Sunday, April 24, 2011


 like culling the memories out of another history.
like living another man’s life.
the life of a bug
the life of a thought
the life of something so close
in the heart and the gut and painted in the mind
i spend whole mornings wondering if
i am as real as i seem;
if i have been asleep or simply unaware of this particular illusion.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

color & line

Recognizing a good photograph, for me, is a sizzle in the brain. A feeling of satiation. Like a good drug taking hold. Like an orgasm. Like recognizing a friend from across a room of ambivalent strangers... Recognition... of what you want, what you need, what would lift you or take you into a depth... sometimes it feels impossible, like a stranger itself, lost & foreign, but then you feel it again & for a brief moment all that confusion & muddled sense of purpose goes away. You are left alone, finally, with that small piece of familiarity, so you can cuddle & breathe & stare & take that much-needed private moment of selfishness to stand in awe of yourself.