Water has taken me to places where truth exists, where it reveals itself in many ways. There is a knowing that does not rely on thought born of the senses, a direct relation with reality, a complete unity of mind. One day as i was out walking i stumbled upon a mountain creek where i sat for what appeared to be a few minutes which i later learned was a few hours. I remember a handful of thoughts about the spirit of the water; a misty shape in the form of an old woman flowing thru the atmosphere like a goddess. She took my mind along. I didn’t question anything, to think appeared to be absolutely sacrilegious. A gentle awareness, a sacred observation, a meditative seeing was all i observed. In that time span whereas i remember little that can be conveyed in words there was another seemingly knowing that had filled my being with something much more powerful and real and true that ‘just is’, and is now a part of my being and can be called upon simply with being in silence. It doesn’t resolve issues as reason tends to do but more of an understanding beyond, above, a higher octave of comprehension. That in itself resolves so much trite, so many issues that lure us into the domain of logic, whereas endlessly attempting to entrap us, to falsely convince certainty without a doubt. This is different, a freedom from the known, a road with no path, an answer to all questions, a serenity, an acceptance of the nature of everything. Nothing is so serious as to be simple with oneself and to truly acknowledge that nothing can be truly known in the domain of thought, for it is finite in an eternal universe. A beautiful tool that should emanate and conclude from the silence, not impose itself upon it. Reason is a crippled warrior in the fields of silence, a broken wing in the sky of eternity. Judgement is a melting candle in the mind. Silence is where silence lives.
i remember that i must remember to not forget to remember to forget. i hardly give a damn about the lost souls that have been extinguished into heroes for being forced to carry a weapon to kill for god, country, freedom, oil and peace. The ones that died in vain for war, for the masters of ships and wealth beyond the dignity of a common man. I don’t give a fuck for your poppies all in a row, your graves set up like little boxes of poisoned foods on super-market shelves. I remember the guns that raped my sisters and the fuckers that tortured my mothers and inflicted trauma that killed our fathers. I remember the dreams dying in the red stained mud flowing free down past the ditches of your mansions. I remember your tear drenched words begging by the side of the curb for a little food as no one remembered your heroic feats with their closed eyes as they walked by to their homes in the free-world. Yes i remember how discussed you were when someone pointed out to you your hypocrisy and how shy you became when the beggars came tugging at your sleeve. Yes i remember your brave wars, your religious wars, your land theft wars, chemical dust wars and your knew fantasy fighting ultimate wars to claim your bubbles in outer and virtual space. You chiefs of war forcing my children to fight your wars or flee the country or consequently get thrown in jail, well fuck you, you should be slaughtered for forcing us to be your heroes or die ashamed afraid.
Yes i remember that you’ll never forget that foreign jealous sonofabitch that cursed your freshly mowed lawn, your two car garage and your big screen movie den. Yea i remember you, you make me sick with your guns and your guns and your guns fighting for dreams that are nothing more than well thought out propaganda ropes. I remember the soft touch of my mothers hand as she sent me out to the war-trenches for oil and freedom with the hidden facades of wealthy power for a few. I remember my brother dying in my arms with one last breath whispering out the horror of it all. I remember the immense pain, the endless stretching out for one last hit from your poppies drugs in your war torn junky alleyways. I remember when war made sense and killing was rewarded with metals and champagne, yes i remember when things had to be this way or you would die along side your brothers and mothers and sisters and friends. I recall remembrance day when the people deceived themselves into believing we fought for freedom, the freedom to buy stuff, kill the earth with toxic chemistry, entertain ourselves to the grave and brag about our grandchildren as we sent them off to the front lines. I remember that i must forget to forgive and live free until the next gun is shoved up my ass. I remember how you used to say lest we forget it may happen again and yet it has never stopped and is happening with my next door neighbour, my family, my politician, my heroes, humanity. War is at the very centre of our remembrance, we just can’t forget. To truly forgive is to put your life in the line of fire, i remember that. I love you enough to put my person on the track but i won’t kill my brother for you. fuck you, masters and participants of war. You deceptors of reality, creators of fake history and dead brains. I feel so sorry for the ones that suffer because of you, that are suffering now and so many that still want to believe in you and you keep sending them off into the nightmare of the horror of war. You lied to us, everyday forgets us, it should be renamed to ‘forget-us day’. You bastards, you fuck heads. I hope you die and you die soon. Yes i remember you, everyday, you dealers of death.
REMEMBRANCE DAY (for the warriors whose strength is not to fight….b dylan)
where are the ceremonies for the soldiers of the mind the disabled and crippled whose wounds can never heal and the psychedelic martyrs condemned for being real the cool dudes with misplaced freedom in minds surreal where are the monuments for the poets of the soul the singers on the road to freedom lying in the ditch who are these ones that remember guns and blood why are we immersed in memory that condemns where are the statues for the wrecked and abused the cursed and simple brains detached and confused for the ones conditioned and wrongfully accused while killers go free and simple love is refused where is the testament to surpass this remembrance when will we pass this curse of memory misused
People convinced of what they think they know. They carry their knapsack of scattered dreams smothered of routine entertainment rolled down a choked throat of opinion like a badge. What’s in it for me the dead end schemes, where’s a ditch to get sick in.
The young kid excited to know, truth sitting on finger tips, love twisted between their eyes. It’s a sunny late winter afternoon weekend in the streets, people going nowhere relaxed and sure. I’m sittin here observing my mind bend around the day, struggling smooth along the streets, curving through possibilities, stuck on nothing for time being as it is, holding loose, flowing as water does.
When you said, “I and I, one said to the other, no man sees my face and lives”, I was dying along the side of the road, crows hovering over me like the wind. Jesus walked up to me right then and there, lit a cigarette and passed it my way, “That for me”, I questioned with my eye. “Sure is”, I saw it in his grin.
‘So you think you can get there from here’, I questioned once again. “I don’t know, there ain’t no one here from there’, the other I answered, and then forgot again.
‘So this is what it’s all about, right here in this’, some knowing crashed upon me like a wave of heavy light, flashed the truth, sure and sure and was gone.
I walked on sitting here and there with words, ‘nothing to get hung about’, saturday afternoon forever.
Jesus looked back on the way out, ” that’s natural tobacco, rolled it, grew it myself; used light”, he said.
Took his word as truth, smoked it right down. A winged one emanating gratitude flew across my mind. I gently placed the tobacco butt on the living earth, and out of the edge of the sky an Owl silently glided by and that was it. I walked on.
Words and Images by patrick wey
Written around the winter of 2001 sittin in a 2nd cup cafe on universtity ave on a sunnysaturday snow flurried afternoon in waterloo on.
He didn’t give a damn at all whether he was liked or not walking down past the walls of half confused murals of splintered dreams dangling off minds like dying tulips in a vacant vase. Sometimes the walls just look that way, well that’s what he thought, he thought a lot of things. He travelled inside and outside throughout his long uneven life; been loved, criticized, cursed and respected but mostly he’d been fooled into thinking things were the way they weren’t. The patterns hadn’t changed, people strived, people survived, people died. He was like most in most ways. If there was a difference at all it was in the way he attempted to understand. He had to know the foundation, the basic pattern, the way things moved. With that he could navigate thru the storms, the difficult moments when it all seemed to fall apart and when it didn’t make sense any longer, he could hang onto the last remaining threads to possibly put it back together, mend the wounds.
That was the plan and it worked often but not often enough. The end was doomed for the world as it was and he knew it. There was no turning back, it was too late, the turning point was gone, best to just go with the flow, the end was just down around the bend, but there is no ultimate end, but definitely, without a doubt, what you think, ends.
So the day was spectacular, sun gleaming across the avenues, love seemed to be everywhere. There was a happiness that just emanated from his soul, his heart was full of light, warm soft caressing light, the kind you find when you’re flying high in ecstasy, the kind you can’t quite hang onto, but its there, everywhere and your whole being is in it. The air the ground the sky the trees, buildings glowing with feelings from everywhere, illuminated love that flew thru the veins of the rusted brick from ancient times to future fantasies and then some. Yes this was his day. He had a bunch of names, jim, pat, doug, al, joe, all of them useless to the spirits, they knew his real names, his strength, his weaknesses, his truth, his sins.
Jazz playing low across the cafe floor, humanity walking by from every rock on this earth, nothing holding nothing for nothing, thought just winding around every concept thrown his way. It was on the free trail, the path that dies, the roads that end, the streets of heaven changing with every breath; yea that is where he was lost not lost, found not found, in this perfect space that has no time, owns no moments, nothing for anything.
And then as if out of nowhere it all changed. He saw her, a replica, a clone, a perfect image of a love gone astray that his brain cells just kept passing around and rearranging thru time. “It all is so strange this mind of mine, as if i own it, won it, stole it, created it. Memories fold into the air, bend around time without my say”. The day continued on as if nothing had happened. People kept coming and going. All the things of the times were present again as if they had never left. The news, the old folk with their papers, the young in their cells, the world from the middle east to argentina, poverty to riches, rape to love. “I don’t care about the ‘likes’, most of the time”.
I’m out here wandering between the branches thru the open air in the nigh-time of your early dawn. I miss your soft voice against the kitchen cabinets and your sweet smell when you brush up against my will. I love those moments when the air is perfect, memories soft, pure. I want to be there, i want to be there always, i believe in the impossible, the totally unlikely time that lays still between the leaves. The young, with dreams for no purpose but to exist to be as it is to care for nothing, for nothing is in need. Yes this life has taken too much of me, my soul, pieces scattered into data office machines, factories scheming dreams lying across futures that have already tattooed a bar code across my forehead. I want out, suicide this mess, i want beauty, the heart of these trees, the seed of freedom in my eyes.
In the afternoon the streets are quiet, the hill side is fading towards the night, the people are wavering in and out of the hazy uncertain horizon. I can see clear across the globe, the sky, into the heavens where a creator is looking thru me. I see as it is.
All things, fields of forests of ancestors with their yarn woven within the mind, truth exposed everywhere like mist hovering between timeless branches. My being within everything, my time all time, dissolved as water does, her love kissed upon the soil in rain, her ambers of life eternally me. This is the place i long for, this here where the streets lie still and the song of the forest is forever sung.
I created this image for a waternature.org graphic project about ten years ago. It appears that most have taken little time in attempting to understand the one living substance that governs all earthly existence, water. It is not enough to memorize green facts, write songs, protest, and carry on as if this problem is understood by science or god and will disappear. It won’t and it is getting much more urgent and probably beyond the point of complete reversal if mankind cares enough to care. In my quest for knowing i stumbled upon Viktor Schauberger 25 years ago when i was living in Ireland. I devoured what i could and 20 years later got frustrated with the lack of interest, support and funding so i side-stepped off into other terrains. It hounds me often to my soul because i know that i had found no better answers to understanding and comprehending nature. Our newtonian/einsteinian science based explosive-styled technology monopoly is in direct opposition to life, killing it. Viktor explains in detail and people like Callum Coats, Viktor’s son Walter and numerous others carry on this Implosive Biotechnology knowledge that in my view is the only true direction for a healthy existence for mankind and all species. And of course we are becoming more and more aware that the hour is getting late, very late. Don’t trust me, listen to me or take my word for anything….check it out for yourself but please keep your lips sealed about so called green issues until you have at least spent some serious time attempting to understand Implosive biotechnology as Viktor Schauberger had partially understood and explained and exposed for humanity. That was his gift to the earth and yet he died a saddened man…..here is a starter link. and another. There is lots on the internet about Viktor and Implosive Technology, and here also is a site i produced 20 years ago that needs some updating and love – waternature.
Graphics and Writing by patrickwey
Viktor Schauberger Quotes
“Whoever accelerates the media of earth, water and air centrifugally perishes unconditionally, for in so doing they reduce the Blood of the Earth (water) to a pathogenic state and make it the most dangerous enemy of all living and growing things.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 96, p. 4. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“They call me deranged. The hope is that they are right! It is of no greater or lesser import for yet another fool to wander this Earth. But if I am right and science is wrong, then may the Lord God have mercy on mankind!”
“You must look at the processes of motion in the macrocosmos and microcosmos accurately, and copy them!”
Implosion Magazine, No. 14, p.19 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Everything is governed by one law. A human being is a microcosmos, i.e. the laws prevailing in the cosmos also operate in the minutest space of the human being.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 8, p.6 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“If we wish to influence our own life in a particular direction, which is constantly threatened by the danger of the emergence of alien life-forms, and protect it from deterioration, then we must either allow Nature to rule or, if we wish to intervene, we must first acquaint ourselves with the simplest principles of life.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 86, p.11. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“All motion consists of two components. One component serves inwardness (internalisation) and the other outwardness (dispersion). Both preconditions for motion regulate the eternal flow of metamorphosis (panta Rhei).”
Implosion Magazine, No. 57, p.5. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Whoever accelerates the media of earth, water and air centrifugally perishes unconditionally, for in so doing they reduce the Blood of the Earth (water) to a pathogenic state and make it the most dangerous enemy of all living and growing things.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 96, p. 4. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“The scientist states that pressure is exerted outwards in all directions equally, whereas natural pressure (e.g. air pressure) is exerted inwards from all directions equally.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 114, p. 29 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
The inner climate stamps each individual with its character. Every life-form has its own individual anomaly point of health, which makes the orderly reproduction of the species possible. This also explains why the world of parasites increases with fever.
Implosion Magazine, No. 71, p. 12 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Equivalence signifies uniformity and thus immobility.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 113, p. 23 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“I think it would have been much better if Newton had contemplated how the apple got up there in the first place!”
Implosion Magazine, No. 35, p. 16 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“What is the present outlook in the field of energy generation? One word suffices – catastrophic! Through over-illumination and overheating of the media of earth, water and air in Nature’s household, a short circuit – ‘cold fire’ – and the development of cancer has been triggered off. With nuclear fission a conflagration was kindled, whose ashes and slag residues alone will extinguish all life. Thus a reporter stated recently, “For the time being this radiating thing is there and with it the attendant worries as to how we can protect ourselves against these lethal ray, which penetrate even the thickest lead shields.” The sheer lunacy of using nuclear power for peaceful purposes will be just as short-lived as the subsequent remorse will be long.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 56, p.29-30 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Implosion is no invention in the conventional sense, but rather the renaissance of ancient knowledge, lost over the course of time.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.16 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“In every case do the opposite to whatever technology does today. Then you will always be on the right track.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 36, p.3 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“You must learn to think one octave higher. Only then will you learn how implosion energy works.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.27 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“I must furnish those, who would protect or save life, with an energy source, which produces energy so cheaply that nuclear fission will not only be uneconomical, but ridiculous. This is the task I have set myself in what little life I have left.”
Viktor Schauberger in a letter to Aloys Kokaly in 1953 – Implosion Magazine No. 29, p.22 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution)
“I can generate suctional forces, which act indirectly and are entirely undetectable. No current of air can be noticed; only an almost imperceptible cooling, as occurs when air is sucked in strongly with the back of the hand held in front of the mouth. It is therefore incorrect to say that I have copied the cyclones and typhoons of the tropics.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.17. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“We need no science of formulae, but a science of forms.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 124, p. 29. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“The revelation of the secret of water will put an end to all manner of speculation or expediency and their excrescences, to which belong war, hatred, impatience and discord of every kind. The thorough study of water therefore signifies the end of monopolies, the end of all domination in the truest sense of the word and the start of a socialism arising from the development of individualism in its most perfect form.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 6, p. 29 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“As best demonstrated by Nature in the case of the aerofoil maple-seed, today’s propeller is a pressure-screw and therefore a braking screw, whose purpose is to allow the heavy maple-seed to fall parachute-like slowly towards the ground and to be carried away sideways by the wind in the process. No bird has such a whirling thing on its head, nor a fish on its tail. Only man made use of this natural brake-screw for forward propulsion. As the propeller rotates, so does the resistance rise by the square of the rotational velocity. This is also a sign that this supposed propulsive device is unnaturally constructed and therefore out of place.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 112, p. 52 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“We must look into unknown dimensions, into Nature, into that incalculable and imponderable life, whose carrier and mediator, the blood of the Earth that accompanies us steadfastly from the cradle to the grave, is water.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 103, p. 28 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“It has been proven psychologically that human beings can only appreciate or apprise, i.e. comprehend and understand, something new, if they can succeed in raising up the subconscious immured in their brain cells into their higher consciousness. If this cannot be achieved, then all preaching is useless. And even the eye has first to learn how to see everything new; it too must therefore be awoken from its latency before it can grasp the seen. Above all, there must be readiness to consider even supposed wonders as the forerunners of forthcoming realities, for only thus can the foundations be laid upon which rational mind can calculate and analyse.
