fun video that perfectly illustrates harmony and I probably should have written about that instead but it really doesn't need a lot of words and see previous sentence about being a rebel.

MUSIC PORTRAITS by Tatiana Plakhova from Tatiana Plakhova on Vimeo.

It's like dancing sheets of music and architectural blueprints and rainbow colors and omigawd these should totally be animated!  I don't think AutoCAD can do that...

Stills from the artist:

I want this one.  In a 4 foot print...



No wait...  this one.

Ok maybe 3 of these.

It's like James Cameron's The Abyss introduced to the purple Matrix by Stephen Hawking's version of Avatar.  I don't even know what that means but it sounds pretty awesome.   

Check out more more videos and buy prints and wallpapers at Complexity Graphics.  Or not if you're a rebel.