When he calls me kitten, kitten soft and low I say,
“Yes, yes, what is it my love?”
He says, “Nothing, not really just wanted to hear your kitten voice to know you are near”
When he calls me kitten, kitten when it’s quiet and dark I say,
“Yes, yes, yes what is it my heart?”
He says, “Nothing, not really it’s just I miss you so, you know how I hate it, I hate when you go”
When he calls me kitten, kitten in the middle of the night I say,
“Yes, yes, yes what is it my life?”
He says, “Nothing, not really for the angels I wait
Oh, the angels that took you
The angels are late”
Im sure your thoughts are not with me Take head take head of the western wind the wind the wind is blowing Freedom soon will come Every time you give them shelter That kind of man who is reaching for the sky just to surrender And he doesnt give you much not even laughter I told you when I came I was a stranger And just when you mean to tell her that you have no love to give her Jesus was a sailor he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone And the rain pulls down like honey There are children in the morning they are leaning out for love and they will lean that way forever I never said that I was brave I see you have gone and changed your name again Drag your shadow down the street Oh the wild wild sea singing sweet to me And sometimes I dont mind at all and sometimes head against the wall And at times I wonder where you are I am knitting something nice for you
Your arm splits into two
I see you are a ruin
And what else could I want
Keep the car running Burning as the year is glowing You can mess up my life like a poem Write me a song I could sing in my sleep With a bird on my shoulder lost in its song Big great song blues So if your heart is faster that mine why dont you come and waste time where I have been I have nothing on you Meditate your loss So form a liar I pictured a rainbow you held it in your hands I saw the Crimson and you saw the whole of the moon Everyone will fall Maybe its the weather or something like that but mama you have been on my mind.
Words: Bob Dylan Leonard Cohen AA Bondy Aidan Knight Arcade Fire Idiot Wind The Waterboys
Self Portrait; Running to the other corner of the entrance of a building I was not supposed to be at, so said the security guard as he drove by. If you’re going to disallow me to photograph then put handcuffs on my freaking hands so I can’t hold a camera, do your job properly, and arrest me please. Fuck. (Although I was not holding the camera at this very moment, my dear assistant was, and there were no signs that said a law abiding citizen could not enter the premise, it’s a freaking public site that closes at 9pm, thank you very much)
And why is this space there then if you’re not allowed to wallow in it’s ruined glory
This place brings so much of my childhood memories back. It brings back home.
And I sincerely want to wallow in it, yes for I find it most beautiful and haunting.
I miss my home, and the ruins, the ruins of my heart.
“To imagine falling in love as a correspondence of minds, of toughts; it is a simultaneous firing of two spirits engaged in the autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own experience; her gratitude alone, stretching away towards a mistaken donor, creates the illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is false. The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point – for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.”
- Justine by Lawrence Durrell
Oh the wind the wind is blowing
Freedom soon will come
These film stills from Stanley Kubrick’s “Barry Lyndon” kill me. They chew on every desire, pull at every inspiration, and push me until I am walking back and forth into a wall.
This is a constant in my life.
“The very meaninglessness of life forces man to create his own meaning.” —Stanley Kubrick
Movie stills from: Barry Lyndon 1975
Directed by: Stanley Kubrick
Director Of Photography: John Alcott
Bjork, yes! Please and always!
They say that there are three parts to the Camino de Santiago.
The first is the fight with your body which takes about ten days to adjust to. The second, the fight with your mind, in which you question your actions of walking for so long, being there, and every single aspect of insecurity that humbly hid away in that head of yours. Finally, there’s the reassurance that you are achieving greatness; the third stage is enlightenment.
Well, I can only say that my whole journey consisted of the fight with my body. I kept telling myself the pain would reside, I only had two days, then one day to reach the ten day mark. But the pain increased, and increased until the last day of my walk into Santiago de Compostela when I realized that I had finally broken in my hiking boots. Unfortunately, my happiness dwindled in between this extraordinary realization and the tropical storm that approached with severity.
There was no self-reflection on my part. I mean, sure I thought about my past, I thought about what brought me there, but mostly I thought about the person I walked with and what brought them there. I thought about how many more kilometers I had to walk to reach a bed, I thought about the terrain that lay ahead. And sometimes, but only sometimes and briefly I might add, did I think about what I am going to do when I came back to what I left behind.
Two years ago, I had the great idea of walking across Canada. The thought was provoked by an intense journey in Greece a year before where I decided, on a whim, to walk twenty-six kilometers. That day in Greece was a profound experience, but now I believe these things come at the right time, the enlightenment creeps in like the sun at dawn.
