a crow with a french fry

i made eye contact with a woman in another car. she looked at me for longer than our eye contact, she possessed a deceptively vulnerable smile of soulless desire. she could extract it all, the life, the love, the fantasy, the hope, the sadness and the pain, and both of us would be emptier. one of us destroyed. the other still hungry. she flipped her turn signal to the opposite direction, and went the other way. i would have resisted her. i have avoided her. but i know you are there, and i know what you want. there are no strangers.

analogy in the sand

it is as if life's treasure is buried under one of the two X-marks-the-spot locations. one destination seems more obvious, is clearer, more direct and secure, while the other is a little harder to get to, and seems more desirable with greater potential payback...but, you only have the time and resources to dig under one of the X's. Also, this choice looms as the most important one you will make in your life; however, it is all nonsense. Because life is not a journey, you are not living on a path, you don't stop and smell any roses, you didn't find an extra set of footprints in the sand, you don't need to check your map, directions, hair in the mirror, field of crops, plant a seed - nothing. you are here to do the best you can with what you have, without blame - or not. most people chose the - or not, and suffer accordingly. okay, i have an expressed, and unnaturally high level of, disdain for analogy - especially when administered under the guise of helpful advise. analogy is, more accurately, simple-minded generic solutions for complex and personal issues. at best, analogy delays the suffering, which usually does not end well. if i have offended you, it is probably because, like analogy, i mean well, but i am often wrong, sorry, please forgive, i had a bad day...i mean really, who doesn't like a clever analogy? only a nescient, who needs to check his bearings...that's who. chop wood, carry water...and look for buried treasure.

money

money has been on my mind lately, and i don't like it. i don't like money and i don't like to think about it. it bores me with its necessity. i am jealous of its power. it frustrates me with inappropriate emotions. it is food for the hungry and sugar for the ego. if we have the luxury of having it, it becomes what we fear when what we fear is what we don't face about ourselves. with or without it, i'm afraid.

vein

i suffer in beauty, not in pain, from a hideous varicose vein on my left leg. it looks like a blue knotted rope, or if you are poetically inclined, like a big blue fist defiantly raised in opposition to the tyranny of capitalism...on my calf. i've had it since i was a pre-teen. i accept it as a constant reminder that i am only perfect to my mother and obviously repulsive deformities are in her definition of perfection. she's really something. i've got to get her that lighthouse.

flower photographs

In general, it is hard to take a bad photograph of a flower (this is Vinca Minor); however, it is easy to take a forgettable or mundane photograph of a flower. It is raining today, i took this photo 2 or 3 days ago. i went outside this morning and this flower is gone. I realize that for anyone who takes the time to look at this photo and read these words - this is not a particularly unique flower, or a particularly unique photograph of a flower. But it is gone now and it is raining now and i'm glad i saw it. Sometimes, it is not the photograph that photography gives to me.

dandelions -

my neighbor tries to kill them every year, and every year he tries to convince me of their nastiness, and every year i say, "hey, i think they're pretty." my neighbor and i don't agree on much, in fact, the only thing i am sure we agree on is that i am way better looking than him, and truthfully, he has never come right out and admitted that i'm better looking, but it is really obvious, so i assume we agree.

squirrel rebuttal

Squirrel posted the following on his blog http://www.squirrelwrites.blogspot.com/ : "(edit) Why are the only two choices, moron or thrill seeker? How about this choice: mildly disabled hard working citizen who needed to get home to his family on the other side of the street while attempting to avoid car-driving idiots who spend time trying to write their lame blogs rather than paying attention to the road. jimmy is a self-absorbed pox on the community, (edit)...By the way, is anyone interested in a good price on a signed Marc Chagall lithograph? I'm thinking of replacing it with an original. (edit)"

squirrel physics

a short-tailed squirrel (that's not a breed, it is an observed state of relative size) ran out in front of my car. i'm pretty sure i know, from his stunt, how his tail got shortened. thrill seeker or moron? i hope that doesn't come off as too harsh or lacking in respect of squirrel culture, but, let's cut through the lies; the basis of any culture is communication, and i've seen squirrels trying to communicate. their discourse is mostly unpleasant and usually ends in fighting, and not really any sort of very dignified fighting. i'm leaning toward "moron," but i find myself wanting to believe it was "thrill seeker." of course, it is possible he was just born with a short tail.

feather

near the base of many feathers are soft "afterfeathers." whenever i find a feather, i carefully lift it from the ground and hope to touch their softness and need to know i have the sensitivity to feel their gentleness. it is a magnificent gift.

are you sure you know where we're going?