Viktor Schauberger in a letter to Hermann Jaeger, 31st October 1957, Implosion Magazine, No. 103, p. 20 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
Mensch und Technik
“The true foundation of all culture is the knowledge and understanding of water. Water is the ur-substance or ur-cause of all creation and for this reason is the ur-original accumulator, which readily absorbs both earthly and cosmic substances and conveys them to the body in a purely objective form. This must be done in such a way that the ur-attributes will in no way be modified and that change as such can only first come about in hte effect, which the organically correctly structured body mediates and imparts. For this reason a good spirit dwells in a healthy body. Conversely a body full of vitality can be created, maintained and further developed by healing the inhering spirit.”
Viktor Schauberger in 1936 – from Spec. Ed. Mensch und Technik, Vol. 2, 1993, section 4.1. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
Viktor Schauberger: Our Senseless Toil (1934)
“Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect. When such work is properly done it brings happiness, and when carried out incorrectly it assuredly brings misery. Humanity! Your will is paramount! You can command Nature if you but obey her!”
“It is possible to regulate watercourses over any given distance without embankment works; to transport timber and other materials, even when heavier than water, for example ore, stones, etc., down the centre of such water-courses; to raise the height of the water table in the surrounding countryside and to endow the water with all those elements necessary for the prevailing vegetation. Furthermore it is possible in this way to render timber and other such materials non-inflammable and rot resistant; to produce drinking and spa-water for man, beast and soil of any desired composition and performance artificially, but in the way that it occurs in Nature; to raise water in a vertical pipe without pumping devices; to produce any amount of electricity and radiant energy almost without cost; to raise soil quality and to heal cancer, tuberculosis and a variety of nervous disorders… the practical implementation of this … would without doubt signify a complete reorientation in all areas of science and technology. By application of these new found laws, I have already constructed fairly large installations in the spheres of log-rafting and river regulation, which as is known, have functioned faultlessly for a decade, and which today still present insoluble enigmas to the various scientific disciplines concerned.”
“This civilization is the work of man, who high-handedly and ignorant of the true workings of Nature, has created a world without meaning or foundation, which now threatens to destroy him, for through his behavior and his activities, he, who should be her master, has disturbed Nature’s inherent unity.”
“The Upholder of the Cycles which supports the whole of Life, is water. In every drop of water dwells the Godhead, whom we all serve; there also dwells Life, the Soul of the “First” substance – Water – whose boundaries and banks are the capillaries that guide it and in which it circulates.”More energy is encapsulated in every drop of good spring water than an average-sized PowerStation is presently able to produce.”
“Our primeval Mother Earth is an organism that no science in the world can rationalize. Everything on her that crawls and flies is dependent upon Her and all must hopelessly perish if that Earth dies that feeds us.”
“Thus the development of micro-organisms and the opportunities for their propagation are simply a result of the condition in which the respective sickening macro-organism finds itself, which will be attacked by these parasites and which eventually must fall victim to them if its inner climatic conditions are no longer strictly regulated.”
“To Be or Not to Be: In Nature all life is a question of the minutest, but extremely precisely graduated differences in the particular thermal motion within every single body, which continually changes in rhythm with the processes of pulsation. This unique law, which manifests itself throughout Nature’s vastness and unity and expresses itself in every creature and organism, is the ‘ law of ceaseless cycles’ that in every organism is linked to a certain time span and a particular tempo. The slightest disturbance of this harmony can lead to the most disastrous consequences for the major life forms. In order to preserve this state of equilibrium, it is vital that the characteristic inner temperature of each of the millions of micro-organisms contained in the macro-organisms be maintained.”
“Wherever we look the dreadful disintegration of the bridges of life, the capillaries and the bodies they have created, is evident, which has been caused by the mechanical and mindless work of man, who has torn away the soul from the Earth’s blood – water. The more the engineer endeavors to channel water, of whose spirit and nature he is today still ignorant, by the shortest and straightest route to the sea, the more the flow of water weighs into the bends, the longer its path and the worse the water will become. The spreading of the most terrible disease of all, of cancer , is the necessary consequence of such unnatural regulatory works. These mistaken activities – our work – must legitimately lead to increasingly widespread unemployment, because our present methods of working, which have a purely mechanical basis, are already destroying not only all of wise Nature’s formative processes, but first and foremost the growth of the vegetation itself, which is being destroyed even as it grows. The drying up of mountain springs, the change in the whole pattern of motion of the groundwater, and the disturbance in the blood circulation of the organism – Earth – is the direct result of modern forestry practices. The pulse-beat of the Earth was factually arrested by the modern timber production industry. Every economic death of a people is always preceded by the death of its forests. The forest is the habitat of water and as such the habitat of life processes too, whose quality declines as the organic development of the forest is disturbed. Ultimately, due to a law which functions with awesome constancy, it will slowly but surely come around to our turn. Our accustomed way of thinking in many ways, and perhaps even without exception, is opposed to the true workings of Nature. Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect. When such work is carried out correctly, it brings happiness, but when carried out incorrectly, it assuredly brings misery.”
Jane Cobbald: Viktor Schauberger – A Life of Learning from Nature (2006)
Even in earliest youth my fondest desire was to understand Nature, and thus to come closer to the truth; a truth that I was unable to discover either at school or in church.
Jane Cobbald: Viktor Schauberger – A Life of Learning from Nature (2006)
Callum Coats: Living Energies – Viktor Schauberger’s brilliant work with Natural Energies Explained (2002)
“…As time passed I began to play a game with water’s secret powers; I surrendered my so-called free consciousness and allowed the water to take possession of it for a while. Little by little this game turned into a profoundly earnest endeavour, because I realised that one could detach one’s own consciousness from the body and attach it to that of the water. When my own consciousness was eventually returned to me, then the water’s most deeply concealed psyche often revealed the most extraordinary things to me. As a result of this investigation, a researcher was born who could dispatch his consciousness on a voyage of discovery, as it were. In this way I was able to experience things that had escaped other people’s notice, because they were unaware that a human being is able to send forth his free consciousness into those places the eyes cannot see. By practising this blindfolded vision, I eventually developed a bond with mysterious Nature, whose essential being I then slowly learnt to perceive and understand…”
“The majority believes that everything hard to comprehend must be very profound. This is incorrect. What is hard to understand is what is immature, unclear and often false. The highest wisdom is simple and passes through the brain directly to the heart. — Viktor Schauberger.”
Callum Coats: Water Wizard
“For a person who lives 100 years in the future, the present comes as no surprise.”
“The Upholder of the Cycles which supports the whole of Life, is water. In every drop of water dwells the Godhead, whom we all serve; there also dwells Life, the Soul of the “First” substance – Water – whose boundaries and banks are the capillaries that guide it and in which it circulates. More energy is encapsulated in every drop of good spring water than an average-sized PowerStation is presently able to produce.”
“Our primeval Mother Earth is an organism that no science in the world can rationalize. Everything on her that crawls and flies is dependent upon Her and all must hopelessly perish if that Earth dies that feeds us.”
“”How else should it be done then?”, was always the immediate question. The answer is simple: “Exactly in the opposite way that it is done today!””
“Kapieren und Kopieren!”
Translation: “Comprehend and copy Nature!”
“Nature is not served by rigid laws, but by rhythmical, reciprocal processes. Nature uses none of the preconditions of the chemist or the physicist for the purposes of evolution. Nature excludes all fire, on principle, for purposes of growth; therefore all contemporary machines are unnatural and constructed according to false premises. Nature avails herself of the biodynamic form of motion through which the biological prerequisite for the emergence of life is provided. Its purpose is to ur-procreate ‘higher’ conditions of matter out of the originally inferior raw materials, which afford the evolutionally older, or the numerically greater rising generation, the possibility of a constant capacity to evolve, for without any growing and increasing reserves of energy there would be no evolution or development. This results first and foremost in the collapse of the so-called Law of the Conservation of Energy, and in further consequence the Law of Gravity, and all other dogmatic lose any rational or practical basis.”
“Wherever we look the dreadful disintegration of the bridges of life, the capillaries and the bodies they have created, is evident, which has been caused by the mechanical and mindless work of man, who has torn away the soul from the Earth’s blood – water. The more the engineer endeavors to channel water, of whose spirit and nature he is today still ignorant, by the shortest and straightest route to the sea, the more the flow of water weighs into the bends, the longer its path and the worse the water will become. The spreading of the most terrible disease of all, of cancer , is the necessary consequence of such unnatural regulatory works. These mistaken activities – our work – must legitimately lead to increasingly widespread unemployment, because our present methods of working, which have a purely mechanical basis, are already destroying not only all of wise Nature’s formative processes, but first and foremost the growth of the vegetation itself, which is being destroyed even as it grows. The drying up of mountain springs, the change in the whole pattern of motion of the groundwater, and the disturbance in the blood circulation of the organism – Earth – is the direct result of modern forestry practices. The pulse-beat of the Earth was factually arrested by the modern timber production industry. Every economic death of a people is always preceded by the death of its forests. The forest is the habitat of water and as such the habitat of life processes too, whose quality declines as the organic development of the forest is disturbed. Ultimately, due to a law which functions with awesome constancy, it will slowly but surely come around to our turn. Our accustomed way of thinking in many ways, and perhaps even without exception, is opposed to the true workings of Nature. Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect.
“It is possible to regulate watercourses over any given distance without embankment works; to transport timber and other materials, even when heavier than water, for example ore, stones, etc., down the centre of such water-courses; to raise the height of the water table in the surrounding countryside and to endow the water with all those elements necessary for the prevailing vegetation. Furthermore it is possible in this way to render timber and other such materials non-inflammable and rot resistant; to produce drinking and spa-water for man, beast and soil of any desired composition and performance artificially, but in the way that it occurs in Nature; to raise water in a vertical pipe without pumping devices; to produce any amount of electricity and radiant energy almost without cost; to raise soil quality and to heal cancer, tuberculosis and a variety of nervous disorders… the practical implementation of this … would without doubt signify a complete reorientation in all areas of science and technology.”
“This civilization is the work of man, who high-handedly and ignorant of the true workings of Nature, has created a world without meaning or foundation, which now threatens to destroy him, for through his behavior and his activities, he, who should be her master, has disturbed Nature’s inherent unity.”
“Our thinking is inconsistent with what we actually see. The eye is a perfect, natural organ. The seen image is a reaction phenomenon. Using an artificial optical apparatus, the same effect, for example, can only be obtained by a roundabout way, by means of a negative. The eye, on the other hand, immediately presents us with the diapositive, namely the true image.”
“Our sight constitutes an unconscious, automatic transformation process, through which the negative image – like a photographic negative – (i.e. the effect), is transformed into a positive one, like a diapositive color slide. Our thinking, however, is really a purely individual, conscious process and therefore learnable. If our thinking is to attain the same perfection as our seeing, then we must change our way of thinking and learn to see reality, not as an action, but as a reaction. Perfect thought lies in the apprehension of the correct reaction, for before the eye can show us the positive, it must first transform the negative and in a certain manner must break up what it records. What we see therefore, is the turning inside out of what we receive. What our mind grasps in this way must be re-formed and re-thought if we wish to attain what we strive for.”
“Today’s science thinks too primitively; indeed it could be said that its thinking is an octave too low. It has still not ventured far enough into the realm of energy, and its attitude has remained development was necessary, for how else should a misguided humanity perceive the true interdependencies?”
“Without doubt, therefore, there is a definite intention to teach young people upside-down methods of working with which they have to miss-earn their daily bread. That is to say, instead of moving forwards, they go backwards all the more rapidly in step with the improvements in the contrary methods of motion. For only thus can today’s teaching principles flourish.”
“Already from earliest childhood it was my deepest wish to understand nature and through this to come closer to the truth I could not find at school or at church. I was repeatedly drawn to the forest where I could watch the flow of water for hours on end without getting tired or irritable. At that time I did not yet know that water is the bearer of life or the source of what we call consciousness. Totally oblivious, I let water flow past my searching eyes and only years later did I become aware that this running water attracts our consciousness magnetically, takes a piece with it, with a force that is so strong that one loses consciousness for a while and involuntarily falls into a deep sleep. And so, gradually I began to play with these forces in water and I gave up this so-called free consciousness and left it to the water for a while. Little by little this game turned into a very serious matter because I saw that it was possible to release my own consciousness from my body and attach it to the water. When I took it back again, the consciousness borrowed from the water told me things that were often very strange. And so the searcher became a researcher who could send his consciousness on expeditions, so to speak, and this way I found out about things the rest of mankind has missed because they do not know that people are able to send their free consciousness everywhere, even where the seeing eye cannot look. This so-called sight practiced with blindfolded eyes finally gave me ties to the secrets of nature which I slowly began to recognize and understand in their own fabric. And in due course it became clear to me that we human beings are used to seeing everything backwards and wrong. The biggest surprise, however, was that we human beings let the most valuable part drain off as useless and from all the great intellectuality that flows through us, we retain only the feces.”
“An American aircraft consortium offered me 3.5 million dollars; a similar offer was made by Canadian interests. You didn’t want it in Europe, so now you’ll have to get it back from America expensively!”
Woke up into a bizarre world. I knew i was in my bed and on the same planet i was in when i fell into sleep space but today when i awoke i just was overwhelmed with how ridiculous this world of man sometimes can be. Everybody i’ve met in my life or had come to know thru the medium of media, books to talk shows to movies to gossip, everybody, everyone of us believes in the thoughts that harvest our minds. We can’t stop it. I know people that believe we are descendants from particular aliens from particular star systems. I know people that believe Trump was sent by god, the big God, the one and only. I know folk that believe we’ll all meet up again in some heaven or some kind of karma will keep us going thru eons of lives. I know people that believe in walt disney truth, in fantasies and strange dark side evil characters beyond my imagination, way beyond my comprehension. I know women that believe all men are liars and they could do without completely. I’ve met men that absolutely hate women and despise their nature. I know men that love only men and women that love only women. I know scientists that truly believe man is superior to nature and that reason is the utmost truth in the universe. I know dear people that believe in love, in truth, in family, in all kinds of ideals and truly believe it is all just as they believe it is. I know people that don’t have a clue in what they believe and ones that never question their beliefs ever.
Everybody believes, even the non-believers believe. It’s a strange world. Somedays you just wake up and wonder wtf and want to roll over and fall back into dream time, but you don’t.
Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense anymore, you got to laugh, there is nothing left to do, smile and laugh, entertain yourself with the absurdity of it all, believe when you believe and tear it all apart when you can. It just amazes me how serious we all are about what ever it is we are, we do, we think. That is what we do. We live our lives believing in what we do, what we are but some of it is all just so insane, crazy, hypocritical, pious, hollow. People with a vision small and large or some epiphany spend their whole lives gathering facts to prove what they experienced is correct, perfect, the truth, real. They bring in texts from the ancient scholars, bibles, geometric analysis, philosophical conclusions, gathering facts and supporters where ever they can and then they attempt to convince the world they got it, they have the evidence, or at least most of it to prove their conclusions are valid, absolute and then far too many attempt to ram it down our throats in one way or another, sometimes easy at first, sometimes not. I know, i’ve been there, done that just like so many others. There are those that are much more modest with their conclusions and usually are not quite as certain about what went on in and outside of their minds and realize it is much too distant to hold so tight.
I know people that believe in things that are simply ridiculous, people that conceal what they believe out of embarrassment. I have friends that believe in all kinds of weird stuff. I have friends, relatives that avoid talking to me because i can’t believe in what they believe. Belief turned rigid is at the root of most all disagreements, arguments, fights, wars, killing. Whereas flexible belief changes, adapts, moves on, evolves, ends, kills itself, often as gentle as a breath of fresh air but it is rare and possibly thought can never be completely fluid.
It is bizarre, when in the end, none of it really matters but none the less, you must do it, that is the world of man, thought, life. One must live with conviction. Most humans i have met are not very clear about what the process of thought really does to their way of life, their convictions. For most ‘thought’ is a given, understood, self evident and i suppose most of the time it is but i see that many get caught in the trap of building it into a system structure of belief that is doomed to failure or simply ‘just not so’, an illusion, a life long deception for the simple pleasure of being in a comfortable bubble. Unfortunately that little box often falls apart just when you had thought it was almost a steady dream. It is possible to ignore the real questions of life and take on former belief systems from outdated religions, dangerous rituals, dead philosophies, rigid science disciplines and ‘that’ is the right of every mind, i suppose. At least, that is just the way it is.
