B46 … when i first laid eyes upon this scene

When i first laid eyes upon this scene, i knew it didn’t fit, outa time, outa space, a completely new world, a woman in a time that was not quite there. She leaned against the past like it was hers, a place close to her heart, a world not quite done with, one that needed a little more time to evolve smooth. I could have sworn i knew her from the way she smiled thru the air, the way she gleamed thru that space and time sitting still like that, made things surreal, real, unreal. There, with her leopard skin jacket flowing in the ages like a piece of a puzzle perfect in the right place at the wrong time. Yes, she held my glare, i couldn’t let go, i forced myself to capture the moment like a person does when seeing something so unusual, tempting, it must be right. There you have it, the look the space the time, all wrapped up into one unique scene while time fades like it does for a generation or two….

Mural with Sasha in Chemanis
Vancouver Island BC

She came like many others of the fare complexion looking for the new land, a place of adventure, something different, security; possibly secret dreams unfolding in some distant horizon of her mind. Things change, little people become historic symbols, wall-scape murals depicting fiction disguised for the pleasure of the common folk, or something like that.

She could have been a queen in another life time, a peasant, a gypsy or an early settler, even an indian, a crow; anything is possible when you believe in that sort of stuff. Times and murals, fantasies made out of brick and paper, paint and illusions in the minds of the perceiver and in the words of the writer, ‘everything is twisted when you’re winding around the trail like a dream of a scene that doesn’t exist’. Yea that’s life on the coast, fairy tales hanging off the walls and no one seems to notice, the street is strange, desolate but in perfect tune with the deserted pavement and the magic just keeps pouring in like a mystery in a smile. That’s her, the one, the perfect one, almost real amidst the world; smooth, delicate, the new woman.

Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

B45 … rain

it’s the rain that has me mellow
its washing effect that cleans my soul clear
has me wandering undisciplined
watching in new eyes
thinking thru the heart
i love the way old memories dance about
concealing their faces
sliding back and forth
between the furniture of the streets
the squish and slap off the black jungle trails
against my ears
in tune like a long day
slowly fading into an evening air
the rain scrubbing the tears off the buildings brick
off the dark deep tar to the horizon
and trees gasping for breath
relieved and speaking soft again
it’s the rain
it has its glorious way
embracing breath as water

B44 … gelatin floors and melting walls

gelatin floors warping up against melting walls of tangerine wind blowing words of multi-coloured cellophane into thick tunnels of mind. the strained history of man wrapped up into little packets floating memories deep across crevices of inner lobes. i demand an explanation, and many come then no sooner slip down some other crack into forgotten terrains of brain.
a wall appears fast moving abasing the cliffs of my lonely love and drowns in a sea of pointlessness. what is this all about asks a desk of dust thirsty dictionaries and worn umbrellas fly by in torrential rain of bulky thought; the whole universe is in chaos and i believe in answers.

doomed and forsaken i leave for a surreal cafe on a nearby shore, the roads smother me with hope and the people in the know direct me to well-welded sides. finally i feel almost whole again, complete, possibly pure when you enter wearing a silver cloak draped over some-thing uncertain and with a dark dagger hanging from your inner ear, you ask for a light; it’s a big joint and you offer me a toke and i say, ‘no thanks, i’m stoned on life’ but i take one anyways.
things change, everything is normal again, boring, purpose everywhere. i move thru walls dangling off my sight, books and books with faces, manipulations, lies being promoted like sermons and poems made of delicate strings of weak memories and real distant love fading fading thru-out the virtual dreams of mistaken heavens. i escape. i don’t look back. i can feel the trail on my heals; i slow down breathe deep, keep hidden as best i can, knowing it may all blow over but ready to take it as it comes or doesn’t; broken fences lying dead against the horizon.

B43 … from the banks of a dream

from the banks i watch
quietly i stop nothing
the noice of the world
the arrogance along the trails
the deception carefully packaged
in love tainted with the absurd
all things moving within the grid
the mesh of power and control
my simple love drowning slow
there is no way out for this
no way to extract the simplicity
and lay it on the road

the streets are filled with fear
beliefs blooming from the curse of time
people becoming saints and scholars
with a magnitude of madness hidden
like a cancer does when it conceals itself
as love dying to live within

i walk on thru these lies on the walls
the blatant clasping for the likes that makes me sick
out to the forest where the truth is simple
nothing much more than a moment at a time
to remind you that infinity is eternally present
the smell of summer pollen in the sweet air
the vastness in a view
the taste of fresh huckleberries full of life
birds sneaking thru the forest
activity always moving perfectly
like a dream, my dream

writing and images by patrickwey

B42 … birthday time

i’m a rat according to the chinese calendar. there is some truth to all that i suppose, whatever truth is? a few days back i turned around 72 times across the path of the sun whipping thru space at speeds we’ll never know. what speed is the universe travelling, a parallel verse, a dylan verse? what is speed anyways? a concept of relativity useful for keeping things’n perspective but where deep-science is concerned things get very dice-c. anyways i want to thank all the folk that hurled happiness my way for a day that comes but once a year if your lucky, i suppose that’s what we can call it, luck.
i had a wonderful time travelling around the main land of bc with my remarkable significant other. we roamed around the highlands of the okanagan and had a few very cool dips into its lake. All in all life is what you make it, and we made those days just fine, really fine, extraordinary; we caressed rain sun wind , we had it all and the spirit of gratefulness followed us around like a magnet, a scent of purity in oh so many breaths of true-life and we inhaled it all, a trip well done……..happy birthday, yes it was, thanks once again this earth, this beauty, these moments that fly by so quick..thanks friends, foe, relatives, sometimes life is just so good, almost a sin to mention it.

‘selfie squared’ … a reflection along the way …

B40 … mourning for the loss of a year of writing.

I lost a year of writing. Laying words on a page is not like other arts; photography, painting, carving, music. It is more vunerable, exposing naked your heart, leaking your soul into the air of thought, into the space of feelings. You can intellectualize your position and be exposed for what you are not. You can cry for mercy for the guilt hidden behind your verbs. You can paint love with dashes of adjectives that transcend time, with continuity that erupts emotions into a frenzy. You can hide behind the phrases common for the times, slip out of the torture of your soul with a well manicured paragraph or two. 

Writing is hard, a dance between the intellect and the heart, the poet and the philosopher, the scientist and the craftsman, the wordsmith with nothing really to say. One can lay camouflaged with leaves from an old oak, clouds from a gray damp day. What ever writing is, it is personal no matter how things are said; if you’ve learned how to read between the lines, that’s where the juice is, the energy that runs the show. But all in all nothing is really revealed for certain, every word can ramble down eternity road and every sound will echo endlessly whether you let it or not.

