This is Seoul
This is a picture I took with the A-1 back in January. I scanned it a couple weeks ago, but haven’t figured out how I’m going to process and sort scans yet (since each TIF ends up being about 110 megabytes). So, like all my other film, it hasn’t made it up on the web yet. I was messing with PhotoShop this morning and oddly satisfied with the shot. True, there are a lot of things wrong with the exposure, but the way the focus turned out, on the ladies in black heels, with the kid looking towards the camera, a little too cool for his age, it just feels… good; good in a strange way.
I hope that my trip to France next week will be not so much about cheesy tourist shots of classic landmarks, and more about stuff like this. I don’t know, there are so many people with cameras in the world, much more than there are game developers, or actors, or maybe even poets. So why do I hope to find distinction in a field where millions of people will be far better than me, and far more than that are uploading tens of thousands of shots to the web daily?
Because I am. I am here, I am me. And that’s all I can be. This is my one shot today. And while I can’t expect you to be moved or changed by what I do, I can always hope, and maybe someday, eventually, I’ll be pleasantly surprised.
wheels and metal
wheels and metal and padded seats
why am I here
is this a break
how can I cull the noise from my life
separate the cream from the chaff
life is too grand to be taken asleep
but when will the fighting end?
saffron and sunshine
need to release myself of my expectations?
long, long and light, flowing up over everything
I will be as the water, and the wind. I will fold myself into the world, taking invention and the dreams of men with me. I will be in the temples, behind the trees. I will be alive as a seeker, listening quietly and reflecting the sunshine as a placid lake. With passion I shall bake my bones and make a temple of my body. For soil from whence I came, and soil must be revered and returned as taken.
To take music and rhythm, building from the noble things created by man. A ship on the ocean and a sail in the air. Nimble sewn devices put together in science and driven out to the land. With patience and understanding grow my heart, then reach out calm to the night, breathily.
Known and unbidden, but pulled to the road as I was born, to be and true as possible, for all that I can find is immeasurable.
A path, on a path, moving forward; away and back again, two supple legs and a heart to guide them.
This is me as I am, as I was. I hope you can learn from it someday.
It’s Saturday morning, and I got up before nine. This may be the start of a fantastic day. Laundry is in the machine, water has been bestowed to my pouting darlings outside, and if I can tighten up operations in the kitchen, I may be in good form for a trip out by 10:30. First I’ll need to perform a little maintenance on my stallion as I’ve acquired my first flat in three years of ownership.
My mint is now in its third season and taking advantage of the abundant sunshine which we are blessed with since a withered tree next to our house was removed. The leaves on this plant are easily five times the size of my previous best.
Things are such a mess, but mess by my terms is not how I expect they should be. I think I need to work more on realizing that there really are so many ways things can be, and if they are not as I expect, it’s not the end of the world. I’m not saying that I have to get my way all the time, but I’ve been so fed up with certain people lately, that maybe I’m just better off feeding what Amy calls my “incredibly independent side” and focusing more on my own pursuits. It’s heartbreaking to me that I can’t depend on hardly anyone.
The mint is doing so well, in fact, that it’s already crowding out my poor marigolds, which will ultimately force me to rotate the box so the taller plants are on the northern side.
I leave for Paris in…eleven days. I will be there for an unprecendented six days and seven nights. I’ve been practicing French, but I still royally suck…je ne comprends pas le francais. But it doesn’t matter. I will let my pumping legs and photography tell the world who I am.
I swear Chris Martin is the only person who even remotely knows how I feel.
[Yes, the PowerShot has problems with focusing on objects less than six inches away. But these are snapshots and I am anxious, so you’ll forgive me. We need a better lens…]
no more cries for support or guidance
a light, then many
slow moving fish in inky black water
softly ignored breathing
and muscle pains snaking out like
cracks in frost
a can wanders
not so much searching as released
brush unmoved by fur-padded steps
or on time
whichever makes no difference
to distant traffic
so much northwest summer again at night
thoughts spent as she rose out of the water
a pitcher of daiquiris and the backstroke
how to spend a life in bliss later
submitted for dissection
with flapped mouths, oping
taking in algae with the insects
slow, slow trickling
and closed grey skies shut tight until morning