I prefer to question ‘the serous stuff’, but i am uncertain whether it was worth it. I don’t know if it really matters. I do tend to believe that questioning all belief does make for a more peaceful mind, a mind much more unconcerned with the typical useless arguments over gods and demons and absolutes whether philosophical, scientific of simply street nonsense. Certainly i’ll never be around to exist in a world where these useless arguments are forever forgotten. So one moves on into what ever world one is placed within, or possibly, some mornings an attempt to fall back into the uncontrollable moments of sleep-time where thought tends to bend easy.
Hope is irrelevant, rather useless, an excuse to do nothing, a paralysis. I think faith is all one truly needs and it is a given, a physical knowing, body truth. I think faith is beyond thought, is something that exists within the nature of the process of creation itself, a string theory, a mystery, thee mystery, the great mystery, but of course i don’t know, just something i choose to ‘believe in’, for now. The movement to question every belief allows one to attempt to be as open as possible in every inquiry in every moment. That alone opens the doors to a much more healthy approach to every issue as it becomes an investigation for the most appropriate solution for the moment…………knowing it will change as time inhales our mind. A constitution for freedom from the known. In thought nothing is perfect but one must walk on, that is life as we know it ….. till death when we shall part our ways, ‘you and i’ and ‘i and i’.
The train lines have turned to dust, your hair all tangled from the night time hollows. Love wavering in the ruins of time, your sweet smile kissing the graves of the poets down by the rivers edge. The world beaten by its dreams lying in a future dying in the streets; you’re all that the midnight needs, a few blood stained sketches of perfect form and a sip of love in vain. Out of the trembling skies, out of the harrowing feats, out of the historic events into your heart beat you’re born down into the city waves. That’s the way it is, stoned, cursed by the blues, tough as steel, soft as moon. Time turns tight dark and red alone by the cobble stones and neon lights. Things come to you unseen deep, smooth like a pure path to somewhere and you take it, questions falling off like autumn leaves, answers smothered in delight. This is the way to the other side, down below, over there, the distance that never ends, the end of love, the end silently moving still.
I wanted you, i wanted the touch of your heart, your lips touching me, your being mingling in mine as one. The air without you dying forsaken whispering in agony. I want you like water needs breath. I need this life to live.
Woven threads of love tingle themselves around the heavens. I can see this is not real. I can see this is all there is. The walk thru the foreign forest feels dangerous and true, real and beautiful. Thoughts tangle themselves around the roots, dreams drip like dew embraced by morning light. I am forced to the centre of it all by strings of beauty and i can see that you are no where near. That is when the road unfolds and memory dies and overtaken by its weight the trail sweeps itself thru you and i and we’re gone, done.
History picks up the pieces and fresh minds unravel the bits of truths scattered across the paths. Monuments emerge, elegies are written, sacred poems sprout out across the desert sands but nothing lasts. A sad lonely coyote howls across the moon lit desert into the cool night air lifting high into the atmosphere and at that exact moment silent love is envisioned within my heart, my mind, my life then disappears.
In the underground below the surface things are different, walls bend, structures twist around realities and the liquid skies flow in and out of space in magic. After a sound rain the other side comes into being, alive and opens up like love does when it flashes itself pure for a moment. I stumbled into this secret world by accident, as if anything really is by chance, and since then i could never find solitude in the streets of man again with its dull rigid forms. Every slight shift another shape presents itself out of melting molecules of curved space and bent time. The connected lines curl inside my mind to the mirrors outside, inside the painted water-colours from the goddess of earth herself. She is the artist without ideals in silence she speaks in moving shades of colours upon the surface of her life, the water, the gift, life blending into one another in warmth and beauty. This is why i live here, the underwater world of mystery, beneath the surface, my love.
These images are not simply reflections as most would prefer to believe, they are curved realities of a parallel source that comes in and out of existence just as truth emanates from the myth of mind than hides. They are shape shifting thru the galaxies, wonders as unique as faith. Everything is a reflection, even the eternal source, the underworld, the romance of the mind, the puddle in all its glory and force to take you where you need to go, the stories in your mind.
I saw you walk thru the sky with buildings dissolving around you. You stoped by the heavens of light for a glance into my eyes. Our minds evaporated together in a single length for a moment and the soft presence of reality slipped upon us in shades of silvery hues only you could produce, the woman of life, earth mother, the goddess of love, the maternal water-colour-painter of earth. Liquid light dancing to the compositions of chance floating around in perfect harmony within the chaos of love.
In the heat of the day, things change, forms melt dry, whole worlds fade into thin air, the doors to the windows of magic end slowly as the sun spreads itself across the land and the underworld hides itself with time to gather her thoughts and shape itself once again into realities that slide across this secret universe alone. Worlds hide in the dry shadows of the earth and man and beast wait till time is right for the wet life of imagination to form in coves and hollows where spirit weeps its tears in infinite arrays of fantasies. The puddle sees the absent mind and lives for but a moment in the unknown history of the eternal.
Melted vanished now, I loved you when time was slow, as a statue on a pedestal we kissed along the avenues of forever, the fortunes of favour came to us for nothing but a warm embrace. We had it all, light crawling across your face and glowing like a saint, a DaVinci master piece, an angel of a virgin, a perfect love in a perfect place. You were the dream that tangled up my memories, the love that lasted forever before time turned round and sped up on down the roads of change. You went your way and i went mine; leaves of grass wavering across the plains of time.
Click on any image and create a slide show of mostly people images from this trip to Belarus….Autumn 2019 People Images Puddle Images
The streets are big in Minsk, clean, the side walks wide, the buildings grand and people well dressed. There is not the typical noice you hear in many other huge cities of the world, less horn honking and repetitious music blasting and speed is not as urgent from the vehicles surfacing the black tar along the avenues. There are many beautiful women, thin and nicely decorated unlike the america’s new over-weight sloppy tattooed pierced trend, a refreshing glimpse into a past where bodies were still pure skin and healthy without the sometimes blasphemous over abundance of cartooned ink upon toxic fat skin and metal driven thru flesh and fluorescent post modern painted hair. The men are very short haired, also thin and congenially dressed. Even the older folk dress modest and simple compared to the holly-world western space .
A feel of dignity still prevails though i notice often an endless stare into your eyes unless you stare back until one or the other breaks, i don’t break usually but look with a soft stare into the often deep disturbed eyes.
Since there is a prohibition on drugs of any sort, by default alcohol is the intoxicant. In a world where people are investigating alternative realities, in this respect Belarus is left in some dark age and yet with the toy of the future, the internet and its social addictive apps. You can smell the disgusting scent of cigarette smoke in many locations, restaurants, outside cafes, in the streets; ten years behind the west. Kids still play outside, the games of the virtual world has not got them by the balls nearly as much as in the west, but it’s on its way. There is good there is bad, the world moves on. The country is flat, poor, segregated from the west under a democratic communist facist form; minds confined. A lot of bureaucracy everywhere, foolish laws to keep the system in order and the people under thumbs.
The poor from the smaller towns and villages live well if they work their fingers to the bones, they eat organic food, slightly tainted with western chemicals, they spend time talking at the kitchen table, Jesus is on their walls. The country folk as everywhere have people that care from the heart.
There is a sense of rudeness in the city streets by many, a touch of disrespect for the other, for the different, for the wild west. They do what they know but the window of the internet is spilling into their every move. It has got the world on its knees. It is changing things daily, by the hour, the second, it is everywhere, the big brothers of business are loving us, connecting us, controlling us.
Now, at the moment, i am in a small country cabin, no electricity, no running water, an out house toilet, a wood oven stove. A river on the other side of a short walk thru a magical pine and birch forest, the swimming hole, the shower, the beauty and life from a vein of mother earth. A distance from the madness in the streets, the glamour, the dreams, i write slow, with silence.
The world over, people are lost, from the privileged in the west, the east, the poor in the streets, the saved in the cults, the craftsmen in the art scene, the musicians lost in their groove, politicians, business people, families and scientists ‘working on a future’, alternative intelligence sneaking their views into the brains of humanity. It’s all a part of gods plan, many are determined to believe.
The autumn night is cool and the air is awake with no answers floating easy thru my mind. I am fine with this uncertainty, this refreshing breath of calm spirit holding me close to its heart. I have no desire to bother you, to invite you into my mind, to convince you of anything. Love is nothing but a shelter from the storm for most, hate is completely insane for the few, beauty is all that matters and it is everywhere, in the arguments at the table, the sliver of moon thru the pines, the tea as it soothes my throat and the whole world is at my mercy and i have nothing that needs to be done. I care about nothing, the future luring itself to me with a ‘now’, life is glorious in moments and treacherous at times but beauty is always there presenting itself for nothing but a whisper of faith; what is and will be just is, take it as it comes and honour your mind with its presence. That is all, so easy and yet so incredibly difficult to perform, this act of life, as it is.
I am in a little village as some of the greatest writers we know had lived, the Russian people, their hard walk thru the blizzards of life, Dostoevsky, my first read, the Brothers and Notes from an Underground, Mayakovsky’s poems that kept me alive, ‘past one o’clock’, Yevtushenko’s ‘monologue’ walked my youth into the world and Malevich with his warning paints against a future canvas, a sage, the great uncle of a few of my closest friends……….how did it all shape itself into this ; and now Sasha, my Belarusian wife, here with me in her homeland with family i write of the world, the people, their things that i can not do justice to, my words fail miserably admits such giants of the mind.
Unlucky I suppose, I never reaped the benefits of these great men in cloth but they taught me of things money often shrouds in hollow homes; there is no understanding in misunderstood and expensive love. Blood-awards are not the cure for love but there are no rules where money lives.
I walked thru this world watching the desperate, the weak, the crippled rule while we few slid between the cracks, life like a highway leading to the shore where nothing escapes, we all come we all go and nothing really matters at all, cept the honour of your own walk. Thanks to you ‘russian writers and artists’ that painted light thru the hard dark days, somehow it reverberated in my mind and here i am writing to you with russian-air blowing thru my words like earth and the plow, the rivers, the pure and the blind.
mayakovsky….’in hours as these i write words to the heavens, i have no reason to wake you and as they say the ships of love have smashed into the daily grind. There is no sense in attempting to balance mutual pains, sorrows, or straighten out the crooked lines of fate. When i look up as stars stream across the milky way i can see there is no time left to ask another thing, this day is closed and you and i are quits, so leave yourself from questions of our worth, there is nothing important here, go on your way thru the misery and joys of this world with the knowing that we did exist and leave it at that’.
In the smaller towns many older folk still ride bicycles, not the newer multi-speed bikes but the ones from sixty years ago; one speed, a carriage for groceries, a rat trap for stuff in the trunk. The yards are fenced in with ornate precast lengths of concrete designed and painted uniquely from house to house and town to town. There are gardens in every yard with vegetables, fruit trees and flowers everywhere. The people work hard for less than they’re worth. The system scrapes more than their share for the insiders—the cops to the clergy, but only a special few perched at the very top really reap the majority of the wealth. In that respect the twain of the west and east do really meet. I would say in general that people here are less happy, fake or not, depression hidden close to their heart, a beaten past, a tough perspective difficult to hold, a curse very slowly lifting. The youth want more, as everywhere, and the internet feels like a road to freedom, but it comes with a price. Much of the good of the old will vanish, new trends will appear, tattoos, piercings, fat, sloppiness, arrogance, freedom and toxic chemicals from the kool west is creeping in and the best of the worst is dying out. Here no one smiles at a first glance, and in the west far too many smile from a condition of ‘fake it till you make it’ or as John Lennon said in ‘Working Class Hero’, “first you must learn how to smile as you kill”——his point is clear. Nothing is black and white, there is grey everywhere.
It takes a lot of effort to get someone to smile. Often, even kids suspect something wrong if you attempt to smile for the encouragement for them to smile back. Older people are very suspect and you need to be careful at times not to offend them into looking back at you with troubled hate in their eyes. The best i can do is smile with gentle eyes and if they look long enough sometimes they feel the sincerity and the possibility that it may be safe enough to give a gentle glance back before quickly looking away. It’s complicated and you have to understand the culture, the government, the past, the hard work for little, the internet, the cell phone, the condition of the conditioning. I don’t understand enough, i’m careful, sympathetic. I’m not looking for anything or expecting miracles, suspecting the worst, the best or anything at all, just observing for nothing better to do.
Sasha manages to get thru to some of the people to make them talk and laugh but still unlike the west with the sometimes frenzy of undue emotion for the sake of proof that one does in fact possess happiness and security, it is a challenge, but she has the language on her lips and the culture engrained in her brain.
Everywhere you go the majority of people have in common the tremendous desire to belong, to feel safe, to be comfortable in their beliefs and to act accordingly in some form of freedom, real or not. It is the awareness that this does not exist quite the way one would hope for, and that fact alone makes them react in odd ways with repression and aggression but with a little luck a true simple act of love, an observation of their beauty often opens up the laced curtains to their melting windows of love where all is connected and then things sometimes change in the most peculiar modest manner.
After sitting in the same cafe for a few days you get to notice familiar faces, the one gypsy family, a crippled man, his wife, a grandmother and a 12 year old boy. A number of old ladies with their bikes and a few sexy young chicks. There must be a 6 to 1 ratio of woman to men. I suppose the baby boomers last stance with many of the men dead; gone from rough times. I could be wrong about many of my observations but one thing for certain is this, ‘it is a depressed repressed flat country with a modest dignity’.
When it comes to the world of man, nothing is close to perfect, no country, no civilization, only aspects of individual lives with the right amount of moderation for this, and for that, then and only then does a human survive in contentment. One that can be mostly satisfied with ones life no matter what condition, changing what one can and accepting what one cannot change and of course the key attribute, the intelligence to know that difference; some anonymous character said that, “be what you are, be what you are not, and own that”, and i said that.
I watch the people hustle about, the same in South Africa, Argentina, the Duncan Garage Cafe, the world over people are so complicated they have lost the ability to be simple. Simple like living for no reason, being with no purpose, giving for no expectation, receiving for no compliment.
It is mid afternoon, there are more men in the streets, the sun is high, the traffic is steady and quiet, the horn is rarely used, people are orderly, law abiding, conditioned that way. People are tired, it’s mid week, hard life, difficult future; entrepreneuring is not supported, not respected, it’s difficult times but there have been worse, much, much worse. There are no wheel chairs, no motorized wheel chairs, no walkers. People walk, even if they have cars, gas can be expensive. The cane is still the best bet for an aching joint. Over all people here are definitely more healthy, but weary, a contradiction, but true.
Words fall from the ages with syllables of sorrow and joy. Time has come to end all time with but a flinch of an eye. For nothing needs to be said of the pain, all the misery in the world, all the circumstances and all their meaning; the blood, the desperation for love, the beauty of it all. The last night has come, the day is done, no sense in a final attempt to understand, the mystery will prevail, the only certainty we can understand and it will fade also. So know that i did try to find you, to love you, to understand love, to see the beauty in it all. Now, time has come to a slow walk, a crawl and we must depart from this last shore, the infinite sands where the waters will own us, take us, disintegrate us, give us back to the eternal source, the everlasting reflections of mystery. This is the end my friend, no time left to begin…..
In a morning moment from a cafe in Brest
Jokerman hasn’t made his mind up yet, but the streets of hell are over flowing, the great artists have been striving to reach out, give what they can to the ditch of deceit, the river is moving on, the prophets are drowning in their words, love is on the edge. The basement tapes have been digitized into zeros and ones, the kings of the jungle own everything now, right down to the last sip of water, the moon is just another franchise for crazy concepts, the hip are moving in down along the boulevard, prices are skyrocketing; Brest is just another city transforming into a scene of just another holly-world, Belarusian pride is flourishing.
I walk along the streets looking for an image to say it right, everybody is a camera man everywhere in this era of fame for all, there is no moment to hold it all together, the way will have its way, time will just escape along the streets as it always does, with or without me. I see a figure approaching, a cane holding a worn pile of bones, an old lady with dignity moving along in her cage like a saint. My camera clicks in black and white, a flash of a second and she is immortalized, the world is stopped and the street is dead. Her lover in torn war worn clothes enters her simple room on the second floor of a shattered structure in the centre of town, here she walks so many years ahead in a dream she never owned. She lives in and out of this space in solitude and a beautiful sorrow. War tears the winds apart. How could i have known it would happen like this, this street in all its memories moving in and out of time across from the cafe, the new hip K-lab Cafe along a park avenue in Brest. I could be anywhere, war is everywhere, the coffee is smooth and i move out again onto the path and walk with the saints, phantoms, and the modern.