I lost a year of writings, as these, thru incompetence and stupidity between myself and a mac repair shop here in Duncan. I almost lost hundreds of hours of image editing as well as tons of other important computer related content. All was eventually retrieved accept almost a year of writing. I had to remind myself of others that have lost all in fires or floods or have nothing at all to loose. None the less it did disrupt my mind and had me face death once again as in the hundreds of times that other circumstances have had me do. Eventually i’ll have to leave it all behind and the consolation of leaving a legacy often does nothing much for my weary mind. I am a traveller, an adventurer in the cells of this brain i call home. It will all die and i refuse to accept common after-life believes simply because it makes me feel well and alive with some truth to call my own. Bullshit, we made it all up, mankind is a living lie. Memory as thought changes, bends, attaches, dismembers, but it is as unstable as the wind. It is not necessary to know what you can not know. It is alright to realize reason is not the ultimate tool of knowing and knowing as eternity, just keeps flowing on. There is nothing to hang onto, no ultimate security, no dream that sits perfectly still but all is pure that way, all is just what it is, nothing more and nothing less. We need not embellish perception simply to fit it into our molds, break the sentence with a hammer of love………..stop, start, meaning will find its silly claws, it is the nature of thought, memory, words. I love and hate writing, it frees my mind and cripples my soul. It resurrects me when i’m low and soothes my heart when the existential pain of love leaves me.

I will miss the words that suffered upon the pages now erased into the virtual space of trash. At moments they fly by tempting me to struggle for their existence, but i won’t, new words can never replace all the moments my fingers needed the serenity of the keypad, but that my dear mind is the way it is. Goodbye to those rooms where realities once stood and now nothing more than a few disintegrated fragments faintly falling across the screen of my mind with ease and occasional hesitation.

I own nothing not even these words, death is coming for all of them soon but until then my fingers will stumble across the table of thought and scribble more sense where ultimately nothing really matters.

Words are like water dunes upon the surface of the mighty seas, they weave in and out of existence like meaning does.

Painting by Meghan Sims of Patrick Wey

B39 … dying in isolation

i’m down around the end
there is no word to please me
no wound deep enough to hide within
i have nothing left to be
the people are all away from here
there is no one to see me
the trains have all died
the flowers are crying as rain does
there are a few smells remaining
and a cluster of thought by the bridge
but other than that everything else is gone
just some resemblance of me
and an empty suitcase of dreams
quiet by the long stairway
this is where it all begins to end
not with some enormous gathering
but with a few drops of rain and a forgotten caress
this is the way things end sometimes
almost silent almost invisible
like it never was
like meaning fading slow
across a terrain of scattered memory
into a horizon
of pure beauty

images and writing by patrick wey

B38 … It’s time that we sat down and….

It’s time that we sat down and talked. The trees are weak, earth spoiled, sky dirty and people clinically insane and you want me to buy your news. I’ve been up and down your facebook drama and the live leaders dying in rusted air. What could be so important to take me away from this dream embedded in my brain. The silence surrounding the noice, the beauty against this madness. 

You have our attention, the world is rotting, the soul of love itself is evolving into a cancerous tumour in the minds of man, stabbing the heart of god itself, man is turning numb and colder. Everybody is a critic, a writer, an artist, a spiritual scientist now, everybody it seems has the certainty of thought strangling the life out of life. Nothing left but to walk alone, cry for the miserable, breathe deep and focus on nothing, for that alone is unattached to this dilemma.

Sure i will help you when i can, place a few words on your dampened heart, give you air when your lungs collapse, but don’t ask me to surrender to your prayers, your dreams, the madness of this world, the insanity of this path. Carry on as you are, i will dodge everything i can, but in the end, it doesn’t matter who you are, who i am, from dust to dust, just do what you must, we may meet again, we may not, the wind blows for no one and all, hold what you get, fly when you can.

Images and Writing by patrickwey

B37 … The war of the sacred, the way of the warrior.

Rosetta – a great friend

The path to evil is camouflaged with the flowering aroma of sacred words….to fake it is to make virtual roots in sacred soil.
This Pipe that i have carried has travelled to many spaces since this ceremony mentioned in 1996 and it has passed many prayers back and forth thru the space we call spirit. Auschwitz, Poland, Tower of London, Ireland’s pagan sites denigrated by the saint of patrick, America south to north, wounded cities, injured land, crowded prisons, ceremonies of sweats, vision quests, rain and sun dancing; it has been busy. It has carried thought focused in reverent ways, selfish ways, desperate ways, asking, telling, demanding, praising, crying, honouring, many ways and possibly the answers of our ancestors prayers are the realities we are now living. I feel that after many journeys thru the fields of grace that the most beneficial prayer is one of no prayer at all. To honour the life we carry with listening to the great mystery with no intervention, no human thought creation attempting to get what we feel we need, want, deserve……………simply listening without intention.
This is my opinion, feel free to criticize or compliment, it has no lasting difference to the scheme of the mystery. This is what the Pipe has conveyed as i have interpreted, there is no path to truth, to love, to the great mystery. My prayer is the prayer of the coyote, the crow, the birch tree, the waters, my prayer is beyond me, we are irrelevant in the winds of the silent forest. I am you as you are me, thought and prayer separates us, listen to the drum of heart, the wordless knowing in the space between. Your walk is your prayer, your breath is your gratitude, your doing is a blessing or a curse, it is up to you ….

Vern Harper – a great friend….

Images and writing by patrick wey

B36 … isolation

Falling into sketched hands down a canvas wall
i have no answer to these actions
my dreams are beyond myself
i am not in control
i am not the i i knew
things have changed
the horizon is a wall
painted with fragile clouds
stilts hang my head in shame
across a cold cold landscape
and is erased unwound as a ribbon
to the solemn wind of words
scattered across the valley
syllables desperately forming
into long sentences of meaninglessness
then tearing themselves apart one by one
into lonely letters disintegrating across a universe

Images and writing by patrick wey

B35 … Desolation Row

Years ago I recall reading in one of the many books, album covers or some interview, but somewhere, that Dylan was asked if he was the President of the US what he might do. He said, “the first thing i’d do is have every one memorize ‘Desolation Row’ and”…. that is all i remember. And now that we all have a little more time than usual, you might want to give it a listen. It’s not too late to feel a little desolate. I often felt like yelling out the last verse and occasionally i did.

