Photography

Must Be the Season of the Witch

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The Totality

The TotalityEclipse

I was really expecting to get something cosmic out of the eclipse, visions, the dead appearing, a surrealist landscape bathed in weird blue light… something. I made hard boiled eggs, and then egg salad for a sandwich. I fed the cat. She ate and went back to sleep on one of the kitchen chairs. The light began to fade and I turned on the electric lights in the kitchen – I’m such a romantic. I found a nice live news feed from NBC and watched it on my Fire tablet. The light was getting dimmer slowly. I went outside and looked around. It was kind of weird, like 7 PM light at 2:30 in the afternoon. I smoked a cigar and tried to soak up whatever strange vibes might be around, checking how I was feeling – the feeling was heavy, by the way. I felt heavy. I went back inside and picked up my dishes. Soon the light was coming back up. It was passed. It never got completely dark here, just dim, a metaphor perhaps.

If there was a mystic vision it was that for a couple of days we all seemed to be on the same page about the eclipse. Millions travelled to the perfect spot to watch it. Scholars dug up the mythology of the eclipse and scientists overheated their computers calculating the track and the times. The bloggers blogged and the peeps tweeted. It was a rare moment of mental unity, not unlike John Glenn’s first Mercury flight. That one was so powerful that my third grade teacher let me listen to my transistor radio in class. The eclipse was not quite as dramatic but it had the unifying feeling that the early spaceflights did.

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Red and Green and Blue

Ride_2-20-16_5Red and Green and Blue

Red and green and blue are safely locked in my head. Night returns with disease and obsession, obsessions. I draw a line on a dirty piece of paper. There is nothing on either side but I have created a boundary. I don’t feel any safer.

He walks to the back of the house without great conviction, out the back door to look at the alley. The painkiller makes his vision flicker around the edges. Painkillers are a gift from God when they are needed, and they are needed tonight.

The red is the blood. The green is the money. The blue is the sky. I think about a bourbon. That will surely put me away. I like the sound of ice cubes hitting the lead crystal rock glass. The red is the blood, the poison river, always escaping, falling, splashing.

He doesn’t try to count the city lights. There are too many and he dislikes them all. They hide the stars. He wanders rather than walking because he has no destination in mind. He breathes a word that only he understands. He exhales it.

I touch the steel because it is blue. I touch the skin because it is red. I touch the earth because it is green, but that is all. I am unavailable. Disconnect the phone because I know the danger. A song plays in my head that I don’t like.

He lights another cigarette and inhales deeply. Smoke trickles out of his mouth and nose, slowly, erotically. The smoke curls up around his face and into his hair. He pulls an old book from the shelf. Without even looking at the title, he begins to read.

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Our Thunder over Louisville at KLOU Bowman Field, 2015

This was our Saturday, at KLOU Bowman Field. This is my home field. I live about three miles from here. You will find a significant number of flights in and out of KLOU in VAFS. "Thunder Over Louisville" is part of the Kentucky Derby Festival and it is half air show and half fireworks. We rode our bikes over to the field to watch the planes. A member of the Vintage Warbirds invited us into their hanger. It was a magical day. Here are some pics.

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Poems from the Street: Between

Bridges

 

Between

Between
Between young and old,
black and white,
rich and poor —

Between right and left,
gay and straight,
man and woman —

Between Inside and outside,
thought and feeling,
dreaming and waking —

Between now and then,
yesterday and today,
today and tomorrow —

Between them and us,
you and me
ourselves —
We need to build more bridges.

August 19, 2014

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Stories from the Street: Wall Art Louisville

 

Open Door

 

Strawberries

 

After the storm 8

 

Skater Boy

 

24-hour Cafe

 

Sensations

 

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Marks

 

Kentucky Rushmore 2

 

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Highland Morning

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Poems from the Street: Listening for a Song

Song

 

Listening for a song, and the quiet

is so hard to find.

The song would seep from my DNA

like an enzyme,

or fall from the stars like dew.

The song would settle like dust

on my bookshelf,

or form like a painful scab

on my skin.

It would be about everything,

and nothing at all,

heroism and trivia,

rage and lust,

entropy and boredom —

Listening for a song.

 

– July 7, 2014 –

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Poems from the Street: Dogfight

Buchertown Greenway 6

Dog fight out on the street –

Two pit bulls, one leashed

And one free,

hardly a fair fight.

 

Sun rakes the street

with searing rays.

It cooks things dry,

Makes dogs want to fight.

 

Fumes from cars

are WMD –

choking, toxic.

My bike makes no fumes.

 

Allant in Cherokee Park

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