Cuptea is a delightful integration of a disposable cup and teabag packaging. Basically the cover of the teabag blooms into a beautiful disposable cup for tea. No doubt the packaging is a bit elaborate for a simple cup of chai, but I see this more from the ‘love of design’ point of view. I recently witnessed a marketing strategy for an eminent coffee brand, where they went door to door with a hot cuppa brew for select few winners. Place that kind of strategy versus this teacup kind of thoughtful brand integration. Hands down the latter makes a lasting impression.

-Via Yankodesign

-Via Twitter

-Via Behance

I am dreaming of a house just like this one

but larger and opener to the trees, nighter

than day and higher than noon, and you,

visiting, knocking to get in, hoping for icy

milk or hot tea or whatever it is you like.

For each night is a long drink in a short glass.

A drink of blacksound water, such a rush

and fall of lonesome no form can contain it.

And if it isn’t night yet, though I seem to

recall that it is, then it is not for everyone.

Did you receive my invitation? It is not

for everyone. Please come to my house

lit by leaf light. It’s like a book with bright

pages filled with flocks and glens and groves

and overlooked by Pan, that seductive satyr

in whom the fish is also cooked. A book that

took too long to read but minutes to unread—

that is—to forget. Strange are the pages

thus. Nothing but the hope of company.

I made too much pie in expectation. I was

hoping to sit with you in a tree house in a

nightgown in a real way. Did you receive

my invitation? Written in haste, before

leaf blinked out, before the idea fully formed.

An idea like a storm cloud that does not spill

or arrive but moves silently in a direction.

Like a dark book in a long life with a vague

hope in a wood house with an open door.

~by Brenda Shaughnessy

-Via Poetryfoundation

-Via Iso50 Blog

UK label Color By Numbers designed these amusing LEGO-inspired wallets that bring back fond memories of my childhood. The base plate allows the owner to customize their wallet with a selection of bricks they receive with it or just leave it blank. Each wallet is handmade to order and supply is limited.

-Via Design-milk

-Via Mike Matas’ Facebook

Architect Didier Faustino created this epic swing set out of a converted advertising billboard for the Shenzhen-Hong Kong Bi-City Biennial of Urbanism and Architecture. Double Happiness responds to the society of materialism where individual desires seem to be prevailing over all. This nomad piece of urban furniture allows the reactivation of different public spaces and enables inhabitants to reappropriate fragments of their city. They will both escape and dominate public space through a game of equilibrium and desequilibrium. By playing this “risky” game, and testing their own limits, two persons can experience together a new perception of space and recover an awareness of the physical world

-Via Notcot

She wants a house full of cups and the ghosts

of last century’s lesbians; I want a spotless

apartment, a fast computer. She wants a woodstove,

three cords of ash, an axe; I want

a clean gas flame. She wants a row of jars:

oats, coriander, thick green oil;

I want nothing to store. She wants pomanders,

linens, baby quilts, scrapbooks. She wants Wellesley

reunions. I want gleaming floorboards, the river’s

reflection. She wants shrimp and sweat and salt;

she wants chocolate. I want a raku bowl,

steam rising from rice. She wants goats,

chickens, children. Feeding and weeping. I want

wind from the river freshening cleared rooms.

She wants birthdays, theaters, flags, peonies.

I want words like lasers. She wants a mother’s

tenderness. Touch ancient as the river.

I want a woman’s wit swift as a fox.

She’s in her city, meeting

her deadline; I’m in my mill village out late

with the dog, listening to the pinging wind bells, thinking

of the twelve years of wanting, apart and together.

We’ve kissed all weekend; we want

to drive the hundred miles and try it again.

~by Joan Larkin

I have a hard time making my mind take place.
Every input adjusts the chemistry—water, peppermint stick, analogue.
Kisses are circles. With eyes closed, every taste buds almond orange.

Ceiling defines the segment; door, the vector. Exits & entrances.
My location’s ribcage is beneath the changing spectrum’s breast.
Heft of a wet peony, white & pink, drips its honey south.

Conducted back, your body accelerates—biology of a taxi ride.
Kept kempt, migraines at bay, tidy nails, & sneezes away.
Sex through collisions—bridges jumped & limbs tangled.

Or the chromatic staff arranging the spheres’ accidental spills.
Frets & intonations strung across a tempered series of knots,
Strung through the loops of our virtual displacement.

But it isn’t wings or hooks or hooves or horns or see-through or white.
Whether afloat in a boat or aloft in a plane. The way maps affect time.
For a second I think I feel the fleeting texture of your skin.

Lumbar & sacral nerves descend to exits beyond the end of the cord.
Keep the blood in at all costs, even when the wind crackles its cells.
The coming of electricity, half next time & half this:
My five. My unending ache at the absence of you.

~by Bruce Covey

-Via Poetryfoundation