‘Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke
When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke
All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name
Right now, I can’t read too good, don’t send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row’

Sasha feeling a bit of the ‘Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands’ along some ‘Desolation Row’

The complete lyrics to ‘Desolation Row’ by Bob Dylan

They’re selling postcards of the hanging, they’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors, the circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner, they’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker, the other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless, they need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight, from Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy, “It takes one to know one, ” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning. “You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place, my friend, you’d better leave”
And the only sound that’s left after the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden, the stars are beginning to hide
The fortune telling lady has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel and the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing, he’s getting ready for the show
He’s going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row


Ophelia, she’s ‘neath the window for her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic she wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion, her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood with his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago with his friend, a jealous monk
Now he looked so immaculately frightful as he bummed a cigarette
And he when off sniffing drainpipes and reciting the alphabet
You would not think to look at him, but he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin on Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients, they’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser, she’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read, “Have Mercy on His Soul”
They all play on the penny whistles, you can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough from Desolation Row

Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains, they’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera in a perfect image of a priest
They are spoon feeding Casanova to get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence after poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls, “Get outta here if you don’t know”
Casanova is just being punished for going to Desolation Row”

At midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone that knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders and then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles by insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping to Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero’s Neptune, the Titanic sails at dawn
Everybody’s shouting, “Which side are you on?!”
And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them and fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much about Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke
When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke
All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name
Right now, I can’t read too good, don’t send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
Desolation Row lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Audiam, Inc

‘desolation row, it’s everywhere’

Images by patrick wey

B34 … we the virus or 5G

Healthy cooperative life generates itself with life-energy, when the environment becomes unbalanced the insurgence of the enemy towards life invades, death-energy life forms, the virus is believed to be one of those, there are others but this one is swift, under the radar, and can be deadly dangerous. That is its job, presumably.

This planet of smooth skinned apes has turned what was a plentiful regenerative balanced accumulative system of life forms in war with itself. In the name of nature life moves evolves becomes more specific, complex with time.

‘Babies Wail to Sixty Cycle Hum’ a line from my good friend Wayne Masters back in the late 60’s.

Man has manipulated the very structure of the molecules with an energy force that nature solely uses for death, explosive dissipating energy, the movement of water and matter in an outwards direction. When this explosive, death-giving energy is in abundance, healthy life begins to die. Life and death is the cycle of existence, but there is a natural unequal balance in which this process occurs. Organic planet earth-life is accumulated thru the over abundance of implosive energies created by the natural inwards vortexing of water and air, thru forms as veins of animals, the sap of trees, the whirling and twirling of water and air over land and sea. 

Dew levitating on the tips of grass…

Water, the carrier of memory, the consciousness of mother earth, moves to enhance its energy in an inwards vortical direction. This pacifies oxygen, increases velocity, moves towards the anomaly point of plus four degrees celsius of water. This inwards vortical direction is the temperature regulator of the earth.

Man has attempted to straighten out this direction with barriers along rivers, creeks, damns obstructing the natural flow of water and generating in all aqua-life stagnant environments for pathogens which increases the risk of unhealthy life to every living cell on earth.

The outwards direction of our explosive technology is in constant need of fuel to continue its energy output. The minerals, fossil fuels, nuclear substances is the toil of mans dilemma creating wealth and control for a few of the many.

The virus today is an example of the detriment our unnatural energy systems has created from the processes of producing foods, fertilizers, drugs, all utilizing a heat explosive outwards motion process of creation which is not the way of the cool whirling motion of natures medicines, foods in abundance of life enhancing energies.

There is something very sinister about this world lock down. I have a gut feeling that what we are being told is not what really is happening. That our inside fears, precautions, suspicions are not unjustified. There are many possibilities that the super wealthy are up to something that will ultimately gave them superior control and in the process the elimination of the weak, useless, unnecessary crowds of people that are of no further use to the machine that the peoples blood and sweat have build. 

circle beneath the skin

We and our ancestors built the factories, the machines and the machines that are now building the machines that are now thinking the thoughts, doing the deeds. There are too many of us. They are not willing to support us. There is a lack of work, more unemployed everyday, we have become outdated, a commodity to be eliminated. This must be done in a very strategic way not to allow us to unite and take back what is ours, our ancestors, our right. They have the money the time the expert intelligence to strategically eliminate many of us with out our proof. Load vaccines, make it impossible to move freely without one, control the movement of each person on this planet. People have become numb, entertained, comfortable in their beliefs. There is little that a few can do.

Divide and conquer, separate us, make us desperate, have a disease in place, one that is not easily  detectable of its source or nature and bombard areas of earth with unhealthy wave technologies that disturb the very cells of life strategically and can be directed to specific areas at will. These technologies have been in place for decades in top secret files and most of us know that. G5 is well on the way, an ultimate explosive system of control and destruction in the view of progress.

Lock the population down, make it a crime to be in public, no groups, screen and filter the detrimental communications via the internet and eventually disconnect it, possibly knock out the hydro in pockets, create a civil war, eliminate masses of people.

Possibly this is not real, not true, who knows, and what does it really matter, or does it? Possibly it is time for the earth to wipe off the parasite that has killed many species thru the antagonistic ways of man. There are natural ways of energy systems that do not depend on the refuelling and raping of the lands, veins and arteries of fuels and minerals and therefor the unneccessary control of a few over the many. 

I don’t know for certain, anything, i just think thoughts and write them out, possibly they will be discovered and eliminated, possibly they may entertain a few, insert a few more questions. I understand that this world is addicted to statistics, formulas, wars and is controlled by fear and loves the answers involving angels, gods, demons and facts. I offer little. Think for yourself, answers are lying everywhere. An unhealthy planet is bound to end up dying unnaturally. That is just simple common sense.

The few at the top of the chain are so greedy they’re willing to deceive and sacrifice the many for a a few more links, knowing they may be discovered and mass massacres could evolve into an ending that death has never seen. The self fulfilling dream secretly evolving in the minds of man. From the red man to the saints of world religions the legacy is awaiting patiently to be fulfilled.

Man Toils in the Sweat of the Machine

A few of us watch the wheels burn while saviours scramble across the global micro waves like heroes from a burnt-out book. We don’t know, they don’t know but they can make things happen just the same. Truth lies still in the gutter and on the alters of earths hells. The poor the sheep the masses caught in the struggle to survive while the mighty kings of the digital madness waiver in an absurd glory only a madman could entertain.

This is the way of the world, the way of man. we watch, we listen, we move when we must, we do the best to survive. Prophesies have been waiting, time is moving in our hearts like a knife. Be observant and walk on.

