Everyone leaves footprints. Sizes may vary and impressions may be deeper than others. Whether it be in sand, dirt, grass, carpet, tile, concrete, or water. Our trails always leave breadcrumbs...
Interpretation is up to the individual.
The footprints not only remap our destinations they burn memories into our minds and create stories for our future. The dreaded walk of life will always leave something behind.
Some impressions are burned with pain and some are enlightened with joy. Every other step we take could directly oppose our initial imprint.
You can clean up your tracks but you can never erase the permanence of reality.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Working Out My Indifferences
Working out my indifferences:
Living out an academic work balanced lifestyle.
Rattled thoughts, troubled focus
Extracted rest from daily schedule
Prologue:
You’re as reliable as an electric lighter.
Full of fuel but never guaranteed to ignite.
As time elapses your reliability diminishes.
The flame is weak and the mechanisms become capricious.
Only the irrefutable promise of an end awaits you.
In your passing moments
Definition:
Due to extensive time exposure to current environment a degradation of memories occurs. Consider a clean slate, valiant and fresh, however an eternal residue of soot still perceives the eye and rests upon that slate. A mental stimulant is necessary to revisit those slightly faded etchings of history created and accessed only by the self. Photographs open chapters of a life long journal, videos manifest reality in repeat, and writings stimulate thought. Whichever vice chosen by the user to contact the shadowed remembrance of events from a prior time the promise of success is fleeting. How deep must one dig through the embers of expired time in aid of finding meaning to the flame of the present?
Query:
Where do you begin?
Photographs?
Movies?
Writings?
Will the effort expended be satisfactory?
Conclusion:
Only through action and execution will the answers unfurl…
Living out an academic work balanced lifestyle.
Rattled thoughts, troubled focus
Extracted rest from daily schedule
Prologue:
You’re as reliable as an electric lighter.
Full of fuel but never guaranteed to ignite.
As time elapses your reliability diminishes.
The flame is weak and the mechanisms become capricious.
Only the irrefutable promise of an end awaits you.
In your passing moments
Definition:
Due to extensive time exposure to current environment a degradation of memories occurs. Consider a clean slate, valiant and fresh, however an eternal residue of soot still perceives the eye and rests upon that slate. A mental stimulant is necessary to revisit those slightly faded etchings of history created and accessed only by the self. Photographs open chapters of a life long journal, videos manifest reality in repeat, and writings stimulate thought. Whichever vice chosen by the user to contact the shadowed remembrance of events from a prior time the promise of success is fleeting. How deep must one dig through the embers of expired time in aid of finding meaning to the flame of the present?
Query:
Where do you begin?
Photographs?
Movies?
Writings?
Will the effort expended be satisfactory?
Conclusion:
Only through action and execution will the answers unfurl…
The Forcast for September is Uncertainty
Uncertainty is an unbalanced scale teetering between two sides. Constantly slowing and speeding up but never coming to a halt. The intervention of which can only be directly from the one experiencing uncertainty. No exterior weights will achieve perfect balance and no promise of balance will bring certainty. The weights are scattered at the foot but the placement for the individual proves more difficult than expected. Regret is a factor as well as serenity. The battle for answers is as muddied as a pond, no visible sight of the bottom is present and only upon testing the water can the bottom be found. Is this the month for uncertainty? is an epidemic cursing the world to feel so uncertain? between politics, economy, and relationships, friends and enemies, the uncertainty flu is infecting everything. Is there light at the end of the tunnel? if so, does that light illuminate clarity for said individuals? we are constantly doubting our selves and questioning our comforts. The dangers of uncertainty certainly are burdening our waking lives.
Projection of the Synapse
Dreams:
I had a dream where I was a father. To any therapist I’m sure this would be an instant erection but to me it was more an eerie glimpse into a not so inviting future. I was father to a son. On the beachfront where the waves came softly at our feet an angel, which for a non religious individual is rather prolific, began to descend from the sky.
He was coming to take my son away and I stood frozen on the shore as a spectator to the event. The happening was less painful than it would seem for a father but it was not absent of emotion. The angel wrapped his arms around my son and began to return to the sky. Midway to his ascension the angel began to cry. The tears fell heavily into the sand by my feet and upon impact they formed small metallic charms of childhood memories. An anchor, a whale, a soldier, a dog, and a star. Each figure representing elements of my own interest and my son’s. As the two entered the clouds above I turned to the street where on top of a hill my family looked down on me.
Then I woke up.
Epilogue:
Where do dreams take us and why do they make cinema of our subconscious? We can speculate meaning but truly all we can take from our dreams is the cold discomfort we are left with when we wake up.
I had a dream where I was a father. To any therapist I’m sure this would be an instant erection but to me it was more an eerie glimpse into a not so inviting future. I was father to a son. On the beachfront where the waves came softly at our feet an angel, which for a non religious individual is rather prolific, began to descend from the sky.
He was coming to take my son away and I stood frozen on the shore as a spectator to the event. The happening was less painful than it would seem for a father but it was not absent of emotion. The angel wrapped his arms around my son and began to return to the sky. Midway to his ascension the angel began to cry. The tears fell heavily into the sand by my feet and upon impact they formed small metallic charms of childhood memories. An anchor, a whale, a soldier, a dog, and a star. Each figure representing elements of my own interest and my son’s. As the two entered the clouds above I turned to the street where on top of a hill my family looked down on me.
Then I woke up.
Epilogue:
Where do dreams take us and why do they make cinema of our subconscious? We can speculate meaning but truly all we can take from our dreams is the cold discomfort we are left with when we wake up.
We Represent the Lollygaggers Guild
Step into a world unfit
And bide time riding a textile flow of one mans words. Choose to listen or choose to ignore. That one man's effort seeks no audience, but the opportunity is available.
Thank You For Your Interest
And bide time riding a textile flow of one mans words. Choose to listen or choose to ignore. That one man's effort seeks no audience, but the opportunity is available.
Thank You For Your Interest
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