Epilogue I can see it ain’t what we suppose. It is all beyond our conclusions. What is, is not what is in our minds. For most, life is a series of uncompleted strategies, unfulfilled dreams, rational and acceptable illusions we believe are true. We strive and desire, we want and we lie, we know we are all made up of dreams and for a few of us this is exactly what we love, the fantasy, the unreality of it all, a way to live our lives in harmony with the mystery. This understanding is the knowing that life is much more than what we could possibly think. Thought is just not the utmost tool in the box, the best meal on the menu, the favourite in gods hope chest. Thought has got humanity by the balls. Let it ride. Breathe faith along the trail, the process is love.
This ends my tour of Belarus for this time.
Excerpts and short conclusions and images by Patrick Wey
There is so much to say about the secrets hiding in the shadows, the truth so invisible to the herd, the simple understandings that have been manufactured into honest lies. Whom will step out into the dark so bright from the false hopes half empty in this mirrored glass of life.
There have been but few to see beyond the false walls of deceit and illusions and even those few had often fallen within the thickets of thought. It is thought that is the map; the ideals, the concepts, the direction, and utilized properly it would always find its way towards the edge of certainty and fall into the abyss of loves knowing, god, the creator, the great mystery. Thought is the tool to save us but it must always see its limit so it may not entrap itself in secure beliefs that ultimately will torture one into yet but another form of mans luring insanities, rigid religions, dangerous sciences, AGI, fake blues everywhere, but in it’s very nature, thought it appears, walks in crippled knowledge.
He saw the world of man as predominately insane, clasping unto the abstracts of words, ideas, maps as truth in themselves. Thoughts belief is not the undivided truth and never can be, relative at best. In its very nature of ‘memory the past’ it is flawed against the absolute but it is a gift to understand; but not to worship. Worship the unknown, the creator, the mystery but never claim a path that leads to its knowing. Understanding that one can never truly know is the pure path of the critical thinker, the real man, the true super mind. The relationship between thought and knowing is paramount to the harmony and sanity of the mind. Thought is always standing on the outside looking in, never on the inside looking out.
‘The only way out of this mess is in’, but thought can not take you there. Thought can enhance your understanding of what it can not do and that in itself can lead you to its shore, possibly.
He stood on the shore and saw the sheep – lost, roaming in the mountains, children crying – dying in the streets of dreams, authority conspiring behind pretty plastic walls, and answers disintegrating in ditches like poems barely alive, perfect words falling from a paradise unheard.
His lips were tight walking thru the night, hearing the news of the latest fight, seeing the screen of the masses murdered, tasting the air of desolation. He had to walk away from the turmoil, lay low for awhile, catch his breath, look again deep within to see there is no answer fit to keep it together to know anything other than to let go, take it to the mystery, lay it on the altar, gather feathers and stones and weep into the darkness for humanity. That was the way to survive, cry for the people, feel their pain, feel the insanity of it all and breathe, breathe deep slow and walk on. Man has made his bed and but a few watch it squirm in its hidden agony sheltered by its crippled hope and do nothing but help the dying die with the last few fragments of dignity that sits quietly alone like a lost angel in their broken hearts.
From the shore the salted air waved along his skin like silk in magic. The sound of the sea rushed onto the coast whispering the sacred straight thru his mind and composed itself soft onto his heart. There were no answers from this mist, truth clung onto nothing, the smell of kelp, the sand as poems upon his feet, the earth alive and breathing simple and true.
So there he stood upon the shore to nothingness where dreams weave in and out of existence like wind in beauty where one can see without looking. That is the way of knowing nothing, for it alone will hold you forever where life and death are one and the same and things just are for no reason. Love sits everywhere, sometimes you can feel it when the mind is quiet but it is but a reflection, its source unknown, a mystery, a god; perhaps, at least, an intelligence, which reason trudges thru and appears to understand somehow.
The people walk by and he sees them but they don’t see him. They carry on with their well worn dreams and their half constructed beliefs and their struggle well concealed but they know somewhere hidden deep within their being that they also, ‘know nothing that lasts’; lost children hoping for a saviour that never comes, only shallow blind dreams sliding down the tubes of their myth of mind. That is their existence, their truth and they defend it with a pride to die for and they do, supporting, killing, hoping and lying, doing what they do in their desperate world of faith in knowing. Few could travel along side with him, but some did attempt to walk the pathless trail, especially in their later years when dreams fell wounded and death came calling but the patterns of the mind are tough and long and deep and it takes more than most can bare to break the mold of myth straight clear into the end.
He walked on thru the world in and out of the hard jungle, the mountains, the valleys, the minds of man with one eye on beauty and the other emerged and conditioned with thought. That was the best he could do to survive in a brain twisted of this world. He was no saint, no leader, no fool, just a man observing what he could of this mystery of being. In this state no will was necessary to find anything, everything just all was. Love, energy, dark matter, god, the intelligent process, mystery, truth all melted into an eternity of possible oneness that was always beyond, always elusive, always safe and distant from mind and there he died once again leaving behind disintegrating memories fading in the dying of time.
‘what does it matter in the end or in the beginning. sadness is just another way for not understanding the process of it all which one never can and one never will. life just is and the mechanics of the human mind makes it what it isn’t and that is what makes it all matter. death will come upon all the living. love is just a concept to glue it all together, but nothing matters where love is.’
She walked through the door like she was floating thru the air. Her sweet smile was a miracle from space, a symbol written in wind, a breeze made of love. She was heavenly beyond belief, a magnet of purity, a simple walk across the floor she glided in like a dream within a dream.
He loved her like no other, how could he know this truth with the noise inside the room, the confusion in the streets, the disasters in the mind but he felt it deep within and believed it so.
The illusion of shape, the mirage of wind, the absurdity of distance, the uncertainty of belief. This is the beauty of love.
I want so much to be able to say the things that i cannot. To speak with words that could never die, to feel the love of her touch, the smell of her skin, the caress of her heart. I want these things that move about in my mind. These things with tenderness that stops time, that ends thought, that never dies. I want these things that can never exist but for a moment so slight, so minute, so vague. I want eternity forever. I want love.
as Love moves quietly thru the noise of desire…..
‘this was inspired over the knowledge of a close friend facing death’
Audio reciting ‘the only thing that is the same’, by Patrick Wey
the only thing that is the same in this universe is zero and even that is debatable when you’re on one side or the other side of the law
I moved away from the familiar past into a world where friends were few and loneliness was often found in the silence hidden aside the walkways across the avenues. I almost found solitude if it weren’t for the e social networks, nonetheless there were many moments of calm creations; when there is nothing left to prove things happen in a different way. Streets open up with unimaginable events, people surprise you, animals speak out loud silently, birds fly for no reason, insects have some strange purpose one will never know. Dreams keep surrounding you with images that don’t have to make sense, the disease of man seems bearable and things just are.
Out west the air is clear once you travel beyond the atmosphere, nothing is perfect in the mind, mirrors just appear and the road unravels like a rug finely woven with magic and mystery like a heaven sometimes rejected for hell.
I love the smell of success as well as anyone, whether it be in the mind or in the pocket, it just seems simpler with out the travesty of catching money for your thoughts, it seems the toil of labour for jewels is degrading, a useless waste of life if you don’t even have a family to sit with for dinner. It’s hard times on the road, being human, forced to find an identity that doesn’t exist, a purpose where there is no meaning unless you deliver one for your self, create a home for your phantom soul to relax within.
I am me, the creation of numerous years searching to not search, moving to find nothing, a life completely vacant of hope for humanity, hope to cope, a path to end all paths, but i am stuck here, in a mind forced to believe in stuff this world is made of, a victim of conditional love, a surviver thru many a storm, a man growing old in body and simpler in mind. There is no escape but death and i love it, the times twisted bend out of and into shape, i love this life, most of the time.
Most of the time
I’m clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the signs
Stay right with it
When the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don’t even notice
Most of the time
Most of the time
It’s well understood
Most of the time
I wouldn’t change it if I could
I can’t make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation
Right down to the bone
I can survive,
And I can endure
And I don’t even think
Most of the time
Most of the time
My head is on straight
Most of the time
I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion
’till it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion
No matter how thick
I can smile in the face
Don’t even remember
What her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time
Most of the time
She ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her
She’s that far behind
Most of the time
I can’t even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time
I’m halfway content
Most of the time
I know exactly where it all went
I don’t cheat on myself
I don’t run and hide
Hide from the feelings
That are buried inside
I don’t compromise
And I don’t pretend
I don’t even care
If I ever see her again
Most of the time
The judge, he holds a grudge He’s gonna call on you
But he’s badly built
And he walks on stilts
Watch out he don’t fall on you…..b dylan
Believe in nothing to believe, but if you must, then master the system and then let it disintegrate and walk on.
The man with the brain slowly edged himself up upon thru to the ruins of definiteness and held a glimpse or two of the wavering minds lounging in the cafes along the avenues. He was weathered by the storms of the twisted perspectives attached to the paint upon the canvases of the ancients to the post moderns and otherwise dangling off the limbs as dreams, possibilities, awakenings of white on white on white – canvas.
He had a coffee as usual and glued together a few words as they swung by like intruders off the modern capes flowing in the winds. He was done, left for the highway.
Crippled roads searching for a language to heal their weary words he rode the obscure train lines headed for the coast and sang endlessly from one tune to another songs never sung, beliefs never believed, then disregarded it all and sailed off into the night sea backwards. That was me just the other day and now i am someone else again, back on the streets and watching the new people dressed in old clothes and talking with worn out words saying ban that and take this and do this and stop that, same old, new language. The forest is calling the silence is here; gone again.
There is a better way than being right or wrong, it involves the focus between the ear and the heart.
Here, take this poem and smash it against the wall. Let the dreams fall off your branches, let the dying die and kiss that delicious sky just one more time again. Tear up the roads, crush the path of truth beneath your fingers and walk out there one more time alone, be that there, just exactly what you need, what you are, coming along into the morning light. Here you can see the sailors streaming across the space of time and the jokers the thieves the saints all floating by with their treasures all wrapped up secure and tight across their backs like a disease. Hey, come on now, you don’t have to stay down here worried about what can never be, get to the edge of time and drown there….
Hey hey, gettin closer to the final curtain but not there yet, so put away the shovels and open up that birthday treat you’re holding in your hand and get on with the day, you and me and all those weary fathers away from you’re loved ones….thanks ya all for your wishes; may they come true…?
Birthday wishes answered……….
Thanks to you all that mentioned me on this birthday celebration thing. Some of you are black, native, christian, moslem, white, pink, nieces, nephews, great, great great and not, siblings, great friends true and false, even almost enemies at times, some are serious trump lovers, some definite haters of that kind; some poor, middle class, wealthy, arrogant, humble, racist, modest, philosophers, musicians, welders, just about every archetype of human on this weary forsaken planet; but it keeps changing and it’s never correct for long, if ever. Some have lost their way, some caring, some in it for the hype, some unsure, some way too certain, yup that’s my facebook, some question everything and some have the answers for it all; got to love it, but one thing for certain is that you all like something about me, but maybe i got that wrong too.
Hey anyways, thanks right from the edges of my heart to the eternal memories floating within the waters of my cells; just knowing that there is some sort of forgiveness, caring, love in the air between us means a ton of ‘belonging’ to this restless soul of mine. We’re all restless, uncertain, in the core of our hearts and it’s nice to let it all go once in a while and just feel that we are cared for in one way or another.
It’s a long life for some of us and the longer you live the more loved ones we watch leave for that treacherous swim across those great waters. So many struggles along the trail, so many conclusions that get in the way of love, love, that forever changing space that one must surrender into, just in order to cross with dignity. We are all one there presumably, but so divided here and it just is what it is, no more, no less and that’s reality; at least, close enough for now.
So this is my thanks for all the comments, likes, etc., this social media is really somethin ain’t it. Somehow maybe that is what celebration is all about, to show we care, and that it is worth, we are worth, without the weight of conclusions, we just are, alive and moving, worthy of love.
Well, that’s the way i see it at the moment. Chocolate’s almost gone, sun’s settin, i see nothin much on the horizon, cept more walkin, so i best be on my way, wey.
I just returned from a cluster of years travelling down and up avenues, across highways of success and despair, thru plains of serenity, stupidity, galmour, inner power, crippled minds and all for what? some formulations embedded into my head about what it’s all about….i suppose.
Dreams broken floating in pieces along canals of my brain and definite ideals standing tall rusted in silhouettes against my mind and a heart being pumped with emotions from some distant scene fading into a future that will never exist. That’s the life dying every moment living full like an empty glass.
I love this place and all its peculiar shapes, plastic boats and time ships made of pure imagination travelling thru space from one certainty to another in obvious conflict along a desperate way. I love the way things melt into one another leaving hardly a trace of the reasons for being here. I love this investigation and all its strange conclusions about things that can never be known, like who invented me and why would it and what does it matter anyhow. I love it all and i love love and the way it hates to be fooled and then hugs me again in the end.
Streets are filling with celebrities, clowns, sailors, virtual warriors, tattoo queens, shamanists, sacred chocolate gurus, image experts, musical authorities and velvet dreamers; avenues are taking turns winding bending heading direct towards highways of perfect thought, pure serenity, dangerous times and happy afternoons.
And just one more thing…..whoopse, it’s nothing much, forget it.
When man got stuck in his spiritual pursuits, she looked and saw her expectations, he is her and she is he and we are all quite the same in this regard. If you believe in jesus, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in buddha, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in the spirit, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in money, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in family, dreams, water, science, war, the written word, you’ve got expectations; belief and expectations are two sides of the same coin. If you are stuck and feel some dark matter curtain hanging over your soul, look and watch your expectations, you may find yourself, the self that is made of this coin. This coin is you and it is always rolling, just like a rolling stone, you can flip it and attempt to honour the flip, or twist it around, deny your promises till the opportunity fades and leaves you with the wounds of your unfulfilled expectations. The wound is the feeling of being stuck. It’s a circle and if you’re sharp you can see it coming round before it comes around but all this is futile, there is no circle, a vortex at best, appearing with meaning to the end. In the end the coin disintegrates, but nothing ends, things fade, dissolve into nothingness. After life, in death the glue melts away, some spirits hang around longer than others like cache from an app hidden in the program, the process like magnetism slowly spreading its power, disintegrating, love moving on, changing its energy developing new form.
If you believe in science, if you believe in religion, if you believe in love, if you believe in expectations, if you believe you must believe you are expecting something to fulfil this belief and yet all is incomplete simply because the mind is time, is concepts, is abstract, is always a broken piece of the puzzle and the puzzle is infinite and moving always changing, the mystery. This is the dilemma of man, of human thought. We get stuck because we see continuity and we feel we can know how things work perfectly, absolutely, infinitely and it is obvious some things can be made from concepts and shift into forms created by this understanding such as guns, chesterfields, space craft, rice pudding but our problem is we attempt to know it all, to develop philosophies, belief systems, laws that disregard eternity and the humble understanding that there is a process we must surrender to; to be free from the coin of mind. Our relative knowledge is irrelevant in matters of the dark, the light simply shines in the silence, the thoughtless truth beyond mind.
So what can one do in this system of getting stuck, being, feeling, searching. I have no ultimate answer, how could i have and for the ones that are so certain that so and so has the answer from mohammad to einstein to a hitler, to yourself to whoever, you are mistaken; the answer is blowing in the wind, beyond the word, beyond the mind, beyond any system that the mind can imagine, mind is myth.
This understanding is the paradox, so continue on your road alone and do your best to help where you can with honesty that is clothed in silence.