‘visions from the people of the earth’

Images and Writing by patrick wey

B33 … one thing in common

The human race has one thing in common now, the virus, virtual and real, that is so apparent, but it makes us realize that we have a lot more in common and we have been mistaken, misunderstood, even dangerous to ourselves and others. They say in order to love others you need to love yourself. This time of being more alone physically is giving humanity an opportunity to learn this difficult task of loving ourselves and possibly truly loving others. It’s a symbiotic relationship, this love stuff. It is difficult to stick to your hearts intentions while many criticize your every move but that is the nature of the game, to weave in and out of the push and pull of others and keep on straight thru the pathless road. Now is the time to face death, that one space we all must enter, that dark and light terrain that no living creature truly knows. To exit from here is the one job no one can avoid. Help your neighbour, your brother, your sister, the four legged, winged ones, everyone you come in contact with to move with grace, in dignity. Life is short and in times as these one must realize we are all delicate and deserve what little love we may find to allow to pass freely about. No sense in any other ritual, simple caring from the heart is all that is necessary, stand your ground and give that sacred energy its home; your silent heart.

Images and Writing by patrick wey

B32 … I should have left yesterday

I should have left yesterday but it was more than i could do. Your tenderness and sweet lure, your soft words wrapped up in delicate promises; the walls could wait, let some other man be the martyr. I stayed, but much too long, days turned to years and now freedom by the door lies smothered in mould, wasted in tears, dead.

That was yesteryear. Times have changed, things whirled down a different tube. I lived thru the blues of the thirties, the rock of the fifties, dylan in the sixties, i lived thru the scattered jazz rollin across the rebellion, across the oneness dreams, across the distortion of the molecules, the plastic era, the one way, the christ consciousness, the darma minds, the whole lot of it all rusting rushing down the avenues of the modern day, LSD, 5G and what have you.

I come here without mind, my heart flattened out like an ancient stone. Stretched out along some creek waiting for the truth to find its light, waiting for the night to awaken, waiting for the hard rains to dry, for time to find its space here amidst eternity.

I’m not so unique, just like you, some of you that travelled the quiet road full of noice and nonsense and twisted decoys. We made it thru so we thought but here we are structured in a world messed up and impossible to read and here we are surviving, heading down towards the last train.

I love you i suppose with your miracles and angels and gods and demons. I’m gonna walk right on like nothing has happened, keep my head on straight, stand up to the last dream, no curse can keep me from meeting the end, open.

I’m gonna keep my promise no matter how much hate hits my guts, i’m gonna keep true to the roots of my veins, let my heart tell my story no matter what.

I’m not black, red or olive and most of the time i don’t feel white, german, italian, british, mexican,  just human, the last of the wanderers, a true seed, the mistaken, a dot stretched off the page…………………….

Images and writing by patrick wey

B30 … Mother Gaia WaterColours

Chiang Mai Thailand

She has influenced the greatest artists from Leonardo DaVinci, to Picasso, certainly Cézanne, without doubt Feininger, the expressionists, impressionists, even the abstract painters; Malevich to Emily Carr, Norval Morrisseau to Modglianni.
She, in all her wisdom is the basis of all art, her water colours are the glory of the earth, the colour and shape of consciousness itself.
I have been honoured to document a few of these paintings, from the crevices of St Paul St. Montreal, the puddles of NYC, to name a few, the water-surfaces across Europe, the canals of Thailand, the wetlands of BC and the alley ways of Ontario Canada.
Everywhere i go she confronts me to document her art. It is a mission i was chosen for to expose the beauty in the pure and the polluted waters of the earth.

St Paul St. Montreal

More – Patrick Wey Water Reflections

Images and Literature by patrick wey

B28 … there are those

there are those that demand nothing but the air of happiness
that would live in illusion to satisfy this desire
defend it to the gods, the creations of creation
there are those that see only destruction
the despair of life and the absurdity of destiny
there are those that are too weak to be
and those that move between the limits of ecstasy
like a reflection from a drop of a passing rain
there are those that want what they can never obtain
that can never accept the wounds of reality
that act out a love as if they own it
project images onto well designed walls
live on the outside of the inside of it all
these are the people of the world
these are the movements along the avenues
the virus gone viral down the halls of the surreal
a world ending just beyond its birth
time slowing down inside the mind of man
like an autumn maple leaf falling
blowing across the endless forests floor
thru the uncertainly of shadows

Image and writing by patrick wey

B27 … america

the Badlands of South Dakota

angels of mercy hiding in the wounds
masters leading walking behind
the one and only goddess falling
with the hope of life dying in the ruins
this is america worn and deceived
this is the way to the heavens
this is the way of the lord

the simple dream the simple way
thru the forests and the plains
man and her inventions
from saints and shadows, time in space
the maya moves slow behind
along patterns in the mind

the raw beauty of your melting eyes
scriptures written all over your skin
as silhouettes of truth caresses the sands
of your miraculous body
i surrender within

here i make my stand and demand
a few smells of lilac, a taste of peach
from your delicate hands
and entering your heart
i see the angel is you
america
the land of illusion
the promise to be free

Alabama USA…just passin thru. the 90’s.

images and writing by patrick wey

B26 … she builds rooms

she builds rooms for nitemares
constructs them out of spelling mistakes
ruffled feathers and worn-out nouns
cars have feet in her dreams
death is feeling guilty for ignoring her
she lives on hiding in the wind

writing and image by patrickwey

B25 … He, unfinished…finished.

It was on his way to that frozen silent space, the graveyard, in the light of day when things turned dark. He was worried about her, concerned. She had shown signs of deep depression with her tombstone eyes and endless dreams, and more than that, she was far too quiet for far too long.

The old ford broke down, stalled at an intersection, wouldn’t start, kept turning over but just would not combust, ‘a gas problem’ he thought, ‘maybe electrical’, no spark. He rolled it across the down-hill intersection and parked it along side the twisted road, out of the way, almost hidden. Tried it a few more times, ‘I guess it’s a long walk’, he thought. He couldn’t test things alone, turn it over while holding a spark plug wire away from a spark plug, or some other technique to see if it was electrical or gas related, so he said fuck it, ‘I’ll walk and deal with it later’.

That is what put him in harms way with this moulded modern man, deranged, angry and out for madness.

He headed towards the tombs to meet her, to help her, be there for her; down the railroad tracts towards the old graveyard by the edge of town. He saw him coming, a strange dark figure, like the night, long coat, afghan brown hat, rusted-white complexion it appeared and with a neck bent towards the ground and piercing darkened eyes staring up direct at me, the air turned thick. We were both sharing the single well-worn path along the tracks, so I thought I’d move on to the railroad ties side and let him have the full trail to himself, it felt like he needed it. He kept glaring, staring as I approached so I half smiled to no avail and when we met within a few feet he quickly unravelled from the inside of his coat a dull black gun and fired a shot and then again, and as if I saw it coming, bang, bang, dead, and kept walking.

– the erasing –

This unfinished poem, or maybe it was finished, anyways, it was found in his pocket scribbled in blood and ink.

there is a place where everything is one
no imagination or dreams
where reason is the crippled warrior
in a sea of mathematical analogies
relative and whole numbers separate into infinity
and eternity is absolute endless supreme and possibly
love is all there is

Writing and Images by patrick wey

B24 … Sierra Kachina 29 on 29 – could have been.