But surely, I wasn’t going to walk across Canada although I found mighty good evidence of two troopers who did this in the early two thousands which I thought was epic on their part. But I didn’t have a partner.
So in my eager stupor I decided to google “walks” across Europe. I had my eye on the Scottish highlands, but considering it was one of the most popular pilgrimages I chose the Camino de Santiago.
A year ago I could not consider myself a happy person, nor a content one. Life worries piled up and my heart constantly felt heavy. However, if someone had asked me what was wrong, what made me sad, I’d find myself grasping for invisible reasons just to please my ego. I knew I felt sad, I just didn’t have a good enough excuse.
So I turned to fear.
I knew I wanted to walk the Camino one day, I just saw it more as dream than reality. In truth, I was terrified of leaving and being on my own in a foreign country.
In January, my 25th birthday rolled around and I realized I had not done anything significant for myself. I contemplated the idea of crossing eight hundred kilometers. In February, I booked my ticket to Paris.
On August 12th my parents phoned in the early afternoon telling me they’ve just left their house and will be at mine in thirty minutes, I should be waiting downstairs for them with my baggage by then. After I hung up the phone, I ran to the washroom and vomited the coffee I drank earlier that morning. The fear kicked in. I looked at myself in the mirror, tears rolled down my face, I told myself that I didn’t have to go through with it, my parents would understand, in fact they’d be happy and relieved.
At the airport it was time to say good-bye. My father hugged me and kissed me as if it was only another day. My mother embraced me heavily, and I felt tears flood my eyes, but I fought hard to hold them back. I didn’t want her to panic.
I was afraid. I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was doing it. Was it to punish myself? Was it to find myself?
But the second I boarded that plane, I looked out the window and I felt all of the fear release me. I had eight hours to figure out how I’d reach Saint Jean Pied de Port where my pilgrimage would begin.
I gave myself forty-four days to spend in Europe; Thirty-five (in case of injury) to walk the Camino.
I finished it in thirty-two, and it was the most happiest, most extraordinary thirty-two days of my life.
That’s the thing, I have no words, only the ones that led me to it.
The thing about such a pilgrimage is that you meet individuals like yourself and you fall in love with all of them for they embody all that you embody. They walk for the reasons you walk, which are many.
The Camino is like a time machine.
Here’s to all the fellow pilgrims I met along the way, the friends who have shaped me into the person I am today, and for the happiness they have given me which still lingers to this day.
I opened my window on the fast highway. The wind blew in and hit my face, but I focused on the structures ahead. I didn’t think, I just pulled out my camera and shot.
This was on a road trip I recently did with my parents and my brother. We planned on visiting nine states before we reached Michigan.
Six years ago my mother and I visited her brothers in Michigan. For the first time I met the one uncle I only heard stories of. He is an incredible human being, also a photographer. The trip was momentous, and I fell in love with my family.
When we had to leave for home my uncle drove us to the Chicago airport.
But, I have learned to love this city.
Chicago gave me hope.
The Art Institute of Chicago is an incredible place. I want to live there.
This is a series I did on my brother called “The Tourist”.
I am home and am instantly flooded with thoughts, and tears pour out of me. I am a river.
For the whole length of my trip I could not conjure a single sentence. Now in this familiar yet strange apartment of mine I feel out of place, out of space, and there is so much of it. This, however is a continuation of my previous existence.
I don’t want to leap to conclusions and say I don’t want to be here or worse that I don’t belong here, it just simply feels as if I am not meant to be here. It is not a tragedy and I refuse to treat it as one. It is a fact.
Yes, there are so many roads you can run away to but eventually it will lead you to one.
I chose the Camino de Santiago.
IPhone photo, Saint Jean Pied De Port, France
Webiste is finally complete. It is up and running!
I love rocks, I collect them. Specifically, I love rock formations, I love how over many years they form differently without having control over that change. I love that you can see and sense and feel the age of the rock. I love how they are just there, they’ve always been there, always will be there, perhaps a bit smaller or bigger, but they are stagnant and beautiful. They don’t mean to be beautiful, this world does not intend to create beauty, in fact it is quite violent and active, it is selfish, but it does not know that nor intends to be that.
It just is.
I wish I didn’t feel so alone in its presence.
I think I’ve been selfish, but my kindness protects me.
Self-Portrait, Cannon Beach, Oregon