a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
“Oh, look how beautiful the sun is shining through the trees!” I said, drunk on the last golden light of evening glowing through the golden leaves of the ginko trees.
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I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
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the following photos illustrate the story of ingrid … but what precisely that story is remains for you to discover. innocence abroad and the gogglette bring you … the spy who stayed out in the cold.
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“we’re all carnies, though some people are in denial. they want to be above it all, above the mayhem of laughter and people and lights and animals and the dark sadness that lurks in the corners and beneath the rides and in the trailers after hours. so they ride the ferris wheel, and at the…
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Joy is not naivete. To be innocent is not to be ignorant. To rejoice in hope is to be a light in the darkness.
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What if you could step out of your normal everyday life for a hour or two and into the midst of an adventure particular to you?
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oh papa, the wolves gather round us
oh papa, the soldiers slay fast
oh papa, the prophets confound us
oh papa, how long will this last?
o morning star, rise in our darkness
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o wisdom come —
come again
oh papa, the fields are plowed under oh papa, the seeds are all salt oh papa, the tree’s burned to cinders oh papa, we know it’s our fault oh papa, the babies are crying oh papa, the streets run with blood oh papa, look, everyone’s dying oh papa, how can this bring good? oh papa,…
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one more day ’til december it’s nearly the last spoke on the wheel of the year out my window i can see the desolation of the garden where limp brown leaves still cling to rusty tomato cages sunday’s snow has all but melted and here and there the grass is defiantly green, but it knows…
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now it’s november; the world grows cold once when i was young and full of myself i tried to imagine the nuances of human nature how swiftly a life runs away born away by the violent disappointed idealists they all had stories but maybe that’s wishful thinking … inside my mind exists another world and…
Read Moresomeone is snoring or is that the dog growling? there’s an owl in the backyard but maybe that’s wishful thinking a cough, a rumble, a faraway dog howl an airplane cuts its way through the sky the humidifier purrs, gurgles (my stomach gurgles in reply) the clock ticks, the traffic hums by someone still is…
Read Moremood can be a fickle beast especially when spelled backward
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beep, beep the chair lift warns us out of the way as granny rides slowly down the fifteen white-carpeted stairs past the picture frames filled with memories of earlier days; we have all grown older. in the kitchen grandpa rattles through the cupboard looking for baking sheets for the cinnamon rolls do you want cantaloupe…
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when we are young we think we have the power to change the world when we grow older we find we lack the power to change ourselves the road to hell would be paved with disappointed idealists were it not for the grace inbetween
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