Click HERE and start a slide-show of many Sierra pictures – up in the top right corner.


Today on the 29th of Dec. 2019, Sierra would be 29, she has been gone 4/1/2 years. Time is irrelevant where tragedy lives, she knew that, i know that, many understand.
These are some of the many photographs i took of her in her first seven years. Then we were seperated for 17 years. This disturbed her, molded her, confused her, devastated her being. She struggled, wiggled in and out of this world. I entered back into her life six months before she left for good. We connected patched up what we could but in the end it was the medical world that took her breath away. She told me all, her life, the way she saw it – on video.

This story is much more than i could ever present here, too complicated, sensitive and needs delicate time.I hope to create a documentary as she would have wanted.

She mentioned, ‘anything that could help others not to have to go thru what I went thru’.

I loved her like no one else in my life, i lost her twice. She was a miracle, so many amazing moments being with her.

My Mother and Little Sierra

below – written by Sierra

I wish I were a bird,
So I could fly away.
Wish I had wings made of glass, blow my problems away.
Etched into stone, I’m grounded.
My broken wings won’t let me fly.
All my body in wanting, chasing that sky high.

All she wants is to be free,
No warning will she heed,
‘Unleash this beast!’

‘In my soul,
It’s making me ill
It’s getting hard to breathe, I’m feeling unwell.’

Redemption at it’s finest,
Credentials of a ciminalist,
‘Exorcise this demon with-in my chest!”

I have a hunger like an unfed wolf, eating at my soul. Emaciated, starving, hunting the high. Like a demon in my chest, it cries out in demand on satisfaction. “Feed me!!!” It cries. “Feed my desires. Fuel my pleasure. Take my hand, I’ll make everything better.” But high is a four letter lie. Once is never enough. Once, twice, thrice, only quells the beast in a temporary fashion. Just as quickly as it’s quieted, it’s demanding attention again with a ferocity only seen in the depths of hell.

Sierra Kachina

More writing about Sierra from my past….patrickwey

309 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/29 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sierra Kachina left at 24, would have been 28 today…born into a world almost to the minutes of 100 years after the last massacre of the NA Indian at Wounded Knee ……here is wiki-info of that event…….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wounded_Knee_Massacre

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

Sierra Kachina
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
never shone

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

B22 … ‘That is the way the world ends’

Dying shadows; wannabes searching out for love, poets, shamans, yogis, healers, saints, gurus, the leaders of the search, ‘the wounded and the traumatized, the abused and misused’, the manipulators of the heart. Strangled by the light they try to guide the sick, the patients of hope, the sufferers of faith, mirrors-of-themselves. The terrain of spirituality creating dreams that can never exist, fantasies formed into realities, structures made of brick of walls straight and thick, minds crystallized into heavens, expectations dying lying everywhere along a mirage to truth. Love cursed by sacred hugs caressed in streets, cathedrals of the brain, man surviving floods, fires spreading thru the species; reason killing the poet, the dreamer of life, the one last standing alone forsaken hidden in the midst of humanity with a crying heart in vain. ‘This is the way the world ends’, not with a crashing thunder but a silent whimper in a broken caress. 

Images and Literature by patrick wey

B21 … She walks in beauty…

She walks in beauty, her skirt dancing, flirting high with the wind. Her love spread out in the evening breeze, her skin pure and delicate like fine mist, hair flowing entangled in the sky, her smile warm and true like earth and water. Yes that is her, safe inside all women, waiting for an escape into a perfect embrace for an endless moment or two. Waiting, walking along the waterways, searching thru the storms, holding love like a luring vase for a flower to her heart, a breath of purple to encompass her soul. She dances thru life like a knife, cutting thru dreams unworthy. She is the golden goddess inside every woman, flowing thru the machine, kissing all with tenderness, loving life like the sun with an amber side of the moon. This is the way she walks along the cove, through dreams, down avenues, her skin smooth as the evening light of the night, softness in the turmoil of the wounded, delicate in the mind serene. Her words silent speak in a future, dangle off memories of the past, holding safe in her heart the way through the mountains on her chest. The forsaken goddess in modern times, her love endless, veiled from the world of dying dreams.



She was right, on a dead end street, wrong on a road to love. She was a goddess hollow, confused along the avenues of hell. Her spell entangled around the towers of expectations. Her beauty was apparent, everybody tried to get to her, but not one could pierce her shield. She left towards the lonely boulevards, stranded, self contained in her ideals, her trauma, her canyon-ways through the storms with reason. Her love a statue upon a petestal, her beauty tormented by a path, her story fading with the pages of her truth. She lived with the word of love as her guide, her salvation, her facade, her tragedy, her beauty in a misinformed paradise, a seed on a dry earth.

Words and Images by pat wey

B20 … 20th century man

Out in the dim lit streets, down the alleyways of the mind, the eye was set on the jewels of the ditch, the misery of time.. Hollow dreams brown walls slim and slender thought wavering around the edge of the town, he left. Worn from the ways in the canyon and dead in the light of time, age took him towards the grave with a deep psychopathic sadness spread across his pages like a glove. Hands mangled bones reaching for a few aged breaths of meaningful air but there was nothing there, a couple of recurring memories of solid endless fantasies swimming around his scull from somewhere up above. He died a long time ago but his body kept moving thru the day like a used ford. Right from the beginning he was doomed to end demented, the world threw him round like a toy, like a bottle of beer, a cigarette butt, a scattered dream meaningless and feared.

That was the life of a man, a man somewhat like you and i, groomed into accepting the dirt in his blood, acts hidden beneath, decisions forced by the very allusions of love. He was thin in the head, with a heart of solid silver, a mind of shallow space, clear, no colour to his skin. He was a 20th century man, almost dead.

Back in the streets of the mind you can feel the souls weave thru the night air, hope wilting in the hearts, long crescendoes of despair slowly penetrating the cells of life. The end is beginning again, the 21st century is in full swing. Love is at the door, faith is emanating from the walls, paint is bright and thick.

Literature and Images by patrick wey

B19 … Dr. History

You with your honest lies, facts formed for from the privileged ones. My history with your polished shoes, your razor blade manners, your quest for power, a fools day on the golden screen.

