Moar Stuff!

Late night writings #1

And I sat and wondered on the universe, and all the things that settled on the surface of our world and my brow furrowed...

Why do we kick up the dust that we were birthed from?

Why do we spit on the womb from which we emerged?

Emerged immersed in purity that we proceed to tarnish, developing a hideous patina we call beauty... Why?

making big waves with little splashes. 

Progression into the night, expelling my thoughts. WIP.

Late night writings #3

The power of the mind. You just thought of it, in that you just processed it, in that you realised that in a split second (or maybe less) you became fully aware of what happens all the time subconsciously. 

We use our minds for all sorts of things... Some wondrous, some mediocre, some light, some dark... And you can imagine the list of all the things. 

I use my mind to paint pictures. What do you do with yours?

Something peculiar about this man. At the time I didn't want to approach him so I took the shot from afar [250mm | f8 | 1/80sec | ISO200] - fyi. In retrospect getting close to him would have made a better shot with more his story visible. Now I know. His eyes must have seen a lot. 

The Caveman.

Painting pictures on the walls of our modern caves.

kbanfield check this out for inspiration... just kinda reminded me of you

Runaway Kali ~ by Laura O’Connor http://cargocollective.com/lauraoconnor http://society6.com/LauraOConnor/prints

Late night writings #5

And to cure my madness... I paint. The floor is literally littered with painted paper... The images become real after a while.

This is my life. I am responsible and irresponsible. I am rich and broke. The concept of family is elusive. I paint.

What is done?

Not enough. Simple. We do nothing therefore we are remembered for nothing. But that has to change. Let's change that. Look out for more content from me. I'll do my part.

On the other side of time. I found my self in the belly of a hundred-year-old clock tower, the gears frozen in time. I saw glimpses of the past in the cobwebs and graffiti and dust. Yet when I looked through the crack in the glass of clock's face i saw a future that spread out over the open savannah, endless opportunities, all from an uplifted perspective.

Well... Shit. 

I told them Physics was hard!

Newton’s notebook pages

Late night writings #6

And so the world keeps turning, my existence naught but a sneeze in a crowded train station. I ponder on my worth as my chapped lips separate in stupor and amazement at the way the world has evolved around me, like a tree growing through a chain-link fence... I am poor. I am hungry. I am desolate. I am incredulous, for believing I am of superior build. I am in fact a shadow. I am a collection of memories that, to some, will cease to exist in time, and to others, morph into an unbearable burden, annoying barnacle, blood-sucking tick that they must pry off of their very flesh. Then they will all look down, heads bowed in pity and sorrow, at what could have been, but combusted in and of itself.

All ashes now. All I was.