this morning, there is no wind blowing to lift the flag off the flagpole. tree branches are still. it is raining and the only discernible wind comes from the movement of my car into the still air. i think i might actually be in control: self-determination should be my right to expect. how can this be another's universe? it is my universe. lacking any additional evidence of command; i do have the argument of perspective - from where i sit, it looks like my universe, even when the wind blows. heck, why not? that's the motto, in my universe.

the grimmer reaper

i've got to be honest, not because I think honesty is right, or better, but simply because i want you to believe what i am about to write. honestly, i've had a brush with death. death is a spectre, and i've seen him. but it turns out he has no interest in you unless you fear him...which i am assuming will come naturally, when the time arrives. so anyway, welcome monday. it would be nice to awaken from a good night's sleep to the freshness of a brand new day, but some days, like today, feel more like being startled awake from a nap to the same open-eyed nightmare that is always patiently waiting for me. always there, always accommodating. I guess that is why death can't have my fear, i'm an employee.

driveway leaf

Every moment of being a human, contains the seeds for every emotion. Some moments become an overwhelming mixture of hope, fear, elation, depression, everything in between, and some come through as one simple pleasure. In every moment is a choice and a decision, a small blueprint for the complete project.

soap

This is a photo of a bar section of soap - yes this is soap, and yes this was what I am trying to fill the emptiness in my life with. It turns out, it's beautiful, it smells great, and it makes my shower time far more enjoyable...that's not too bad for a bar of soap. I'm going to take a shower, put on my moccasins, go outside, and pretend the rest of world understands just how wonderful that is. For some reason, i think that might help, all of us.

logic

i was thinking about shapes today and i've come to realize, i prefer the good one. the circle. all the other shapes are crap.

moccasins

I think the triumphant return of business-casual moccasins is overdue and ready to restyle what is accepted as haute-couture fashion in the boardrooms of the world's business centers. If you are "today" enough to join the movement, the fashionable statement moccasins will be making to your co-workers , for you, is: "here i am, cool and hip. I might be on vacation, I might be here to work, who knows? you certainly never will understand me, you mid-level loser, unless you get some moccasins. So, get yourself some moccasins, or get out - and get some moccasins, either way, you are just wasting time until you slip on the moc's. If it wasn't for the sprinkler system installed in this office, i would build a campfire on this conference table - that's how i powwow. Hey, anybody got some peyote?" Obviously your moc's are doing a lot of talking, and I think that's okay, because your moccasins will be the hero this fashion and truth famished world needs. Moccasins. An answer you can believe in, and wear.

painting

i suppose it is possible to see heaven in everything, but it seems easier to see it in something beautiful. that must mean something.

discipline, that's what you will learn here

i don't like to re-tie my shoelaces each time i put on my shoes. I like to be able to just slip them on and off, preferably without even bending over. I once had an instructor who witnessed my shoe putting-on routine and he was sure this lack of shoe tying desire was evidence of a weak mind and spirit. He seemed compelled to express his disdain. I spent some time amazed by the inappropriate level of repulsion he demonstrated, and although I might have entertained the notion that his assessment could have been right; i did not (and still do not) possess the character trait necessary to change my slovenly habit. The reason the story does not end there, is that I have found out, now a few years later, it was actually the instructor who was lacking in a lot more than spirit. He didn't have to go to prison, but he should have. What most likely concerned him, was far more entangled and personal than my laziness. I give a lot of credit to people who try to truly and honestly give respect to their fellow humans; that effort is not accomplished without enduring a great deal of stupidity, unpleasantness, and sometimes, depravity.

baby birds

i hear the birds chirping this morning, busily gathering twigs and string and stuff to build their nests; nests to gently house their soon-to-be-laid eggs. The female will then lay her eggs, and settle in the nest to warm the fragile shells that protect her potential offspring. Shortly after the eggs are laid and she settles in - as sure as i am sitting here, listening to chirps and typing on my computer - there is certain to be a violent spring storm that will blow down trees, branches, and egg-filled bird nests. Every year it happens, and i've seen it too many times to reach any other conclusion - God hates baby birds.

Happy Easter

Happy Easter! Or if you do not believe in Easter: Happy Benevolent Rabbit who delivers Colorful Eggs Day! Or if you do not believe in benevolent rabbits, or if you feel benevolent rabbits are a tool of the greeting card/plush toy/candy marketing industrial complex: try to just have a happy day, or not. And if you get a chance to eat a colored egg, i hope you enjoy it, because i can't imagine any other reason to color an egg.

hickory

This is a section of shagbark hickory tree. Squirrels live in this tree. I see them leaving and arriving. I wonder what it is like to live inside a tree. I like to imagine it nicer than i am sure it actually is. I imagine an original painting hanging in their living room, but actually it is probably just a signed lithograph.

impermanence

i was going to walk around and document injustices today, when I became distracted by my own impermanence. i did not work through it. injustices will have to remain undocumented, for now.