I hit the streets in the rain, wind brushing up against my coat, slivers of light beaming across the sky, dim views rolling across the road. Miracles lifting off the floor, turbulence humming from the brain, a whole fleet of merchants pasting their wars in advertisements for the blind and truth hiding within the crevices as usual. This is where i was born free of commitment free of germs free of life and there you entered like a saviour like a saint like a fool. I laid across your hallways and forced walls inside my veins, i loved your bricks and toothpaste and i gave out your embraces to the midgets in the ward just like you asked but one thing i just couldn’t do was to eat your jet-planes and drive your convenience stores torn into the new world. I refused, i would rather die than kill myself like that. You, you big fucking idiot to think i could fall so easy, death wasn’t that sacred and you knew it, you too were hiding here inside somewhere close by. I could feel it, i could sense the desperation from afar, i could tell you were me right from the start.

The candle burnt to the end, the bridges lifted down to the core and the whole universe scrambled inside out and the end kept beginning over and over again like a lost snail but there was more and more that came and went and then it turned over and started all over again, repeated this endlessly. I stood on the edge alone watching, there was no one i could recognize, no one to put my finger to. The walk to the highlands was low and mean. I didn’t know if i was coming or going most of the time and when i heard that last bell ringing from across the heavens i knew it was time. I shut up watched and listened but there was nothing but darkness, no sound, no nothing just blank, a blank everything and some remnant of me. That was it, i turned , i suppose i did and then the music began, bad obnoxious pounding rap metal crashing in my ears……..what the fuck, what is this place, where is the eternity you promised, the love dangling across your eyes like an iron fist. God, you were something, looking out at the world like you owned it.

It was still raining hard across the streets, wind brushing up against my face, there was nothing left to do but to walk on and that i did.

Poems falling into broken ears, breaking ears, weary tears thru the years, and trying so desperately to own me.

Images and writing by patrick wey

B18 … Silence is where silence is

let there be me

for i am
as water
consciousness

i flow

there is no other

i am all
in silence
i need nothing

i am full
alive

…………………………….

…………………………….

…………………………….

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, a melting candle in the mind. Silence is where silence lives.

B17 … remembrance day

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

Images and Writing by patrickwey

He’s five-foot-two and he’s six-feet-four
He fights with missiles and with spears
He’s all of thirty-one and he’s only seventeen
He’s been a soldier for a thousand yearsHe’s a catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jane
A Buddhist and a Baptist and Jew
And he knows he shouldn’t kill
And he knows he always will kill
You’ll for me my friend and me for youAnd he’s fighting for Canada, he’s fighting for France
He’s fighting for the USA
And he’s fighting for the Russians and he’s fighting for Japan
And he thinks we’ll put an end to war this wayAnd he’s fighting for democracy, he’s fighting for the reds
He says it’s for the peace of all
He’s the one who must decide who’s to live and who’s to die
And he never sees the writing on the wallBut without him how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau
Without him Caesar would’ve stood alone
He’s the one who gives his body as the weapon of the war
And without him, all this killing can’t go onHe’s the universal soldier and he really is to blame
His orders come from far away no more
They come from him and you and me
And brothers, can’t you see
This is not the way we put an end to war?
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Buffy Sainte-Marie
The Universal Soldier lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

John Lennon Lyrics
(“Imagine: John Lennon” )

Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today… Aha-ah…

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace… You…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world… You…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one

B16 … Tobacco is Sacred – Carries Your Prayers They Say!

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 sunny saturday snow flurried afternoon in waterloo on.

B15 … I don’t care about the likes

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”.

Writing and Images by patrick wey

B14 … wandering thru the trees

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.

Images and writing by patrick wey ….

B13 … Water Wars

and other straight-line-gritted realities…

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!”

  • Olof Alexandersson: Living Water

Viktor Schauberger Quotes – From Wikiquote

mirrored 28.3.2007

Viktor Schauberger (30th June 1885 – 25th September 1958) was an Austrian forester, inventor, engineer, philosopher, writer and artist.

Contents1 Sourced1.1 Implosion Magazine1.2 Mensch und Technik1.3 Viktor Schauberger: Our Senseless Toil (1934)1.4 Jane Cobbald: Viktor Schauberger – A Life of Learning from Nature (2006)1.5 Callum Coats: Living Energies – Viktor Schauberger’s brilliant work with Natural Energies Explained (2002)1.6 Callum Coats: Water Wizard2 Unsourced2.1 Intuitive thinking2.2 Science3 External links

Implosion Magazine

  • “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!””

Unsourced

  • “Kapieren und Kopieren!”
    • Translation: “Comprehend and copy Nature!”
    • Schauberger’s motto
  • “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.”

Intuitive thinking

  • “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.”

Science

  • “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!”
    • 1958 (from Callum Coats: Living Energies (2002))

B12 … Woke up into a bizarre world.

Thought-travels thru the attributes of belief.

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’.

WakeUp

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.

Literature and Images by Patrick Wey

B11 … Belarus – Images from Below the Surface

My romance with reflections….

Click on any image and create a slide show

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Images and literature by patrickwey

B10 … Belarus – Observations & Ramblings…

Click on any image and create a slide show of mostly people images from this trip to Belarus….Autumn 2019
People Images
Puddle Images

Minsk

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’.

Another Day….Cobrin

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

B9 … From the Shores of the Mind

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.

Few attempt, few survive….

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 Shores of Mind

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.

Images and Literature by patrickwey

B8 … This is the beauty of love …. ‘love letters from a cafe’

‘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’

Images and Literature by Patrick Wey

B7 … ‘the only thing that is the same’

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.

(Read the lyrics as you listen)
Most of the time, by Bob Dylan…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oq7EM8jjNUs

Lyrics
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
She’s gone
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
About her
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
Of mankind
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

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
Most of the Time (alternate version #2) lyrics © Audiam, Inc

B6 … The judge, he holds a grudge

 

 

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….

#B5 … Birthday Wishes Answered

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.
Thanks friends….

#B4 … I just returned from numerous years travelling

I just returned from a cluster of years travelling down and up avenues, across highways of success and despair, thru patrickwey.complains 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 #patrickweylove 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 patrickwey.comgurus, 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.

#B3 … many minds in one love

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 other  investigations, 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.

One of my all time favourite Rolling Stones Tunes…Used to listen to this endlessly and it brings to mind one of my favourite best friends whom also ended up similar to Brian Jones….Don Tucker used to love playing this song…..No Expectations …versions –  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONymOaZ-IQ8
– https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbTCbsSuUpA
– https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WouSssjG9wQ

B2a … The West Coast is calling you…

Visit us …..

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.

 

#B2 … Being Placed

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.