Often when one is stuck it is because of this unconscious, collective conscious, genetics, constant search that man and his thought began when we stepped out of eden, ate the apple, began to think. Thought is limited and that is our condition, it feels it needs a higher power, a guru, a belief, an ultimate truth worth fighting, killing, dying for and that is mans reality…but, “let me take you down, where nothing is real and nothing to get hung about” j.lennon, “sometimes i think there are no words but these to tell what is true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden” b.dylan
I am sure as only idiots are sure that there was a movement in the sixties that alluded towards the unseen truth, silence, nothingness that psychedelics assisted the mind to the understanding that ‘all you need is love, love is all you need’ j.lennon and a few years later from much more of a cynic, ‘love is all there is, it makes the world go around, love and only love, it can’t be denied, no matter what you think about it, you just won’t be able to do without it, take a tip from one whose tried’ b.dylan
One has to surrender to the universe but first to the earth, our mother, to come upon this knowing that thought itself stands directly in the way. All of its clear concepts so certain and conditional beliefs that destroy this understanding, this love, this one love, ‘one love, one heart’ b.marley.
There are many lyrics form the time of man that insist that there is an underlying energy that is loosely called love, a mystery, something that ‘all’ is made of, and thought attempts to separate itself from this oneness, timeless reality, with its insistence upon ‘knowing’, but even thought, tho it seems to come alive and create worlds out of thin air, is also under the process of the great mystery.
‘The world is a stage and all of us actors’ shakespear,as far as thought is concerned.’ All belief is make belief and all personas exist in virtual realities and that is the mind of mankind.
I have attempted to rid myself, the self build upon fantasy of this shield from nature with psychedelics, floatation tank sessions, fasts for days with out food and water alone in the bush, sweat lodge ceremonies, native ceremonies, the sacred pipe and numerous otherinvestigations, experiences to get beyond the mind. If anything i am now trying to not try, to let it be, kill the dreams as they evolve, help life live, be alive, breathe well, eat well, exercise body mind and spirit well and work diligently towards my own salvation; stop the process and the continuity of mind. Is it possible, i don’t know, it is what i believe to be the most honourable path to no path, the paradox, the dilemma. Today is a good day. I have written my thoughts about thought and love as an impossible feat. Now i leave to walk on. I am not important. My words may lead one to an understanding that ‘it is up to you’ and when people say there is a reason for everything, that is only one of the infinite traps within the mind, the collective mind, the mind of man.
The brain is where the mystery begins. It never ends. Life is good, life is hard, life is what it is, a mystery. You can’t stop the mind from living, thinking, but you can watch it as it creates its worlds with a stillness as a coyote gazing across the desserts of love for moments in eternity.
So if you find yourself along a path of promises, send it on its way, it is of no use to you or anyone, just walk, throw your goals to the wind and your dreams to the silence and dive into the abyss of change, the death of mind and maybe just possibly a dream will come true, but you may never know and that is just the way it works.
Imagine peace walking quietly into the mystery for real. Imagine peace without imagination, so may it be, the dying of the time mind.
This is not an answer, possibly a question. There are many ways to leave your mind, to use your mind, to believe, but they are all limited and the certainty you might feel at the moment will also fade. That is the nature of nature, so possibly honesty is one of the few noble endeavours that the mind may attempt and it is also vague but caring.
This short essay was inspired by a past lover and dear friend whom discussed her feelings of being stuck and not able to see the search clear. I am no guru, i don’t trust gurus, leaders, masters, and all their self fulfilling alluring techniques, as honourable as they may seem. I trust in a deep silent faith in ‘the process’, nature, the unseen intelligence, the smell of a blossom, the tears of dew, the sounds of silence, not unlike being perfectly aware with and for no reason.
We’re wondering if we have any quests slipping by this summer for a few days to visit with us. Well we hope so, we’re lonely for our Ontario and worldly friends sometimes and it would be nice to entertain a freind or two and show you the wonders of the Island…trails, beaches, big old grandparent trees, exotic vegetation, ships, boats, cool cafes, mountain tops, windy roads, valleys and much much more…….
We are also looking for people to rent our beautiful place while we are off the continent in late August to late September……….here is the ad i wrote, soon to be posted elsewhere but thought we’d give our friends the first look:
House short term rental – Aug. 28 to Sept 22….$1500
Vancouver Island 5K north of Duncan.
Looking for mature couple or individual wanting a retreat for three weeks.
Beautiful very private location overlooking valley and mountains. Two bedrooms, large kitchen, one washroom, living room, study room and 2 decks. One hour to beautiful Victoria in the south, 45 minutes to Nanaimo to the north, 2 1/2 hours to Tofino, 25 minutes to Nanaimo airport. There are many trails and costal towns in the area.
Wood stove with lots of wood, super high speed internet, large screen with access to youtube, netflix and the internet. House comes with two lovely cats, Misty and Hunter, and they have access to the outdoors 24/7. They just need to be fed daily but can be left alone for a few days. The place is very quiet, the air is mountain fresh, the home is calm.
Being placed in a world that is difficult, demanding. Grew up somewhere else and ended up here this grey day downtown Chicago numerous years ago. Her story is private, complicated, untold….sad with flights of spring.
When i was a young girl i often had an empty stomach and now i have an empty dream. I knew i would get there, the avenues of america, the streets of heaven, the walls of gold. I was well on my way, rising when he left, money gone, alone, attempting to walk with no sun in my soul, night time all day, clouds grey i walked on, i never gave in, for long. You wouldn’t know it this day but i strived beyond and found some tender times here and there till that invisible darkness slipped in beside me and back in the streets i was lookin at nothin for awhile once again.
The light was even and the air thin, buildings growing up all around, a melancholy breeze squeezed up against the glass and brick while i held my camera low….. waiting, waiting for someone just like her; lost, woman lost in america.
Words have fallen away, chains broke, syllables floating about weaving in and out and around wrecked concepts and a grateful sun rising up over the mountain slopes to make the day. Feels free to watch meaning dangle off tree limbs and slide across open air belonging to nothing and break away, deteriorate and die. Time isn’t still it’s just melting folding bending upon itself, yesterday streaming into tomorrow and ancient space present along side future worlds. Time is fluid in and around this bent space like dreams dreamt tomorrow for yesterday. Time is out of mind free of form and living.
I walk alone with beliefs crumbling around me, only my
undying thoughtless faith caresses my alert and weary heart.
Everyone i know is hanging onto something, someone, some faith in thoughts entangled web deep inside their head.
The soft landscape folds over me, the trees caress me, the wind slight and tender kisses me, birds sing for me and then just like the night me is gone, erased from the swamp of time and i stand with no one nothing but the breath breathed and the raw awareness of all with one and nothing and it swims around from head to toe this timeless consciousness everywhere, i’m gone.
Images and Text by Patrick Wey
Link on Images – for sale.
365 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/23 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
ONE YEAR OF ‘IMAGES AND CONTENT OF THE DAY’….I’M DONE
I committed myself to this and kept my promise. Never missed a day. There are so many more but i have another life. At 70 i study 5 to 8 hours a day in a new career. This image/content project took an hour or so a day. I would prefer to do this all the time, ‘images and writing’, books, novels, prose-verse, new image creations but the highway of life has got me behind the wheel once again in search of more fuel driving me down into new territory. Possibly in a few years if i live long enough I will get back to this full time.
I hope you enjoyed some of my work or learnt something about me, the universe, yourself. Nothing is complete cept nothing itself and we’ve thought ourselves out of there. So until later, goodbye for now. I plan on adding an image here and there and focusing on my blog for maybe weekly entries; we shall see.
If Not For You – written by Bob Dylan sung by George Harrison says it best about my feelings for this woman, Sasha…..https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tR21ui1MAQQ
Please, if you enjoyed even one of this years collection, let me know.
Full Collection here: http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Image circa last year in the mountains of BC with my Cuban hat and the woman in my dreams. #patrickwey#imagecontent, #photography, #portrait, #selfie
364 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/22 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
spent my whole life travelling into the mind
with drugs meditations sweats float-tanks and reason
and i can honestly say that there is no absolute answer
there is no one moment that is always present
understanding comes and goes like the seasons
i have nothing to offer anyone
and no one holds the truth
it weaves in and out of mind like love
the mystery that can be nothing other
than change moving endlessly everywhere all the time
thank you my friends that had faith in me
the ones that care when i’m a mess
the ones that keep in touch thru hard rains
the few that never slam love against the walls
and thanks for the ones that think i am something that i am not
that can’t see my sincerity and judge my every move
the ones that attempt to make their problems mine
thanks for this life to be here with you
it is what it is no matter what
we cannot change what has been
cover up our simple jealousy our envy and deceit
none of us our perfect, all of us are defected, affected and blessed
it will be time enough for me to move on
to disintegrate into the waters
i won’t try to hang on to this world
here or after in body or spirit
we’ve made up so much
with our crying desire for immortality
our desperate imaginary territories
we are so afraid to see that nothing is but mystery
without one definite absolute conclusion about anything
a knowing that is unaware, dead, nonexistent
we know not that or this
or whether we are here or whether we exist
truly nothing really matters
just do what ever you must do
i loved you all like brothers and sisters
somehow, within those moments of truth
with an eternal blessing
nothing needed to be rearranged
reality was real and the air alive
everything was exactly the way it was
acceptance serenity knowing as love
all, the same below as above
Image beyond time beyond mind – self portrait, writing yesterday #patrickwey#literature ##photoart#surealism#poetry
363 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/21 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I walk through the low shallow winds of the highways because i must, they cut across my life. I live in the mountains in body and mind where my spirit is safe from western skies. I travel here and there as time permits for most of my past is missing or dead. There was Billy gone long and there was Shiela whom forgot about me; Irene, Phil, Gary, and so many others and lovers, many dead and the rest sailing in and out of sea. That’s the way time travels when you’re young in an old body. The mist still lays across the valley where hope used to live and the alder trees still talk quietly along old faith ridge and occasionally sun glistens over the wild streams of my heart, but time turns regardless and to the ocean it must flow.
Image circa 90’s the Highlands of middle Ireland – writing today #patrickwey#Ireland, #Oldman, #portrait,
362 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/20 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My life has been a coast line of water reflections of uncertainty, dreams waving in and out of realities, roads with too many bends. My love has been mistaken, my integrity misunderstood, my visions misrepresented. My journey has been long, barren and born of random continuity, possibilities beyond the norm, realms hardly exposed. Disturbances of air on water and hues slender like night the traveller never stops, the path never ends, beauty never dies.
I attempted to document everything i saw, felt and imagined. There was nothing that escaped my sight when i was young, free of form and ready. Things have changed, time has slipped into my veins, the present is so close now, the distance so short. Stars shine in me, the universe is not so far as it once was, death is so full of life.
Image circa a few years ago – writing, last night as i rode my horses along the shore. #patrickwey#puddleart#surealism#literature#proseverse
361 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/19 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Dog and Shadow runnin free in the centre square of Wroclaw Poland.
Spent a few weeks there back awhile with a dear freind that i met in London England. Few weeks could compare in my heart within this short life of mine. I know it may appear with all these images i display, that all i have left is memories, but that is not so. I just happen to have documented most of my life before the iphone belittled the challenge. The negative truth of the past has a way of caressing the future with more of the same, if you demand to run free like that dog no matter what terrain presents itself. Well, that’s the theory.
I committed myself to this challenge of an ‘image a day’ to a blog almost a year ago. This is coming to an end in a few days. Everything ends, nothing is complete. Just as with the scenes not documented in the eyes of humanity, many of my images will lie dying unseen unappreciated cept for the love and time and toil of my doing. That can be sad, that can be a revelation, that is up to me / you.
Image circa 90’s Wroclaw, Poland #poland#wroclaw#dog#patrickwey
360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Unfinished sketch of an Irish man whom lost his hat on a movie set……
He crossed the scene from some other time zone but it didn’t make any sense neither here nor there. The same issues were laid out across the streets, now and then. The world and all its dreams were going to go along in its own way no matter what. The stage was set the take was shot, reality edited, exposed, a medium where innocence dies. You could attempt to fly high with transcendental airlines and meditate yourself numb or just soar low with the rest and get your fare share of the mess. It didn’t matter in the long run to the gossip from the avenues, it had not altered for centuries and wasn’t about to shift drastically now. A better time, a better place awaited, the romance envisioned would recover from the turmoil behind closed doors, or so thought thought. They want it all clear as day but it ain’t that way in reality. There are no words that will set them free, it’s a trap, it’s a condition in the mind, everything will talk itself out across concrete tables and end clearly unclear as it always does when prime temptations are evoked. That is just the way it is, so get used to it, spend your time wisely or not; not everybody can win. He walked across the set again and again tryin to get it right but he never did; there was no right, just the remnants of a hat lying half dead on the walk-side in a scene for more lost lovers to dream upon.
That was a day grey that ended short on a vacant timeless road in some forsaken town in Ireland mid century with his name concealed and the story split like time shatters in the middle of things unclear and ends with no end, no script left to the story line, no dream to dream upon. Cut, end.
Image circa early 90’s Ireland, writing last night. #Ireland, #patrickwey, #streetphotography, #losthat, #oldcars,
358 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/16 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Jane Homes…lost touch, wonder where she is? Loved literature, read every novelist i could think of and more. Still living with Kevin Kraul i presume. Hi Jane. & Kevin.
Image late 80’s
357 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/15 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My good friend Doug Biggs against two shades of grey many days ago.
We’re both on the west coast though we don’t get to see each other that often. We did a lot of travelling together in this life time. Life just keeps on keeping on. Good shot of Doug, seriously serious.
Image circa 80’s i believe
356 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/14 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day James Hodgson‘s mother, a wonderful woman. I got to know her more than most of my friends parents. She was one of those that could do no harm and see no harm. Never heard her say a bad work about anybody. We could use a few billion more like her.
Image circa 80’s at the Waterloo Farmers Market #patrickwey
355 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/13 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Been here a long time watching. I see the art deteriorate, depth mad with glitter, i hear your music noice. It doesn’t take a surgeon to see the mind, snow lays heavy here on the mountains, time won’t come easy, truth will stay hidden still. I’ve been hanging around dead bodies of the graveyards, eyeing the war zones, helping poor souls find a home but still you sit there planning the next escape into more of the same.
Things are not all bad as it seems, it is peaceful for moments in the valley ….. but there is always that edge surrounding that cripples the silence. You know what i mean, the air waves are filled with deceit from Prince Rupert to Chiang Mai. You can’t ignore the turmoil all day, the night times coming whether you believe it or not. The sun is dark and cold, you’ve been fooled into thinking that the stars are hot and bright, but it’s our mothers atmosphere that transforms this living energy into the beauty of radiant life. We’ve got it all wrong, levity is master, gravity is just a concept to bend the mind, thought is not where love is and love is much more than a four letter word. I don’t fly, i’m flown….most of the time.
Image circa late 80’s #crow, #patrickwey, #symbolism
354 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Pola Amber from and in Poland. Ola and i go back a long way into the depths of the soul. We met in the magic of the day and ended thru the twisted circumstance of intuition. Love flew in and out of the breeze like snow dreams on a windy trail. The night came soft and the air went still. I remember things from the road but the trees have turned cold and winter is long here in the mountains where thought spreads across the valleys like dreams made of light air. Time has written this poem and occasionally she sails across the heart. I watch in pure silence not to ripple the waves.
Image circa early 2000’s #poland, #portraits, #patrickwey, #women
352 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/10 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
If i was a Lewis Carroll, this young girl would have been my Alice. Took this image one day having a walk in the woods with a friend in Ireland. This is her daughter and she was so delightful, polite and clever and inquisitive about everything, just like an Alice. By now i am sure she must have fallen down numerous rabbit holes and had many incredible happenings with this twisted world and all its mathematical realities.
The background is almost equally as important to a great portrait as the subject is. The background has to fulfill the subject just as the past presupposes a future with the now, it is the foundation of the mood, the love on a heart, the depth of a surface. I love the way there is just enough blur to the trail as if the ‘Alice’ just bounced into the scene from some strange adventure holding this curious grin about her. Life is lovely, mysterious and simple…..occasionally.
Image circa late 90’s Ireland #aliceinwonderland, #lewiscarroll, #ireland, #patrickwey, #portrait, #younggirl
351 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/09 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The Worthen House Cafe, Lowell Massachusetts one of Americas oldest taverns, established in 1834. Taken with my minox, you can see it in the photo stabilized in my hand on the ledge of the washrooms urinal divider. Many poets, writers, artists and common folk drank there from far back into the 1800’s. A favourite bar of Edgar Allen Poe, who visited frequently and is rumoured to have written some of “The Raven” within its walls. Others including Jack Kerouac and Allan Ginsberg frequented the place. There were many and i was but one amongst the ghosts. I am with my deceased friend John Mulligan, a character in deed. John was an amazing gold smith that i first met in Kitchener On. Canada and we instantly became great friends, along with his wife at the time, Miriam Stump. Eventually because of circumstances of things that are now legal he fled the country back to the USA, to his childhood home of Lowell which is also where Jack Kerouac spend his last years. These were days when we both drank…..too much, but memories seem to surpass the negative of those moments. I visited him a good half a dozen times in Lowell area on my way back to Ontario from NYC. John was a ruff scruff sort of sailor gentlemen type with many stories, some good, some not so good and i miss him all just the same.
