Thursday, April 30, 2009

" the look-&-take "


beauty beauty, i can see.
beauty beauty, resoundingly.

beauty beauty, photographically.
no beauty left within me.



Wednesday, April 29, 2009

" nothing like a bike ride "


when you're riding a bike, there is a feeling that reverberates throughout your entire being, that in no small way, completes a circuit within your soul.

the sense of freedom, or exhilaration, of a sublime calm and peacefulness which envelops and duplicates as you slice through the air like an arrow.

there's nothing like a bike ride.

when you're riding a bike, your body is half at rest and half in action. legs push and pump alongside increased heart rates. arms clutch and flex with each stride. the fingers grip, and the world blurs beautifully past.

you find yourself becoming more aware and sounds enter your ears for snippets of seconds, then fall behind with the fallen flower blossoms, the swells of dust, and the worries of the world.

there's nothing like a bike ride.



" the way and whetting of apetites "


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Tuesday, April 28, 2009

" of sleep patterns and wild dreams "


there will always be moments and distinctly unique situations of 'before-and-after.'

the ones about your school work, those ones about getting an epiphany at 3am in the morning about your life, one about the path to your first victory of your first love, and the one about the one about the way you picked yourself up after the end of your first love.

there will always be these moments. in droves they'll occur, and even without you noticing it, it is happening as you read this. yes, you actually are finding yourself in one or more peculiarly specific transitional moments right now. and isn't that amazing?


i know i've been away for a little while, but did we all collapse and wallow? did the earth stop spinning, did you not get your fix some other ingenious way?

everyone would like to think that the things they say, the lines they write, and the actions and work you do will speak volumes and volumes, amassing countless regarders and the like to, what could very well be in the end, your life's materworks.

and maybe that will exist later. and maybe this is it existing at it's apex right now. and are you okay with how vague and blithely surreal it all is?

i've had beautiful dreams the past few days, fueled by less sleep than i'd like, and my heart full to the brim with hopes and desires, with dreamery and creamery, with verve, with blood pumping madly furiously without respite, and with a top-spinning boiling creativity bristling with electricity. it is sort of amazing.


i know i promised this year, to all four of you now reading, that i'd try my best to share one photograph a day with the universe at large. and i do intend to keep that challenge vibrant and true. but please bear with the fact that i'm three days back to the states from an amazing vacay, and i've only now finished the first two days photos out of a total of 1905 individual documents of digital imagery.

my brain. my heart. my body. my eventual and profoundly present life.

it's happening right now, and there's nothing you can do to slow it's course. we're undoubtedly moving forward.

until i get it all organized, could we please have a little more of this:

thank you.


Monday, April 06, 2009

" the faster you run "


it seems that when we desire something, we are told to go after it. to sprint, dash, lunge, entreat, and woo. there's nothing particularly distasteful about following such suggestions, and perhaps pursuing your heart's desire with verve, with vigor.

but perhaps you have, or at least tried to, and came up a step behind, a moment too soon, or a moment too late. it's okay to hurt, that means it was real.

i'm not sure of what's going to happen, but i know that if i keep desiring something with all that flash and energy, something has to give. so instead of going full force towards a known, i'm going to attempt to pull the fastest 'fast one,' and go around the back way; i'm going to head into the unknown.

i'll be gone for some time, out there in the wide wonder of the world, in the hopes of building a perspective. one of what to do, where to stride towards, what to walk away from, and what exactly is out there in this world that moves me anymore.

i'm going to take my circle existence and rolltumble forward and all over, until i meander my way into a momentary venn diagram out there, and let it be something spectacular, before coming back home.

miss me if you want to, email if you want to, but in our collective absence from one another, take some time to craft together a venn diagram of understanding in your circle.

it's springtime, and i'm getting fidgety.

tonight's homework:

step out, ride that bike, dance, meander; it's all out there somwhere.



Sunday, April 05, 2009

" 2:16am, and the winds are howling "


the long ride home in this furious sway of a wind, uphill and alone, was made more difficult by the flailing inability of my bicycle's chain to remain in traction upon the gear hub.

i would ride in the darkness, which was only offset by the intermittent blinking flash of my headlight, and with every quiver of the frame and its weight upon a mildly uneven surface, the chain would pop off without any remorse.

i would have to grimace inward, slow down to a crawl, hop off, and realign the loose mechanics; fingers dirty and thickly slick with grease, legs aching from the interrupted pace.

i could see the light of my building, like a somber beacon wooing me home with its illuminating siren qualities. fiddling with the keys, plodding up the two flights with the bicycle held aloft, the victory of arriving home felt like a warn weary engagement with a host unimpressed.

i was home, and there was no reverie, excepting the pleasure of being home.


avril 02:

avril 03:

avril 04:

avril 05:


Wednesday, April 01, 2009

" so much everything "


through whispers or songs, we're always trying to speak the inherent truths of our hearts. i'll sing you a quiet little tune which lays it bare and exposed.

i'll whisper into your ears packaged little secrets tied up with those same strings which moor me to your fading; my collected memories clutch like an anchor.

so many things, so many moments, so many. fleeting, fluttering, at times faltering.

how can i know the when and where, if i don't know the who? and the idea fades and wanes into nothingness, like a dream dissolving into wretched awakenings.