#B1 … Timeless Consciousness Everywhere

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

patrickwey.com

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 … i kept my promise

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

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364 … spent my whole life travelling into the mind

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

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Patrick Wey

363 … because i must

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,

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Patrick Wey

352 … If i was a Lewis Carroll

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

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351 … The Worthen House Cafe

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

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350 …Rubin Hurricane Carter

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,

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196 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/07

196 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/07 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Two nieces whom are cousins, Susan and Cathy Gilchrist Schmidt. I remember that day when they tried to convince me that the Bay City Rollers were better then the Beatles. I had to laugh to myself and thought in a few years people will not even have heard of them, the Rollers that is…..my god they were young. Cathy has since passed away, bless her soul. Young girls along a row of maple trees in the rolling cattle fields of Formosa On.
circa 1976 or so

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163 Image-Content of the Day 2018/08/05

163 Image-Content of the Day 2018/08/05 of-byhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Suspenders and straw hats walking thru the concrete paradise
dreams of salvation lying in the furrows of their fields
baseball fun waiting in the sunday afternoon school house lot
generations of mennonite men and boys and dreams real and not….

See More

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Patrick Wey

143 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/16

143 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/16 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
“You think i don’t know cause the way i’m dressed, the desperate walls i attempt. Well that’s not the way it is. Most of you could never walk the streets i walk but we are not that different. You would do what you have to if you had to but you don’t and that’s the difference. I look for a few cents, i scrounge around for food. Yes, i have relatives that don’t know me, don’t want to know. i have dreams and as ridiculous as they might be, they are not much different than yours. Here, take this portrait and show it around the world, it doesn’t matter a damn to me.”
I saw this shot, felt it, stole it quick, no thought but the camera, the angle, the reflection, the exposure, click………click click……..a nod of gratitude with a blink of the eye in a deep reverence and i moved into new territory. Sometimes it is like that, the ambiance dictates the move, the road pulls and i go.
Circa 80’s

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

116 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/19

116 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/19 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I look out everyday at the same people from my small market space here on spadina. I have no choice. I miss my home, my village, my people, my dreams. They said it would be better here. I only remember the feelings of being where i belonged; i don’t feel that here. I walk my chinese down these streets, work all day and sleep restless nights. I do my best to pray my way and to help where i can but my eyes are drained, my love is routine, my praise is weak; the world is gray. I see my children’s children look out onto these same streets and see something, something not quite right. They feel it in their soul, their hearts will break; my love must be strong, carry on, do what i can.
They said it would be better here; i suppose it is….circa – 80’s

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

115 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/18

 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sierra’s cousin James Bernier, the son of Lovely Rita….I knew him when he was young, a real boy character, mischievous but respectful; often wondered how this world wrapped itself around him…..caught that shot just before he was about to do something exciting, but exactly what that was, i don’t know. circa late 80’s

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

114 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/17

114 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/17 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Today this little girl, Sierra, would be wishing me a Good Fathers Day, but she won’t be. So, though yesterday on my birthday was mostly happy, today may not live up there all day. Life is living with reality as best as one can, to accept what you can and be grateful for life itself and keep moving on. Today is Vernon Harper‘s birthday he was a rat gemini as myself and he will be missed especially today, being it is Fathers day and since he passed on so recently. Lots of thoughts travel his way today, he was a father of many of his blood and many extended sons and daughters also. So for all those missing a father or a child today, many moments of no words and silence of the heart, where forgiveness and gratefulness reign…..image circa 92 ish

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

111 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/14

111 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/14 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
This shot is of my brother Allyn, my favourite brother alive. Two have deceased, my oldest brother David and my brother Bill. This was Bills birthday today. Allyn is back east somewhere doing his thing and i’m out west doing mine. Life is so damn short. We had so many fantastic times together. This was the northwest table in the Mens Room of the Station Hotel, the one by the exit with a view of the train station and its desperate tracks. Yea, they used to have a Mens Room that women could enter but in the Ladies Room, men had to be accompanied by a woman. That was mostly all gone by the time our generation came into the scene but the signs still existed. Allyn and i were extremely close as brothers, but as time does, it shoved space between. As most, and as memory can, it ‘takes you down, where nothing is real and nothing to get hung about, Strawberry Fields forever’, and may this take you down gently. Many of my friends sat at this table, we were young and we resolved many of the issues of the world; we smoked dope in the washroom, even a few of us did a few lines i remember. All in all, it was what it was, a room in the structure of life that had to burn to the earth, literally and figuratively. Now, there is a parking lot and a mall where some chose to live as a replacement. Many roads have entered and disappeared, the train station was always on my mind in my view and many of my brothers are now gathered here at the station, waiting for the silent steel wheel to roll once again. I love this shot of my brother, it could be anyone, you or i, the inside and the outside so vague, even blurry but the everlasting wall is sharp and distinguished but boring and dark and ‘a wall’……My brother Al, more than most by far, supported my creativity in any area i chose, no matter how great or inferior it was, here’s to you brother Al, and all brothers……circa78 and timeless.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

110 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/13

110 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/13 of-byhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The old and the new in a harmonious conflict with horse and horse-power at odds in the streets, with one way of the many-horses heading who knows where and the other wanting to ponder for a longer while in a more simplistic proven method of field and barn. This mennonite woman in her cool sun glasses shops the downtown of KW on a lazy Tuesday Afternoon with her Moody Blu

See More

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

108 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/11

108 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/11 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘Kachina Doll Blessing the Desert Earth………..this Spirit Symbol was specifically made for Sierra a year or so after she was born, by a medicine man on the hopi reserve in Arizona. I had never heard of such an object when i named Sierra, ‘Kachina’. Sometimes things happen with continuity way beyond our imagination, maybe always….. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hopi_Kachina_figure ….i took this image on the way home from the Arizona desert lands surrounding the Second Mesa of the Hopi Nation early 90’s

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

107 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/10

107 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/10 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
SIerra Kachina – In honour of her life that ended three years ago today at 24 years of age. This shot was Sierra so happy and proud of her new baby sister Baylee Nguyen only a few minutes old, that seemed to take forever to come out of her mothers womb, she thought. There are too many thoughts that emerge to consider writing much at all today, so i say no more and that says it all…. Sierra was five in this image.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

106 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/09

106 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/09 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
SIerra Kachina has been gone three years now. There is nothing i can say here about that. I miss her. I had loved her more than life itself. She was a true unique spirit, a revolutionary here.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

Words about Sierra:

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.
a year 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

—————————————————————————————————

105 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/08

105 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/08 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘The Ghost of Mennonite Past’ – There is a graveyard i had found in Mennonite country north of Elmira On area that had a few acres of pre-engine farm equipment. At the time the owner, My Bauman, i believe, told me he serviced people as far a Belize whom still farmed the old ways. I would go there occasionally and photograph the dead and dying remains of an era slipping away. I asked him one time if i could photograph him but he was shy and i said don’t worry i’ll get you as you work, no posing. I got this ghost like image with my camera on a tripod and a slower shutter speed. A few months later i went back and by luck he was there and i presented him with the photo. He appreciated it but it was no bid deal for him. There are many other images in my archives. That’s the story for today. circa 80’s

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#100 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/03

#100 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/03 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I picked this shot to celebrate my ‘100th image/content of the day’ because these are the real un-named heroes of my collection. The ones in the streets with stories few have ears to hear. This guy hung around Kensington Market Toronto. He felt honoured to be a subject of my interest, at any rate, friendly and conducive to my swift professionalism. I don’t take long to grab a shot. I like to capture the essence as best as i can. He was crouched down so i did to and without hesitation flicked the shutter three or four times. I was prepared, i knew the shutter speed, Fstop for the conditions surrounding; no time to adjust gods main light, or rearrange the subject. You have to get what you can get with tools and material available.
I saw him numerous times and though i don’t know his real story; i felt he was an intelligent man that fell into some bad luck a little too deep to comfortably emerge from. We said a few words, i gave him some change and i parted. He didn’t want my pity and i didn’t give him any.