is this thing on?

recently, an everyday type of conversation i was having with some long-time friends was recorded. I was aware of the recording, but didn't pay much attention to it, as the purpose was to test the recorder. I should explain that i didn't pay that much attention to it, that is, until the recording was played back. I am going to interrupt my story with a little background information: i have always considered myself a nice guy, painfully so, nice to a fault. Anyway, back to the story: when i listened to my social interaction with friends, i heard how i must sound to others - and i was abrupt, arrogant, and dismissive. hearing myself like that was very eye-opening. I've had few days to reflect on the experience and really must take time to thank God that i was made aware of my behavior now, and not when i was younger, because at my age, it is really pointless to change. whew.

file under "clouds"

I take a lot of cloud photos, but sometimes the mechanism of a photograph - creating a lasting record by isolating a specific moment within a defined frame from a single perspective - doesn't seem big enough or evanescent enough for the grand, ephemeral, and ethereal nature of clouds. Still, I can't stop trying, because, mostly i guess, clouds are pretty and i have a camera.

paper airplanes

i think of my life as a paper airplane that was folded before i was born...
it sounds pretty good, like a workable analogy, but what value does the analogy have? It could simply be an aid to understanding; but, unfortunately, like most analogy it brings only a superficial level of understanding that collapses under scrutiny or use, leaving me even less secure in any usable knowledge than before i started to think about it. Undaunted, I am going to keep trying...
i think of my life as a paper airplane that i fold, and launch, and improve with redesign at the beginning of each new day...
i think of my life as a paper airplane that is mine to fold with the choices i make in my life to prepare for a glorious afterlife of flight with my God...
i think about how useless all this thinking is...and then,
i think about the time my dad showed me how to make a paper airplane, a good one, i remember it, the folds, the time he spent, i remember the day, it was beautiful, and will always remain...
i think of my life as an opportunity to make a paper airplane for someone else...

drama and matters of perspective

I am not the first person to be consumed in a personal drama; finding myself in an intermission, alone and outside, standing under an unusually bright moon. And in that moment, under that moon, briefly grasping the enormity of the stage and the insignificance of the players in relation. And in that, i take comfort. Only to realize, in seemingly no time at all, as the lights flash, the crowd settles, the curtain rises once again and the drama continues; understanding the insignificance of our size does nothing to lessen the pain. And in that, i take comfort.

truck!

This is a photo exploration of the shapes, textures, colors and intersections that make up the front corner of my truck. It is also the last thing the deer saw.

good morning universe

This is a device, or object (depending on your belief), that channels or focuses energy, or not (depending on your belief). I don't have an energy meter to check it with, so it might be working and it might not. Hard to tell from this angle, but i think it's on.

here kitty kitty

I befriended a neighborhood cat. I don't know if he has a name, he just comes around. I call him "Mr. Whiskers." I don't feed Mr. Whiskers, i think he comes around because i don't chase him away, and my dog doesn't live here, and maybe i attract trouble, and maybe Mr. Whiskers is trouble, or maybe he can just smell it. Mr. Whiskers knows something about me no one else does. so i try not to rile him, but at the same time, i don't want him to know he is the only one who knows, so i play it pretty cool, as cool as a man with a secret can. but i wouldn't be completely honest if i didn't mention that Mr. Whiskers has started looking around the place like he might be expecting a little bit more from our relationship than a friendly hello. and naturally i have begun to wonder if his happenstance appearance that fateful evening was so happenstance after all. I have begun to believe that Mr. Whiskers is quite possibly an unsavory fellow, who may not lead the most savory of lives, and i've begun to wonder if Mr. Whiskers could just disappear and why would that be so strange? It is a dangerous game you play, Mr. Whiskers.

it's not prell

a quick story. A married guy goes to the store, falls in love with a bottle of shampoo. it is a love he cannot discuss nor complete. he knows the love is one-sided and he knows if he brings the bottle home, his wife will recognize the sensual shape as not just an attempt at cleaner more lustrous hair, but as a successful play for his heart. Although he never brings the bottle home, his wife recognizes the vacant presence of his desires. it is a shape she can never be. they both hide his shame and share their loss.

basket

This is a photo, taken at night, of a flashlight in the bottom of a basket which is mounted on the front handlebars of a bicycle. A bicycle basket is, for me, another magical component of a fortunate childhood. A basket on a bicycle gives us a world to create, to isolate, carry, protect, and to cherish. It allows us the clarity of purpose to accomplish things we will attempt to do again later in life on a much larger scale. As we grow and mature into adulthood, the world we are now creating is achieved with less purity, less certainty, generally less success, and a lot less magic. But, if we are lucky, we might just get a glimpse of that magic, it's still in the basket, i saw it.