So this, my dear friend, is the truth in its horrifying entirety, and we shall discover together what exactly it is that we seek. The intention here, is to tell my story and to purge all existence until I stand pure and full of light, face forward.
Slip into something Satie, slide in between the shades' shadows as the reprieve from the storm grants us one last wish. Hungry felines feast on my toes too tender to try and tempt.
And just like that severe sinks into flash.
Sizzle
fizzle and
follow me under the overhang to
gorge on the heat exchange.
Soft redivivus rumble
symphonius synch of heart
and head
and hands.
Within your speech is a
literal touch
a tremble a tickle of
fiber and being and
beyond that the silence it leaves behind is austere and taciturn.
Physiological philosophies peak and prick at my skin- begging for exoneration.....
Complicated coordination inept at delivering definition deepens my needs.
It's true. I love to use macro in the creation of my abstract fine art pieces. It's more than the guesswork behind what the image really is- I love a good puzzle, but more importantly it is an expression of how the lines blur between the "big picture" and the singling out of one minute element of the picture. There is simplistic compexity there- it IS an oxymoron. This oxymoron is the construct of humanity, biology, music, photography....it is a study of introspection.
This set was taken somewhere in Lisbon. Even I don't remember where. . . some rotting wall.....
Mathias is an accomplished photographer whm 12 years ago was stricken with Parkinson's, and took up pinhole photography as a result. You can see more about Mathias HERE.
We have shot together twice now, and are becoming fast friends. He is a dear, gentle spirit.
Please donate HERE for research for the cure for Parkinson's so that people like Mathias can continue bringing beauty into this world.
photo above with Mathias surrounded by portraits of 5 generations of his family.
and lastly- my portrait by Mathias using my digital camera, something practically foreign to Mathias' formal film style... However, I still feel it fitting, and it is one of my favorite portraits taken of me. :)
Waiting line wash out weakens willingness to withstand an abbreviated wisdom. Shy particles of sound fall from your lips like snowflakes each perfect and unparalleled. But they fall with such weight and evaporate in our heat instantly, leaving me three seasons hence in significant silence.
Do leaves not fall as such leaving underfoot a symphony of percussive perfection, or the soft swoosh of the seeds that dance and twirl in the air? Oh! That you were able to perennially perform for me the delicacies of acknowledgable adulation instead of the absence administered.
Wrestling to clear myself of sticky cobweb austerity and surface to squirm in my stance so sequestered. Shine solemnity within my swept up memory and release me from propriety. Dance foresight, lead me to leap from ledges, at risk of the fabled fall.
Supposed you hadn't run from your cowardice, flung like a rat into the night to search out your survival. Supposed I hadn't come after you in my bravery, and certainly suffice to say I’ve made a journey based on foolish games of the heart. I've yielded again to her intricacies and her desires, only to be left on the side of the road to wander through the carcasses of the wildflowers.
The utter vastness of this place reminds you of how far there is to run, how she can allude you to believe you can push yourself to the outer corners of the world without crowding out another species, but ‘tis not true my little rodent. Wild and restless is the ache in your heart and in reality what is it you so desperately seek? Ruminate with me on the possibilities of inertia for one second and come back down to the field and the flies and the preserved rot in this place. Lay and watch the clouds migrate and mutate, and recognize your ability to shape shift and sneak outside of yourself.
I, however, populate this field alone. You are not to be found. I suppose you have lifted yourself above this place, and joined in the clouds’ ever present parade, anomalous and vaporous. As soon as your shape slides into remote tangibility, the haze slides through the sky and again you have dissipated, like a sigh, or a drop of desire fleeing mine eye. Apprehension of action muddles my original intent. In fact, that intent is but a vague breath, a shiver down my spine, a last note ringing through the hall. The goosebumps having faded already, I forget the shiver that sent them in the first place.
I shed my skin and sink down to watch the ants march on. Bygone's aqueous kiss forms like sentimental exhalations of the acquiescent, moving along the sky like sails on the wind.