‘Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.’…Jack Kerouac
Image circa 80’s #jackkerouac, #edgarallenpoe, #lowell, #worthenhouse, #patrickwey, #allanginsberg
350 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/08 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I knew that Rubin Hurricane Carter loved horses by the lyrics in Bob Dylan‘s song entitled
‘Hurricane’, ‘And ride a horse along a trail’. When i went to photograph Rubin i suggested to go out by his horses. I wish i had spend more time that day. I had taken better portraits in my career but i was honoured to get to know Rubin and the opportunity to capture a few moments of his life after he was finally released from 20 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Rubin was a gentle powerful soul and we had a few very intimate conversations which i’ll take to the shadows of the other side. When you’re in the presence of such a man the shallow seems to fade into another level where silence has the last word.
‘Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much
It’s my work, he’d say, and I do it for pay
And when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
…..And ride a horse along a trail…..
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse’
Full Lyrics – https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bobdylan/hurricane.html
YouTube Song and pictures – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGMSfiH850o
Image circa early 90’s at his home at the time outside King City north of Toronto #hurricanecarter, #bobdylan, #rubinhurricanecarter, #patrickwey,
348 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/06 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Well now, I been in jail when all my mail showed
That a man can’t give his address out to bad company
And now I stand here lookin’ at your yellow railroad
In the ruins of your balcony
Wond’ring where you are tonight, sweet Marie…………..Bdylan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv20TjFzwA8
To understand Dylan you have to twist some concepts around from the winds of symbolic junk yards hanging around in the corners of your mind. They’re in there just behind the veneer, the walls that keep us straight, that keep us from falling inside.
Image circa 80’s – model Georgina, an old friend somewhere down that velvet railroad line.
#bobdylan, #sweetmarie, #deadend
346 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/04 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Rita Nagle and some dude walkin along King Street KW both posing in their own way and if you look real close i had images on display in the Walper Hotel window. I recognize ‘Vern Amongst The Tire Men’ an image i titled of a shot of Vern Harper taken in Santa Fe and a part of an exhibition ‘Urban Elder’ at the KW Art Gallery of 1994. I think this shot was taken at the time of the Blues Festival moments a while ago. At any rate, it’s all over now, the streets are filled with snow i hear and people have all disappeared. My, it’s a crazy life.
#streetphoto, #kitchener, #potraits
Image circa late 90’s
345 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/03 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
This raven sits at the Tower of London. The myth goes back far and wide. The white mount of London will fall to foreign invasion if the ravens evacuate. The story goes that Winston Churchill a Druid ordered more ravens from Wales to the Tower in the second world war when he was told there was but one raven remaining.
I have my own long experiences with the raven and his sister the crow. This is what led me here to the Tower to smoke the sacred Pipe commissioned in dream, synchronicities and vision. I was living in Ireland at the time and had the opportunity to travel with a friend to London in her two cylinder Citron named Dotty. I hopped at the chance.
At a later time, perhaps, i will write about the experiences and visions that the spirit crow immersed upon my soul. Rosetta the crow whom adopted me, came to me a day after my mothers funeral in 95, which i performed and talked about our ancestors the germanic people and Odin and his two crows, one on each shoulder. The crows that led me to England from Ireland, the experience at the Tower and along the Wye river the home of my ancestors. Rosetta lived with me for a year. Numerous events involving her precluded what conclusions i had developed concerning another side, the other side, the spirit world, the unseen, the land of the dead. Imagination is a map, reality the terrain. To walk like a crow is to hobble across all roads in one.
Ravens in Celtic Mythology http://avesnoir.com/ravens-in-celtic-mythology/ #raven#crow#toweroflondon#celticmyth#patrickwey
Image circa late 90’s Tower of London
344 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/02 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
He was a poet walking in a mystery full of himself like a stretched paragraph. The times tore thru his eyes cold and blunt with an air silently surrounding walls of statues and ghosts . In came dreams spread out like a magnet of prayer and sacrifice. Swam thru fantasies camouflaged in ritual and truth unlike most minds in the streets. He was a poet amongst himself, a dreamer sincere beaten by the scorn lying around. An Irish spirit, an Italian romance and German idealism pushing him towards some ridge amidst mountains of the arts. He never arrived, he never survived the split in the lowlands, tho he wove in and out of reality like a vine, possibly famous amongst the trees. Nothing became of his work. He was found, dead by a few and his words faded into the streets of modernism. This was a portrait of a young man as an artist in a world that didn’t exist, in times that bent beyond compare, in a dream dreamt alone.
Image circa Ireland 90’s
338 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/27 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My Uncle Alex, my fathers brother. I never knew him well at all. He lived in Detroit. I never knew my father much at all, either. I have a son in Brazil. I don’t know him at all. Sometimes things happen for a reason, sometimes things don’t happen at all. Most of the time, things take much too long to get resolved. Issues that make no sense at all when you’re sitting near the end of the trail. Things that could have been, gone, things twisted around realities into dreams half done, love spread out across fields of regret and yet somehow everything is just fine just the way it is.
I would have liked to have got to know my Uncle and my father more. One moment around dusk i was sitting with my dad as we watched the sun sail into the horizon from a front porch at my sisters ( Trudy Schmidt) home where he spend his last few years in a little northern town called Douglas. For the first time in my life we felt all the questions had been answered about a past long gone and we shared a beautiful moment of father and son watching, listening, caring. My father always wished for a family reunion and in two weeks from that setting sun, Uncle Alex and his eight children were all showing up outside Kitchener for a get together with us eight kids and lots of off-spring. I had only met one cousin the summer before. That Saturday afternoon arrived and i was on my way to the country hall for the reunion. An urge to stop at a spot that meant a lot to me concerning my dead brother Bill situated on a bend in the road where we had moments together. I stopped and i felt that strange feeling when things are understood from a realm that is too mysterious, too sacred to attempt to describe. Possibly that was the moment my father spoke to me with the powers of deadly silence.
I arrived a little late and everyone was inside the hall. One cousin was outside and introduced himself to me. He looked like the one i had met the year before, an older brother i believe. He said, “you don’t know do you”.
Some how i then knew. My father had passed away on the way to the reunion that he worked so hard to make happen. It happened.
A few kilometers away in the back seat with a niece and my sister and her husband in the front travelling down a gravel road with a stretch of trees over hanging creating a shaded tunnel with light just waiting at the other end as if for enlightenment. My brother in law Joe mentioned the extraordinary beauty of that natural tunnel and my father with a long soft mystical voice answered, “yes” and died. No warning, no reason, work accomplished and time to go we suppose.
Perhaps, sadness makes one feel alive. Many melancholy moments in winds blowing free thru the softened memories so silently fading thru-out our minds makes it all worthwhile somehow as we drift in and out of each others hearts.
There is no revelation here, simply life and then death and a mellow smile.
Image circa 90’s
337 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/26 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Jeffrey Beckner wandering around in the streets of NYC back in the 80’s. Jeff is the founder of Tunnel Inn in Kitchener back in the mid 60’s which brought in some of the best folky blues music in Southern Ontario at the time. A master graphics/idea man and always fighting for the little guy. I was living in NYC for a short while and Jeff came down for a visit. We investigated the streets and gallery’s to feed our inquisitive artistic minds for endless hours of discussions on subjects about anything and everything. In the early days Jeff had the best handle-bar-moustache in Canada.
Image circa late 80’s
336 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/25 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mohalk along the trail, outside the frame.
A unique composition with the subject dancing outside of a frame and a mysterious head protruding almost emanating from ancient air from stage left. These days you can manipulate any image and create whatever composition one wants. Somehow it holds more weight when you know that it is the way it appeared in 3D reality. I don’t know why, it’s a cultural thing but it is interesting when a great composition gets it right in real life. Nothing incredibly special but as Mick once said, ‘it’s just rock and roll but i like it’…..somehow that fits; tho i never really liked that song much i do get the understanding and as half the population is now realizing, ‘it’s just another image, but i did it and i like it’.
The old and the new, the red and the blue, the way it was, the way it is, changing.
Image circa early 90’s
334 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/23 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
It is possible that i have the right date for my favourite youngest sister Rosalyn Rose Hanna‘s birthday. She is the one on the left and my favourite oldest sister Barbara is on the right. Well if i got it right ‘happy birthday’ and hope you get many more; life is so much fun half the time, especially thru these golden rust ridden years. I know my childhood friend Helmut (Mike Klein) whom i just discovered got facebook hacked has his birthday today and after all these years i just learned that my sisters is the same day. You can see, i really keep track of ‘birthdays’. This is a nice shot of two of the four sisters, they were all like mothers to me since i was the youngest, spoiled some say but i never paid much attention to that gossip. But Rosalyn by far was my favourite…..have a nice great day today and the rest of um also…come and visit west…..you’d love it and i’d take you many places.
Image circa 90’s i believe.
332 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/21 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mr. Giant Puffball and Mike Milburn. We captured this Giant when we hung out in Ontario a few years back. He says they are much smaller where he lives now out on Cape Breton Island, his original stomping grounds and which is where he grew up. They are much smaller out here also, where i live on Vancouver Island 4000 miles from him at the other end of the world, Canada. I searched high and low for this photo yesterday and finally found it. Howdy partner!…and for those non believers out there, they are sometimes even bigger back home in Ontario. Recipes…http://www.kitchenfrau.com/puffball-recipes/
Image circa 2000ish
331 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/20 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Caught them in the act of it……doin good……pickin up a sign that had fallen over.
Two old Irish laddys strolling down the streets of Dublin late one morning while i was out catching any possible interesting light across my nikon lens. Street photography seems easy when the shot is there and done but it is not usually that way at all. Henri Cartier-Bresson once remarked when the trend was that photography is not really an art form because anyone can take an image and get a great shot by chance. His remark was, ” yes but chance begets the disciplined mind”. I always believed that there was an amazing shot anywhere anytime but one must seek it out. Street photography is that way but today i wonder if it really has changed with so many catching images by chance with their iphones, but then again he also said, “Of course it’s all luck.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Cartier-Bresson
Image circa 1990’s
330 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/19 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Les, husband of Brigitte Krynicki father of Eve Krynicki-Matzelle with me in the back ground doin our laundry a billion years ago, look like late 60’s…..i’d just about give anything to get back there for a few infinities, we don’t look nothin like that now. That’s life, death closer up ahead than it used to be, but as they say, it’s all good……i guess…lol
Image circa 70’s
328 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/17 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
David Finlay and Dusan Nedelko……Two funny curly haired guys at a party by the looks of it. We had a lot of good times thru bad times and some of the memories have been slightly dampened by the substance abuse. Over all we were moderately doing our youth justice by being ourselves and walking our own paths. Dave was a video guy with tons of ideas forprojects and Dusan ended up teaching kids in remote camps in northern Ontario. Me myself, well i’m writing this am i not. I think this is the kitchen of a house i owned with George Demelo. We ran an Information Brokerage Co at the time called Parallel Source which had the promise of doing really great things but it didn’t. Dusan had a fatal accident on the way home one miserable northern highway night. David is around, George is too, KW area. Of course there is so much more that could be written and maybe someday if i ever find the time i will. All these images bring up so many thoughts and i really do wish i had the time to twist some words into something; create an image-book novel, a picture book with text of all sorts, serious, poetic, loose words, detailed, maybe an image play or two.
Image circa late 80’s i believe.
327 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/16 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Jodi Koberinski and her friend Robin (i believe). Women are beautiful, they are beautiful, strong women demanding freedom both in their own way for all. That’s how i remember them. Possibly they are travelling still, up that peaceful road, that purple lit mysterious space always just a step ahead, a little further down around the bend, up the curve across the dream, a love shifting within, without.
Image circa early 90’s….
326 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/15 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Coral Andrews….me thinks; the Back Door, down under where all the Little Berlin bohemians hung about when things were simpler, younger and you never really imagined you’d get this far ahead in time but here we are the ones left the ones gathered about here on the front end of the social press for a few more years most there some here a few spread about the earth like fallen apples that landed in the back of a passing truck on some remote highway and got taken for a ride…….me, here i sit in some local cafe in a paved west coast forest throwing pictures to the winds of memories connecting the space between us. The suns shinin the grass is green. I miss that white stuff sometimes, both kinds but the road moves on, modern cowboys and indians walkin in the streets and lumberjacks and new age hippies building malls along the highways. The world’s a magnificent dream. I see a large crow walkin the pavement sqawkin about something and a young woman with dreads a foot above her scull eating a salad at a table on the outside of the cafe. Half the people or more are fixated on a little screen in the palm of their hand. Hello bohemians and friends from the east or wherever you be……
Image circa late 70’s i presume…writing today
324 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/13 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sometimes i think i tend to stick my neck out a little too far and though it is a long way down to my feet on the earth i am still inclined to shove my foot into my throat much too often. With that being said and over with, it’s a lovely day from here, somewhat higher than most, a touch surreal and by far extremely glorious to have so much free sky in my eye. Nothing much to report to the lower level that can’t be noticed from down there if you really pay attention, tho there is this one thing that i question occasionally and that is, ‘how come so many want to be so high’?….
Image circa 80’s – Infra Red 35mm B/W neg…an African confined on Canadian soil.
323 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
There will always be another pipe line to separate the people until who knows when. First of all, we are all one people, the police, natives, the whites, blacks, yellows, multi-coloured. This is a human problem not a race problem. The ownership of land is an illusion we kill for on a basis of separation for control and wealth. The problem is not oil, gas, fossil fuel, it is explosive energy systems and the misunderstanding of natural living-energy and the relationship of water in all organic life systems. Viktor Schauberger laid out the principals for a free energy system based on the true ways in which a life-giving energy works within nature. I refuse to attempt to converse his knowledge here. I have tried unsuccessfully in the past. At that i was a failure. http://waternature.org/
We have the internet now and there are numerous pages of his conclusions, theories, inventions and procedures that shows how we can eliminate this dilemma that we are facing. I see all the new social media reporters in their social press with their lame attempts to educate the world with their quilt induced articles and comments that do nothing more than give them a number of ‘likes’ and a following with fuel for more inflation of the ego.
If one really wants an answer to these problems there are numerous web sites with implosive bio-technology in mind. But it takes personal time, integrity and money. There is no excuse any longer, the knowledge is accessible. The problem is the will of people to really want a future world for future generations, not just talk for sympathetic likes. The problem is problems on top of problems but there are some basics that most cannot comprehend the foundational aspects clearly. Most are fighting for causes with solutions that will change very little. It is a scientific misinterpretation, manoeuvring, a greed selfish human issue, a misunderstanding of the validity of thought itself and consequently the misuse of the sacred.
The white guilt praise for the red anger over broken treaties not worth the paper they were written on. The black man, the yellow and all the mixed colours fighting for their own identities and the land they can scrape up between the shadows of a past and the dream of a future in turmoil. Prophesies gone wrong shifted into sentimental dreams of romantic worlds living alone surreal in the imagination.
We know the world of man is a mess no matter how many gentle thoughts we comfort ourselves with, how many safe conclusions caress our weary souls. We dream on, it is the nature of the mind.
My dream has concluded that the technological answer is implosive biotechnology introduced and understood by Viktor Schauberger and secondly to constantly investigate the validity of the main tool that has conjured the world we live in, ‘thought’ itself. Both are related to the foundation of living energy. The mind is a myth, useful immensely but none the less a myth, therefore always on trial and always to be questioned from religion to politics to science to the brains mind itself and all its beliefs. This alone would enhance the understanding that we know very little and possibly nothing ‘absolute’ which would leave us much more vulnerable to love one another and all things.
It is an individual comprehension of the total that can lead us to understand our insanity and without that we are doomed. Thought can only describe the door but it is the heart that must walk through and these words are but mere symbols for an understanding that lives within a mystery.
The energy-fuel for our world is a monopoly of power and control, perhaps it is the time to cripple the pipe line and its system. We would hope for a peaceful conclusion but we know there is no peace in violence and violence has been the way of change in this world of man since man began. Do what you must do and let it be done but do it as one fight for one love. This is my conclusion for the time being; things change. Everyone has to figure it out for themselves, quit the group the system the institution the race the people, it’s culture and let the mystery be your guide, there is where it is at, understand, comprehend and copy nature.
