Sunday, December 09, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Sunday, August 05, 2012
Jacobins in the Age of Teleprompters
Held in rapture to tiny visions, they sway like leaves drained of color and swoon like maidens unadorned with either wisdom or common sense.
In awe of shiny lights and words born on ideas made of mist. The tragedy of captivated mobs submerged into destinies all too common on the cracking pages of history's dead potentials.
Everyone chooses a side but some with fervor more bizarre than reasoned.
Once more a mere man is draped by illusion with things of heaven and the divine, when in truth he simply brushes his teeth and burps when he's eaten too much.
No longer enamored with the guitar strains and flashing lights that transfix many a child, those who follow find new obsessions to cultivate their sense of purpose.
They chant, they cry, they claw at the air. When true believers find their idol to be made of dust, they believe with added passion.
"Hope." "Change." Fun and games. Destroying a civilization is no big deal if it's on someone else's tab.
Like they've done through the millennia, they march in the hope that those of more practical intent will be bound to silence. They yearn for their dream to get enough foot in the door to storm the palace and lay waste to the suburban backyard garden.
So far "Forward" they tread, they once more reach the back again in that repeated passion to reverse the course of human progress.
Their voluntary return to cave and swamp born of high ideals and a mundane inability to simply pay attention.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Saturday, June 02, 2012
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Variations on Wear Over Time VII
In the preceding series of photographs I hoped to capture a sort of minimalist chain of "variations of wear over time." It may ruin the purely artistic ends I was trying to achieve but I should say that they are no more than photos of old metal steps leading up to a bicycle parking area. I'd like to think of them as akin to Rothko in spirit...but, I'm not Rothko. Still, I hope you enjoy them.
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Paradoxical Confusion of Meaning and Nihilism
Everything changes and everything spins and nobody loses and nobody wins.
Nothing is here and nothing is there,
thus we think and still we care,
that everything's then and nothing is now and nothing is all they'll ever allow, till the day we awake and find all along that the nothing we felt was both right and both wrong.
The things that could matter swim in your eye and the everything born will answer your "why," till the day you awake and see it all clear, that mattering things aren't quite what they appear. And so it all happens in drops like a tear, and though they fall lightly with potential to drown the trickle's the same for both killer and clown.
In the end it all changes and everything spins, and nobody loses and nobody wins.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
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