There was a cautionary tale back there somewhere. Don’t work so hard that you forget you’re already in paradise? Paradise, where the dogs get scraps of breakfast in bed and all your hard work paid off one hundred times over if only by working away, all aching bones, living life, day by day. You’re alive, you’ve got it all, got it made! Blind to it some days, thankful the next, you’re kickin’, you’re tickin’, you’re doin’ a good job! Hard-earned pay — chicken eggs, the longest days on last legs, dog fleas, honey bees, raspberry jam, hot damn! Weary weirdos, hayseed heroes, we’re doin’ it, you’re doin’ it, we’re doin’ it!
Pearly walls of rolling fog, in the early fall when marigold turns to goldenrod.
Ureshino Tama Ryokucha.
My friends called me Rabbit, but most folks knew me as bittersweet.
Sad sap, eggcorns for breakfast and a misty morning.
Clarity, resolution, etc. (turning a heel on that rooftop) -- Oh hello! But what colors are these? And how on earth did you get all the way over there?
It’s a strange thing -- when you feel as if you’ve been gone and yet you’ve been there all along. One day you wake up, yawning, sighing, and scuttle into the kitchen for tea or coffee. The sun comes up heavy. You work under it, dripping, through the morning and afternoon. Maybe you think you know the rain and it rains when you least expect. Maybe you think you know your work and are left there scratching your head. Maybe you think you know yourself and are suddenly a stranger, surprised at your surroundings, the whole world even out there happening with and without you, for you, at you, against you, to you. Maybe you are surprised at how shy you’ve become, at your bravery turned bashful, embarrassed that in all your work and worries you’ve forgotten to move through recent life in endless youth, in constant wonder. Maybe you share this thought through whatever means possible, write it down, say it out loud to the room, shout it from rooftops -- I’ve figured it out! I’ve figured it out! Listen here! What a thought! Glimpses of the kids we used to be! -- Maybe you suddenly remember having remembered it before, one hundred times over, sporadic revelation on loop. No matter. On that one hundredth time maybe you’ll smile at yourself for all it’s worth and happily say you’d only nearly forgotten how -- and then, maybe then, you’ll be back for now.
Hard handed attempts to never quite say what we intend to say (this is not a bitter sentence but a sweet sentiment (does the word ‘bittersweet’ come through loud and clear in that clarification? (does further explanation cause loss of clarity?))).
Tired, blurry, rusty lunch break(down).
(and the Rolling Stones were on the radio)
Exercises in dated music and willing subscription to social media.
Antique ax head, rusty pits spit shined, steel re-temperamented, historically buffed, handcarved hickory dickory and dock, artisanally aircrafted, spoiled linseed babied and oiled, rivetingly lathered (buckles only under pressure), beautifully bullshat, corned beef hashtagged and instantly grammed — just like the true pioneers use to do.
Belly of the whale.
Look what you've done.
All down the day, the summer's nearly done.
Boarded a plane six years ago --southbound to Florida to pick up a southern car. It was by no means the first time I flew, certainly not the first time I'd been away from home, but somehow through a culmination of life decisions the trip destroyed my perception of reality. I withdrew into myself, developed a high reluctance to leave home, and throughout the years I reduced leaving the ground to an impossibility. Across a hayfield, from the house I lived in back then, I watched the small planes come and go from the little, local airport. After dark I'd ride my bicycle to the end of the runway where it dropped off into Woodman Pond and stare up into the starry night sky. In dreams I was an airplane thief, in waking I saw myself much a coward. When I moved away from that house I buried those desires, I retreated from friends and partners, let so many of them go, and in many ways accepted my land-bound fate.
Until yesterday I think I'd given up on my ability to overcome that mind block, having considered it so many times, secretly feeling that I could not follow through -- lost my gumption and any lift under the wings. In this new chapter of my life I was given the greatest gifts of all -- a woolen blanket to keep me warm from Ma & Pa, a welder to do some mending from Randy, books and games, a timberframing chisel, bagels to eat and good company. This particular gift came in the form of a pilot's manual and some Flight School 101 from my ever supportive love, Coral. Accept change. As I flew low over the the town I was born in, then the town I grew up in, town after town, a hundred miles gone by in a blur, my parent's house and then the house I've been living in more or less for the past five years, a part of my heart leapt back into being. Flying, riding shotgun in an airplane, I found freedom. This week I can no longer say 'I could've sworn I was born a pilot'. I am left grateful for the people that believe in me, that have stood by me in love and patience. Endless love and thanks for my family, my friends and for you all. Bring, lift, build each other up. ♥️
A generation of newfound photographers all burning gas en route to the same commercialized canyons, the same a-frames and bridges across the globe -- never settling and not realizing that even for a body in motion the mind can cease to wander. I grew up less than a mile from here. Live beautifully and find beauty.
Done woked up from winter.
Suddenly so many frames, insights into photographer's lives, became falsities --staged, posed, self promotions feeding social addictions, and each one further from any sense of self identity left to promote -- peculiar iterations of personal reflection -- a collective, glowing sea of beauty projected, pixel by pixel, thrusted in and pulled voraciously out of pant pockets or tiny purses -- repetitive mechanical motions of machines cradling newborn machines and the slightest shadow of a satisfied smile when the story therein loomed larger than life itself -- punch-drunk parents bragging proud, partial resemblance to childlike creations wondering all the while 'Is it my own?'
Give it a rest. Take a break. Shut it down for a time. Peel your eyes away. Look up to see where you're going. Live first, share second.