An Introduction to…… Viktor Schauberger…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhwhmqM2oFE
On Thought….check out U. G. Krishnamurti: Mind as a Myth … https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9olyqhwf2y4
Ultimately nothing really matters….tho we walk on…. and simply, so we do.
Image circa 1980’s Infrared B/W….Douglas Point Nuclear Generating Station
320 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/09 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
a pigeon dancing through times experiences
while colours retreat and grey surfaces
then disintegrates across the floor of distances
things disappear this way into darknesses
and the cycle repeats for new appearances
Image circa 1980’s from a dead factory floor
319 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/08 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Tension across the plains. Rosetta Crow keeping a close eye on black death.
We were visiting a friends farm in rural Ontario, out for a walk when the barn captain came strolling about curious as hell at this self assured bird in his terrain. She squawked a little for him to keep his distance and out of respect he did. They acknowledged a peaceful transformation across the barn yard and all was well.
Image circa 90’s
317 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/06 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I went down by the waters edge. I sat there quietly for sometime before the air became alive and entered me to places i’ve never touched. The sound of the way whispered to my heart things i had never known. The beauty caressed me, entangled me in its web, light and uneven i followed the view to beyond and it was there i was told things i could not and would never tell.
The day was gray and no one noticed when the wind had stopped; right in the middle of a melody trampling across the wavering sky the vision appeared and left me stranded there alone like an island.
The way it was was not the way it is. The war inside ended in the light of darkness and the beginning of the end ended in very uncertain terms. ‘Dreams move about free of form with reality tainted by imagination. Observe, there is no answer, there are many questions.’
The water lies mellow over the rocks, the tree line silhouettes the near horizon and the gray sky takes it in to the limits and that swings you back to the grass weaving itself into the wind like a snake across a deserts sand.
Everything is complete. In times like these a silent gaze into the scene is the perfect answer.
Image circa late in the century / writing this morning
316 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/05 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My good friend Bruce Thornton husband of Marlene Thornton and father of Adam Thornton.
We have a long history, some of it best not to be mentioned here, lol. Those were the days and what remain are a ton of memories floating around and anyone of them i ponder upon when i get the chance. Life moves so quick thru the times no matter how hard you attempt to try to pin it down. Things change, we all know that, but when you’re there, you just never question how long you got and then it’s gone, slips down the tube from the present fast into the past. We had some great times and i wish there were more but life doesn’t stall for nothin. Distance makes a difference no matter what one thinks, i here and you there and three thousand miles between. Wish all is well………visit the west someday while i’m still here.
Image circa 80’s
314 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/03 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
i don’t know how many years i have left but i do know i’m lucky to have made it this far down the line. It is getting to the point where i have more friends in the underground than struggling on the surface. It gets to that point if you live long. I can’t say it is just genes, i’ve been watching my health since the sixties when i first stumbled upon Jetro Kloss, author of the book ‘Back to Eden’. A bible on herbs, their use and the sacredness of nature and everything natural. Of course a little lsd didn’t hurt. I found a place along a stream that i would go to and take a psychedelic alone and stay up all night with a small fire and watch the horror and beauty of it all. That was my first and last real teacher, so i thought, then. Since then i’ve not learned much more, just variations on the theme.
I hear the gentle rain, still, in the background of my mind, making rhythm out of rhyme, space out of time. I have long gone from looking for anything in anybody’s eyes, searching for truth in vacant lots, busy street corners; the search itself was the biggest mistake. Some think there are no mistakes, just accidents. I used to think that, i used to think a lot of things, but that was yesterday. Some think they’ve got it figured out, know what it is all about; i just turn away and listen to the gentle polyrhythmic drumming of the rain, it soothes the weary soul, makes me feel just perfect. I can say i don’t fear death any longer, but we will see. I have seen too much, questioned everything, surrendered my self to the mystery. I am truly nothing, made up of pencils and words. I have no need to be and yet somehow i am and that is perfectly fine with me. I am the illusion maya talks about, as you are. I hear the soft rain take my soul or whatever it is it takes and i leave as sleep becomes my home, down some endless stretch of high way, i’m gone.
Image circa 90’s down Arizona way i believe….out off the high way, the stretch between here and nowhere…….writing – yesterday.
313 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/02 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Occasionally yesterday visits today…..New Realities
Shot taken depicting the struggle of women, the struggle of life. So many stories weave themselves in between the vendors, the brick, the alleyways, the tainted food, the farm land lost. Stories of hard times, of survival, laughter, celebrations, loss. Many new years turn old quick in the cold, turn sour over forged sweet truth. Happy is often not much more than a word travelling down the corridors of conditioning, the repetition of denial but there is always hope so one can cope with the new frontiers, the news in the network, the blues in the streets. Nothing anyone can say, wish for, pray for can alleviate the struggle in the mind but it may soothe the broken heart, sweeten the sour veins. Balance, anybody can claim to be happy, whatever that means. I don’t think it means a damn to wish everybody a happy anything but i do it anyways just incase and so i don’t feel so all alone………i wish what i say could really make a difference….would be nice if somehow we could all awaken with wordless love in our hearts forever; well we try i suppose – may it be loving years for all, along this lonesome road.
Image circa 80″s – writing today
312 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/01 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
i get the feeling that things aren’t quite right here and nobody gives much of a damn. at least that’s what i’m thinkin sometimes. the people on the streets got their worlds and their dreams that they’re trying to untangle. they don’t have time for stepping out, attempting anything less secure. so the city rolls down the avenue, the life lives as it does, with its face hidden and its walls painted, dreams floating about like blurred leaves on a pond. i happened to hear your voice echo in the background and your future advertised in the signs hidden across the streets. the sense of direction moves about like a kite from one breeze to the next, wind rushing thru your skull and freedom riding high in the clouds. yea that was me watching you sit on the side lines with your green shirt and all, your broken-machine working overtime and your buddy learning the tricks. yea that’s the city life, it may not be the best life, but it’s your life and as i said, nobody really cares.
the image caught the beauty just right don’t ya think, your square heads floatin down the worlds way like you belong. life in the stream of things, coming from nowhere heading nowhere but with lots of plans, thats the way to do it, just like you know what’s happening and you do……kool
311 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/31 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Myrtle T Poile at the feast a few years back after the ten days of Kopka ceremonies.
There are a lot of magical mystical very real moments that swim around the air there. Some of the most sacred memorable moments of my life are embedded in its earth.
Happy New Years Gull Bay people.
Image circa early 2000’s
310 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/30 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
It is a long story but this Kachina doll was made specifically for Sierra Kachina on the Hopi Reserve in Arizona on a visit in the early 90’s. A few years later just as mysterious i obtained the Owl Kachina shown in the background……https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kachina
We went to a show last night in Nanaimo. When we got there it was sold out so we bought a ticket for another theatre and after quickly searching one after the other for a sensible movie (there are so many popular terrible movies) we landed in ‘Ben Is Back’ with Julia Roberts. We had no idea we would be watching a movie depicting parts of Sierra’s life or at least elements of the issues in our society concerning hard-street-drug use. The titles at the end showed, ‘A Sierra Affinity Production’. It confirmed i really need to finish this documentary i began while we spend numerous times together in her last six months. I did video of her talking about her life never suspecting it would end. Life throws numerous curve balls as one winds around the bends towards the end, never knowing the exact timing of the situations about to occur. In another day a New Year will begin but really we must realize it is merely symbolic, every day is the beginning of a new year, a new life………if you want it.
Image circa 1993, taken in my studio for a film i was working on called ‘Crow Space’
Words about Sierra since she had gone: no one can feel the pain of loss of another, it can tear one to the depths of the soul and lift one higher than life, death.
Writing words you will never see
editing pictures you never saw
killing dreams we never met
living around lies tangled up around us yet
crying alone into fading memories
a busy numbness surrounding often
and you and me ending again
this time forever ending within
i see this thru vague scenes
that crumble into one another
drenched in pain and love
as they move along the trail
with a crippled weakness into the day
and words to you i will never say
i write to no one but the stream
of endless dreams across the purple sky
the universe that comes in clear
the universe that closes when the dream ends
Without You Sierra
sometimes it tears tenderly to my heart
sadness where it has never gone, goes.
years passing without you
your little heart and mine
twisted into each other like time
i gaze across the highway to the grassy fields beyond
the silent wind bends around invisible canyons
straight into my mind
your essence emanates soft and deep into me
with dry tears i caress the moments slipping by
there will never be anyone so true to me as you
our bond was woven by the mystery of love
no one can alter what was so clear
that alone gives a graceful comfort
this pure sadness against my path
your delicate sense breathes life into death
i need no promises, commitments, no proof
we knew we were special
a love so rare so true so threatening
we lived thru this with the most fragile of hearts
now thru this fading silence
with nothing but the humble caring of the wind
i love you with your tears upon me
nothing can harm you now
you are safe from this world
and all its misery
i am seeing this with my hidden pain
as i walk on without you….
There are few words left to say
i know in my heart there are no ears of yours to hear
what can never be said to you ever
you’re gone and love feels so empty without you
i have learned that this world is even more cruel than imagined
fake everything lures everybody into so much of little worth
they have little room for real tears
no time for true sadness
only shallow laughter and smiles against the rain
ultimately they are afraid to face their own mortality
they need to blanked it with tender wit, swift gestures
hidden desires leading secure beliefs to selfish love
They are the lost children of the american dream
stretching across every continent
desperately hanging onto every note from the popular song
caressing comfort with their broken bodies
falling alone down into cancerous heavens
to worlds they could never be
They are my brothers, my sisters, my friends and my foe
they are the celebrities cared for more than neighbours
more than the blood across the land
more than the mother in the land
the father of the other hand
the truth scattered into words
blasted against the walls of your brains
and in this context everyone is to blame
the dilemma of the human insane
In this beauty one must weep. The overwhelming understanding of pain from loss is so sad it is beyond comprehension. It goes so deep one can only cry tears from memories dying and the letting go of its truth, its reality. Admitting that it is hard to live life one must let go of the dearest feelings; all the tangled ones and all the gentle and soft ones. It is hard to see this in the air, all the clusters of memories contained in one soul and spread out across the minds of the people. The close ones the distant ones the collective ones, all of different quantities and depth, moving in and around as a dream does.
When one dies and the entanglement of thought-energy floats thru the atmosphere as a spirit would, the visions of these holographic scenes may be more real than a normal reality appears. This is pure vision with no interpretation from a past, a future, just the endless flow from one scene to the next. The magnitude of this impression is life altering.
You can feel the waves of peoples thoughts and dreams, with their spirits creating intricate delicate holographs of varied scenes floating thru the forests along creeks veins like an epiphany from ‘nature’, the creator of all known. I cried, knowing i had to let go to live. It will come in small doses, not as to destroy me, little by little till i carry on alone. This may never happen. This is the dream, the dream will change, the observer will be altered, vast death is the nature of all this. It will come regardless of what one does. It is this movement in life that sees this death and the illusions of dreams as necessary branches to this tree, as life is a dilemma.
the days go by and you fade beyond my will
every step another distance without you
memories slip in and out of the air surrounding here
some are peaceful and serene and others are dark and deep
when the pains you felt, lived through and died with
punctures my heart like a knife with tears
the road curves up ahead and your presence is near
there in the pale afternoon where your love lies
and the sunset full of your colour
there are the photographs and your remnants scattered about
there are memories hanging on the walls without you
you meant everything to a few left behind
and they struggle down the path alone
and there is no answer fit
to why you left the way you did
no conclusions can soothe this heart
it is what it is and love and you are one
there is nothing along the cove
to replace this shore on eternity
memories will continue their journey across the universe
and fade into the void beyond
but for now there is nothing left
just you caressing this heart
and a spirit feeling this
my heart aches for you
your simple smile your delicate wit
your ways and your life living
i miss you terribly so
i am so sorry i did not do enough to save you
to help you in any way i could
to share everything i have with you
i never expected it would end so quick
what a fool i was in moments i could have done more
could have poured my heart unto you
given my every touch of love
i am so sorry, forgive me
nothing i can do now for you
i am lost at moments crushed with pain
devastated to my very being
like a boat without water
and a soul with out life
i am alone lost and numb
i see the road the way and the things to be done
i walk with one foot in the desert and the other on unknown land
i am a man stranded with no home no future no dream
i remember your breath searching for air and your heart for warmth
i walk i walk i keep walking
there are moments joy slips by and noise ceases
there are those that say too much and those that can’t listen
the ones with ideals overloaded and the ones crawling down the avenue
i miss your presence, the weight in your eyes
the truth your lips concealed
i miss you, your simple love
i miss you
i can never be free from you
you are a part of me
some of you is inside of me
and i shall die like that
you and me are a memory
that will be as long as forever is
little angel up-against the tomb
on a road red as heart
spirit fallen from the sky
with no clear answer why
and with tombstone tears
a wounded kachina cries
“for simple love i live and die”.
“i’ was much, much too young to die”
I wish i could say what can’t be said
and do what can’t be done
i wish i could do magic
and bring back what’s gone
i am loosing the words to say much or anything at all
now is not the time to
we all want to know what can’t be known
it is the nature of thought
we all want things we can’t get
we all want teachings that can’t be taught
there is no easy way
to heal a wounded heart
you can fly high and dig low
you can tell yourself sweet little lies
you can tear yourself apart
with things you wish you’d done
but there is only one thing that can really help
hidden deep within the heart
A wave of pain struck on edges of dreams formed long ago
I know i have to write this experience out sometime soon. It is too bizarre and hideous in areas that must be written in detail to fully understand the depth and shallowness of the situation. I venture to say that Sierra died at the hands of relatives and friends and doctors that made decisions to act or not act with self imposed desires emanating from their conditioned minds without much depth to see the outcome of this simple and sincere life of Sierra Kachina. No one is to blame and yet we all are. I don’t know where to start. The beginning they say but there is no beginning.
Raw reality stripped from all its glory
naked truth condemned to hide beneath the rugs
the way it was the way it is
the way it is going to be
silence against the noise of mind
love hidden in the shadows
nothing is as nothing was
everything comes everything goes
imaginary waves upon the shores
where something ends something begins
i think of you often in so many ways
i wish i wish i wish but to no avail
if only this and if only that
you would be alive and i know it’s true
you questioned so many times
of what you would be like if only
we had not been separated at your little girls age of seven
if only we could have continued to be as father and daughter
what confused decisions tore us apart
what guilt hidden in minds separated us
why did that have to be so
what did we do to deserve such fate
is the truth worth anything now
will the prosecutors suffer as i
can anyone hurt so much
so deep for so long, my little mind
never really mature, stuck in your arms
safe and warm from the dangers of life forever
i missed you so much my father and friend
and no one could understand
and now i am gone forever
cept the memories in the minds of who’s left
twisted and torn and true and soft
some will feel the pain of abandonment as i
some will continue to ignore the facts
and continue to lie with their crafted smiles
and embrace the illusions they’ve made
for me i have gone and now you my friend write my legacy
i forgave everyone, it was in my nature
but i felt the pains of their decisions that tore my brain apart
from street and legal abuse i walked thru hell alone
tormented people are made of this
this guilt and anger hidden beneath
in minds not willing to see
i loved you all regardless; my mother, my husband, my aunts
my dear sister, my fathers and uncles
all my friends that couldn’t really understand
what i myself could only feel but not comprehend
why, why, why were you taken from me
it doesn’t make sense…..
how simple is love
this love severed but never dead
i am grateful it had found it’s way home
after so many years and for such a short time
and now i leave once again to let you walk on alone again
to face every breath without me
cept for what little is left in memory
but i am gone
gone forever with dreams
Driving home along the highway
yellow moon hanging in the sky
sounds so romantic but it’s true
everywhere i look i find you
I walk along the beach and see you in the sand
i pick up a purple stone and find you in my hand
high in the sky you fly within the clouds
trees are made of your likeness all across the land
such a sacred child in the body of a woman
you were just like me, a melancholy man
For hidden guilt and shame of things they couldn’t face
And unaware to me i’d been accused and convicted of things i never did
It was simple and easy to hide the evidence, me, and live a lie into eternity
but to their surprise and your demise, little sierra died
and now they have this tragic reality hanging from their neck
they can’t escape the truth of what’s been done
and only an apology might shine some healing light
but until then they will feel that deep darkness in their skull
how long will it take, time can’t even tell
i am not counting the days, i hardly care anymore
my little girl is gone and i don’t give a damn what people say
nothing is going to change anything anyway
people can hide but they still have to pay
that’s the nature of this way
you can fill your brain with whatever you want
fool yourself and fool the world
but in the end karma will knock you down
where ever you hide
where ever you lay
get your self a good alibi
a judgement day is on its way
we would have had such a lovely birthday time today…..always thinking about you.
