PICTURES of OTHER things: March 2010

'For a gentle yet chivalric moment, I was alone somewhere I'd always wanted to be. I guess alive, of course. If anyone else had come by, I'd have let them pass through, given them anything they needed. Yet somehow, that never came to be necessary. I became endlessly locked in a time that wouldn't change. And was that a full moon in the daytime sky, or was I just imagining it?'

'The gentleman was covered in oil and straw - some sort of rite having to do with the changing of the seasons, or the clocks, or something I forget. No one got up as I entered; then again neither did anyone get up as I left.'

'Something made me think of running up a bill - a very large tab, in fact, at T.C.P. in Philadelphia though named for Trenton. Go figure.'

'There was no Magisterium for sure at the old generating plant. A driving rain, with wind, along the Delaware River, with nothing in it for me but rugged memory.'

'The way things are, the ways things were. The ways things could be, the way things should be.'

'Intending to move, I never moved. Intending to disappear, I never disappeared. The shark-infested waters of my personal desuetude had long ago taken me over.'

'OK, just turn this fucking page. I'm tired of this, I'm tired of that. Dreary's not enough. I'm tired of everything.'

'Ah yes, this life has continuation, yet so much remains a blur. A certain form of relativity makes things happen, and then they fade away. In this, we are probably fortunate.'

'Along the way, watching intently, through gated vistas of sealed minds and closed approaches, the life we look at can be either cramped and closed or wide and expansive. Either way, we find our goals reflected in the views we've espoused - as one cannot be without the other. Be careful, thus, what you wish for, it might very well turn out to be you!'

'You broke into my densest thoughts, trespassing like a vivid red, breaking through the fog and lighting up all my fires. The silence, the pure quiet within your presence, was amazing to me. And I'd broken, as well, through the jail cell of self.'

'The soft sequence of color and form, each with a place and a story of their own. Quite stunning, this, in its soft, gentle way. Thinking and thinking, as I sauntered by - perhaps they should be called 'Prosographs!'

'Things like this just happen. For instance, I was thinking of the Third Brumaire when I realized, in the world around me, the light was again changing and everything was intensifying; which snapped me back to reality quite quick.'

'Strong assortments of city steam; running like an underground clock, at all hours, always.'

'How I got to this point, I'll never know. As if on a sightseeing bus running out of control, the hands were off the wheel and the axle-turn was spinning fast. The scenery flew by, fast and furious and, well yes, weirdly unexpected.'

'100 miles of fortitude, yet nothing waiting for me at the end of the line.'

'The simple act of an apple - color, form, fragrance. Everything unchanged, for thousands of years. Like the shape and the form of the tree itself, carried over all time, essence unchanged. (Only the mediocrity of Greed making it a commodity).'

'In the half-shade of a peculiar and lovely light, I stepped to a doorway leading to a mystery of shape and form. Warily, I stepped forward, first making sure of the time and place.'

'Heretofore unknown, and heretofore unlettered.'

'In a million dollar world of small things, it's the small things which count.'

'Staid semblance of the ritual we live : colors frightfully real, the cross fades, the rest stands.'

'Here it is, again cropped and with purpose. I think to myself, which shall it be?'

'Broad glaze of my gleam; the quiet of clear glass, all in a row.'

'When I last saw them passing, they were misted in mystery, darkened by a darkness, kept close, as it were, less by an attraction to each other than by an aversion to everything around them. The world remained an elusive mystery.'

'I tried to review my despair turned to happiness : it bore no recognition, yet I walked away elated. All sadness was gone.'

'My mind is a wasted plaything. A condensed city? An adult gift? No turn on red.'

'Right smack dab in the middle of everywhere, my hands had broken over the blackened anvil, the heat from the flames was voracious, but - outside of those small quarters - the world had somehow opened up, lightened, and (seemingly) flown away. In my bliss, I was nowhere. In my wandering dreams, everywhere.'

PICTURES of OTHER things

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Monday, March 08, 2010

Sunday, March 07, 2010

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