Image circa 1996……writing, last 3 1/2 years
No other has taken me to the depths of my being, no other has forced me to see what i had failed to see. As it should be, if one is growing, i am forced to see the impermanence of it all. It is quite uncomfortable at times, this world without eternity, these thoughts doomed to disintegrate. The whole world full of dream, this life set to die, an endless stream of illusions to observe. This thought dying unto itself.
Money, it all revolves around paying rent, taxes, poverty has its claws inside my heart. Where could i be without this hindrance chaining me to mediocrity. This afternoon of springs last winters-wet-snow and gloomy skies and desperate thoughts hanging on to the last remains of your love. Can we grow? I don’t know. Is there hope beyond this air?
Image circa Poland late 90’s – writing April 2, 2005 4am
twas th nite befor christmas
all the people were asleep
you couldn’t hear a sound
not even a peep
and then came in santa
to the stark dark manger
and he pulled from his bag
and nothing was stranger
a gift of canadian weed
to share with the wise
joseph, mary the animals
and the rest of the guys
they sang thru the evening
and when all was sung
little jesus awoke and spoke
in multiple tongue
‘don’t criticize, institutionalize
hypnotize or romanticize
and also, i’d not feel so damn alone
everybody must get stoned’
twas th nite befor christmas
i dreamed i was a saint
in some far off universe
then i awoke, realized i ain’t.
Image circa 80’s, two slides sandwiched – writing today
Today change has come, the weather has shifted, the roads have opened, the way is clear. It always seems so obvious when the light comes shining thru, when clarity settles in the brain, when the universe makes sense again. It is these moments of understanding that lay the foundations of uncertainty in pillars of time that move thru the mystery so perfectly inrhythm and endless rhyme. An acceptance of the wavering truth that enters the mind one way and exits into a completely new universe. Today change has come.
Waves of a conscious mystery are rolling along the open shores. Tangerine skies are skimming melodies on the waters and dreams are scattering themselves about like autumn leaves blowing across a forests floor. Change is changing today into yesterday like bent light surrounding the wind in an open mind of dreaming dreams.
Image 1980’s puddle shot slide sandwiched with hand painted colour gelatin acetate – writing yesterday
hurricanes blowing across the sands
turmoil on every corner, every street, deceit
you got your love secure and camouflaged
waiting for a little breeze
for some relief from the heat
Words trampled and crushed into little packets of self contained messages colonialized like small islands off the coast. How did it ever get to this, warped boats over treacherous waters carrying the cargo of ‘boxed-up-meanings’ leaking into the vast unknown seas. It is here we attempt to understand each other with a soul full of emptiness and a heart forsaken across discontented distant waters and a sincerity to reach into each others arms, sabotaged.
The drifter walks ahead already looking back at the silent coast and the ones so dearly loved. With the scrap heap of the west on our heals and the parade of saints playing in pools of nymphs and pirates and such, who could have ever guessed we were end-bound. What used to survive desolate in the alley ways of the metropolis we now find in remote villages across the globe. Like an unstoppable disease of the heart spreading like thought waves doomed by its own desires, humanity crawls along alone. There is no way out for it, only more illusions to soothe its fateful appetite, and as the drifter always says from his cool twisted damp lips, “choose careful, beware, everything fades towards the end of time”. And with that said the ships unload, the docks disperse, the constant pounding of the drums continue along the avenues and into the endless winds of dream, things come and go.
Image circa 80’s two slides sandwiched into one…writing yesterday
297 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/17 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The open road: where in the hell is that? Nowadays you can travel half way around the world, carry a cell phone and send selfies live back home, but where in gods mind is that open road? Where is that place where real freedom is hanging in the air, where there is no direction home, no place left to be, no one to aspire to; where is that road? There was always some place to get away from, some place to feel your way thru. A few thousand miles down Route 66 seemed an eternity, no one could track your step, you were on your own, maybe a phone booth a couple hundred miles down some dirt road could get you a scratchy voice to some past you left behind; if you needed to be lucky.
Leaves of Grass found falling in the air long ago, now nothing but splashes of dull colour from eight miles high. The open road is a myth like Robert Johnson and answers blowin in some wind fallin in some time zone that can’t be reached no more; so far outa touch from this space only ancient text can attempt to reveal.
The open road closed for some museums reconstruction, fake images bracing imaginary brains, modern students with science degrees in hard-luck while the true old road is left dying alone in some ditch. The road warriors are not what they used to be, whatever that was. That’s the way it is, nothin stays the same but if you’re really careful and time is on your side there is still a way to get a glimpse of that road that is barely open yet for but a few that just might make the right moves. But beware, it holds nothing but raw freedom and that has left most lonely, weary and desperately miserable in the end. But, for but a very few of the few, the drifter does escape.
Image Infra-red B/W 35mm circa 80’s – some 60’s look-a-like of Highway Route #66, 61 or whatever, down some lonely New Mexico highway…Writing; years in the making, squashed into yesterday for no tomorrow.
296 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/16 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The morning has arrived just like it said it would. Mist moving almost still and hanging off the mountain like a veil. The valley flooded with white geese dotted about, the air is tender, i’m not sure i should be here. My heart can breathe high and it can sore low but it just stares and wonders if there are other valleys though. The green lush blanket winding in the distance to unknown land and the mountain tops sharp and hazy edge against the grey grey sky. I could have been so many things, i could have learned the dance; i questioned i till there was nothing left and still it demands to belong where there is no valley towards a mountain top left to go. I sit here in the morning light and watch the wood stove blue smoke fall down into the valley and disappear where no dreams flow. Like stopping by a woods on a snowy evening i have my horses too, some are tired in the sun, some just wanna run, how can i possibly get it done, said the valley to the road.
Woke up fell outa bed, rubbed some horses across my head, and right in the middle of a dream this is what i heard i said, ‘wow’……..and that was that, moved right into another day, nothing more to say; the rain kept gleaming down and here i am, where the forest is my home.
Image circa – rain forest of 2001 – writing in this morning light
294 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/14 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Flying high with blended hues against an eternal sky of a sun dipping below the line between existence and imagination. On the long trip north with restless children on board and a longing in my heart for things that never quite were, i followed the intense skyline until i was too tired to keep my eyes awake and faded into the dawn of another time. There i was on the beginning without a hope on earth and i saw you there like i was attached to your soul somehow but i wasn’t. You began to hesitate right from the start and i began to lie to myself to make things happen that weren’t there. We settled on an imaginary life and caressed each others wounds until death do us part. Somehow love did enter the realm that was as real as any other love, it was love what could you expect, love doesn’t choose what’s real or not it just is or isn’t. That was good, life continued in a way that was expected tho surprising at the same time. The sun fell and that was that the night the night hit like a tomb.
You might think that you understand the game and conclude to yourself to fulfill your own imaginary life but i assure you that you’r fooling yourself just like everyone else to get by in a world too dangerous to be aware of its truths. But that’s alright no need to get upset push me under your rugs i’m just your night light to get you thru when times get too weary, too absurd to realize, a wake up call just so you don’t take it all that serious. There ain’t no guru gonna get you or some devil waiting for your sleepy soul or nitemares you can’t get thru…….you’ll be fine, just follow the line till the end of time and you’ll get exactly where you outa be. Take a flower and put it into your hair, smell the essence of life, kiss the wind, be true and you’ll get thru right to the end of the bend and you’ll see.
Image circa 80’s – writing last night
292 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Good bye Mexico, hello North Land
Heading north again, had my time in the sun. Was sick for a few days. Sasha was sick for a week or more. That’s life you deal with what you’re given. Goin to miss the many of the natural elements of mexico. The kids and their less aggressive attitudes towards everything, most of the friendly gestures from the people, beautiful señoritas, friendly eye contact often everywhere. The food and its natural flavours, the sun and thank god for shade. But there is usually a ‘but’. The mad relationship towards music and obnoxious sounds till all hours of the night. Fire crackers in the streets early in the morning. I don’t get that, some strange celebration for the morning sun with no care of how many people are disturbed. I figure it is a deep seated celebration of war, of victory, conquer mentality and now deep rooted into the culture that most don’t even hear it happening. I mean it is really loud like being in a war zone………weird is all i can say. But over all there are many more positive aspects to a life not as tainted and controlled as in the north. You need to know where to go to find that peace and sometimes a vacation can be almost over before you find those places. It’s over.
Image circa 1995
291 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/11 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Those fuckers are gonna get a beating today. They’ve been pushing us to the limit for years and today is the day we give it to’um good. Maze, bullets, skull crashin, those left winged fuckers are gonna get exactly what they deserve.
‘Ah this coke tastes good, wonder how the kids are doin’, “little Juan has got his first soccer tournament today”, ‘hope i can still get there to see him beat the shit out of that out-of-town team’. “Hey Antonio lets grab a beer after we crack a few skulls and tell the wifes we have to work late….maybe fuck a few too”.
“Here they come, let’s move slow and let the foot soldiers give the first beating to wear them down some”.
Time passes and the attack backs down. After a while the new shift comes in and Ricardo and Antonio go for a beer and more.
That was on the shelf of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Image circa 70’s Mexico City – writing today
290 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/10 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Numero uno church in the main zacolo de ciudad de mexico. Poor Folk begging for a few pesos. The wealth of catholicism stands strong behind the gates. The way it is, hypocrisy crawls between the cracks, empty stomachs ache for jesus.
image circa 70’s, comment today, as yesterday and all bets on tomorrow.
289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Just before i took this shot we stood there not knowing what to say. The end was dripping from our lips, the last kiss was done and in your mind, you were already walking. That’s the way it goes sometimes, quick, just like the way some things fly into your life. I recall the beauty of the day when i saw you by the bench, the one that faces the long and narrow park, the one we sat at for the next two weeks before this night. It appeared we were falling in love until our differences emerged and spread out on the avenue like a night can do. You had your dreams laid out like a text, mine just surfaced out of impulse and they saw each other in the light of the day and freaked out. Our love was never meant to build a family around, it was not tough enough to stand alone, not true enough to create. So there we were feeling miserable for a short sweet past that was ending and a future with no spirit to be.
You shuffled in there sandwiched against the masses and wham the door squeezed shut and that was it, the last train left the station and left me stranded in the twilight just as you had found me there in a Mexico City night at some forgotten stop long ago and that was that, done, gone forever cept this last image from my crazy shutter sped finger tips.
Image circa 77 Mexico City – writing yesterday
288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early part of the century i made my living as a photographer on a tour boat in Xochimilco just on the south side of Mexico City. People called me Jose but my name was really Fernandez and i lived the life of a photo-specialist. Having the eye of an artist was just the beginning. In those days you had to know the science of lenses, the chemistry of film and developers and the physics of light. You had to be a mechanic of sorts to deal with all the apparatus and a carpenter and painter for sets, let alone a marketing genius and promotion manager just to stay in the business. I loved my work and photographed some of the many celebrities that visited the City from all over the globe. Up and down the canals of one of the most scenic places near the city. Flowers and vegetation showered the days with beauty and my life was in love with me. Things changed when 35mm cameras came into vogue and more and more people took their own images and the competition made the game much more challenging. I managed, i had a talent for staying in the game, i survived, lived a long life and have images in a few of the museums spread across the city. I died decades of years ago now and with the advent of digital modernism in all forms of media in the hands of the many, i survive only in the minds of a few surrealists and history buffs. This wandering 35mm gringo caught me doing my thing way before his time and he’s probably close to the final curtain himself if not already gone.
We shared a smile before our boats parted up and down the canal and that was that.
Image circa early 70’s – writing yesterday
287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Strange the way waking-dreams weave in an out of mind. Troubled in the doorway of change, the delicate undertaker slips in to mind.
I swung in from the other side, just in time to see him leave for the top. They saw you trapped within your love but making it big on the social stage and that was good enough for you and you had already lost your honour towards the hard path, anyways. Meantime big business was buying up every green field of passion from here to the edge of the do-gooder horizon and you got sucked right in. When you thought you saw me there struggling in the forefront of humanity, you were mistaken, i wasn’t
struggling, i was breathing deep just before the night hit. I didn’t expect to turn in your heart or your expression on your delicate face when you saw me bend down to wash the feet of an unknown soul. What else could i do, the waves were pouring in, the crash was close and the immense pressure to surrender was overwhelming, i had no choice really and i’m glad the road turned and twisted into the dead end it is. How else could it have turned into this soft shadow slipping down the tears of your face? You, it seems were meant to be a star, it’s all over the media now, without much of a message, and without so much as a credit or a byline for the mysterious undertaker.
I stood there just on the verge when things changed and headed back from whence it came, the other side, leaving but with a few thoughts to get you through too.
Image circa late 70’s – writing yesterday
286 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/06 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Today everything is a little off. The mural on the wall is slightly tilted. The people don’t seem right. Their voices are gargled their smiles slanted. Everything is a little crooked. Colours are overly bright and in your face. The parrot is squawking more than normal and wavering back and forth shaking his gage in response to something that i can’t quite put my finger on. The music seems to be missing a few notes here and there, the sun can’t decide on showing up or staying away. The waitress is hesitating unsure of what to suggest.
Me, i feel fine, perfect of sorts, just wish my head didn’t exist for awhile, too much pressure in doing nothing, to get things right, to make it straight
Image circa 77…writing yesterday
285 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/05 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The sun is setting. Pelicans are diving deep. Sticky clouds are falling off the edge of the horizon. Waves are turning themselves in, folding up into the shore. The sky on the sea is blooming mauve, burgundy, shades of tangerine. Silhouettes of clifftop islands march into the open fields of the long ocean. Dreams sail across the waters as a warm breeze and history kisses the palms full of mellow truth and endless time.
The day is turning in, families are calming down and cuddling into the evenings
night and talking soft like the rolling waves along the endless shore line.
The smart phone has spread its wings of information into every mind along the beach. The glow of communications illuminates dark faces in the dusk of the towns spread along the beaches of civilization. We are connected. Music emanates from every space of humanity. Silence is rare and feared. The sound of nature considered boring and naive.
In a typical day and average mind hears more songs than most would have heard in a full life time from the mid eighteen hundreds and before. People have become addicted to entertainment. They can not function without some visual and/or sound piercing their brains all day long. In the car, in the home, in the street, in the shops, department stores, in the work place, in everything everywhere from sun up to sundown, thru the night, thru their meals, while they think from birth to death.
My attempt to find a quiet sunset failed. Only the silence i preserve inside can keep me calm. You either become numb and fall into the noice or one must learn the difficult possibly impossible techniques to eliminate the frequencies agitating the cells of ones being. Eventually the civil law will force head set use in areas just like the forced smoking space. Common sense has rarely been common and getting more rare as the minutes roll in from the avenues. Light pollution, sound pollution, toxic pollution, mind pollution. Mankind is a very rude specie.
The sun is down, i missed most of it dealing with the new humanity infiltrating my brain. Fake pounding drum beats driving itself to the core of the mind constantly everywhere. From LA to Zimbabwe, Shanghai to Siberia people and their light, sound, fumes follow you like a trail of prophesies down the long turbulent road of humanity.
I left the beach and headed along streets of scratchy noice bouncing off cement and metal from the dreamt up structures forcing gas-lit bulbed-light across smelly air and despite things, i felt alive. Here i am small town mexico accepting life as it is, watching young girls, some of them with more folds on their stomach than i and others dripping with tight tenderness remembered from so long ago. Old men, young men, broken bicycles, loud exhaust, sharp light and noice from every direction. Ah, the romance of the cobble stone road down soft lit dreamy streets just far enough away from the mad action of the centre of town. I made it, peace caressing my mind.
Wherever you go today most of society is active and noisy. Technology is a gift but certainly a curse for all of the other secondary species inhabiting, coexisting with us here on this majestic planet.
I am here and i love it, most of the time. You just have to learn how to weave in and out of the mess outside and to warm up to those cosy corners that one must protect so well, inside. A few deep breaths and then the focus, attention.
Image circa 1977 – writing yesterday