#97 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/31

#97 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/31 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mel Brown husband of Angel Brown…..and certainly a Blues legend from KW to Texas….Leonardo Valvassori played base in Mel Brown and The Homewreckers… wikipedia article states the numerous people he played with….WOW…. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Brown_(guitarist)…me and Mel went for a stroll one afternoon to take a few shots for some tabloid from town that i can’t remember the name of. I think it was on the front page. Everything turns into memory then fades away.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#95 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/29

#95 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/29 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Carl was a gentleman, always respectful and gentle in his nature. He drank at the Station Hotel, the American and the Grand Union; the East End was too rough and the Walper too gay. I traveled about and drank cheap draft beer in my younger days when i lived in studio spaces downtown between my ramblin about the world. I liked these characters, all with a history more interesting and tragic then the folk in the suburbs. All these local hotels are gone, burned to the ground or face-lifted out of recognition. Those were the nights of hard philosophy, wasted dreams caressed with friends, a time when the future was friendly, moments of deep love in the heart of the metal jungle. Where is all that now, that which we thought would live on, if not in forgotten corners of melancholy memories and twisted terrains slowly rusting away. Love, love, love gets its way…..the american hotel circa 1978 taken with my Minox 35mm camera

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#94 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/28

#94 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Hello FaceBookFriends….I’ll be short! I am sorry if i have offended anyone especially with my lack of LIKES on your content. At my age i have taken on a lot more than i expected and now with a new unrelated career in the last year or so, i hope to possibly catchup financially, but have no time left for much else. I promised myself to eliminate Social Media for the most part, so i don’t get to see other content that can often take up more time than i can afford and consequently i miss viewing your content.
It has taken me years to collect images, develop negatives, contact and make prints; then i picked roughly 20K from 120k of colour and B/W’s and digitized them. That took years and each one still has to be adjusted and cleaned up to upload properly…..I know if i don’t expose them in the coming years i will die without having to share them with friends & humanity. Therefore i am determined to put up one image a day for an undetermined time period. I hope they are enjoyed. By the number of likes i get, i wonder at times but one must do what one feels appropriate for ones life and this is it for me, for now. So thanks to those that comment and ‘like’ these content/images and the effort it takes to make this happen…..cheers, meegwetch…….circa 1976 selfie

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#92 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26

#92 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Ted Zawadzki‘s wife of past and friend Marianne. I was attempting some Rembrandt lighting for my portfolio in my very early years of portraiture. Hello Marianne wherever you are, we had many great talks together. This lighting technique is generally softer and gives a natural look with both eyes lit and easy to do with minimal equipment. Many variations with a triangle of light on the one side without a shadow of the nose alone. Rembrandt used this lighting in most of his paintings because of the superb way it exposes the softer beauty of the subject. In this case my friend without question is very beautiful.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#90 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/24

#90 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/24 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
BOB DYLAN MAY 24 1941
There are so many words well placed by this guy
for some people that have ears to hear
and here are but a few from ‘It’s Alright Ma’
on his 77th birthday…..
Wow, you lived a real sureal life Bob
thanks for describing my feelings so well
with every word, ‘like it was written in my soul’

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to…..bDylan

I created this fake poster from one of my photographs;
just for the fun of it………patrickwey

Full version of ‘It’s Alright Ma’…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYajHZ4QUVM

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#88 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/22

#88 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/22 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Hornby Island BC last Sunday exploring the amazing shore line with Heather and Doug Biggs. Yes, this is a puddle shot with an etched feather-like image of two trees. I am working on a series of trees reflected-painted-etched by Mother Gaia water-coloured puddle images. Ultimately, i prefer the image to dance on its own as with this beauty, but occasionally photoshop lends a hand.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#87 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/21

#87 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/21 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sasha Alexandra Zaichanka dancing across a puddle of an image from my mind on beautiful Hornby Island BC yesterday exploring the amazing shore line with Heather and Doug Biggs. The sandstone sculptures lace the waters edge like a terrain from a sacred space rarely imagined.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#85 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/19

#85 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/19 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Rain came pouring down, i was someone else, could have been a dream, not sure, so real, maybe another life time. I was traveling home down slippery streets, it was late in the afternoon, my brother behind heading from a church service in Heidelberg. I made it i recall from the memories left inside my head but my brother didn’t. I wrote these few thoughts down and scrambled onto something new, left that dream behind. Next day reading a local newspaper there hidden down in section two a short paragraph describing a mennonite man disappeared returning home from a church service with a broken photograph hanging from the text like a dream does when it makes no sense. It is all so surreal i thought this life and all its dreams…..the photograph was a peculiar shot, didn’t even look like me………could have been the late 1800’s, i was thinking to myself……….

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#83 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/17

#83 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/17 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
A great wedding indeed Paddy Gillard-Bentley and Cas….26 years ago just yesterday.
I remember i was dressed like some weird traveller from a far off land like Mexico surrounded by a medieval wedding celebration in Europe somewhere. It was, yes, one of the most unique weddings ever. Take us back…..if only for a few long moments.

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#82 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/16

#82 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/16 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I am afraid Vernon Harper never got to see many of these images, but many he did and i am sure he remembered the numerous moments we wandered around town together as i photographed him under so many circumstances. The only person i had documented so thorough in my life was my daughter Sierra Kachina whom passed away three years ago and also never got to see many of the photographs i took of her. Vern said, ‘often in life, you don’t get a second chance’. I had the strong urge to call Vern a month ago, and minutes turned into weeks and again a wake-up-call now lies sad in my heart. I have often thought of a book to find a home for many of these images but time and money has not allowed this to come together….perhaps now i can attempt to make this happen, if the ‘mystery be willing.’ Vern definitely did ‘live before he died’.
circa late 80’s early 90’s off spadina ave, toronto.

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#79 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/13

#79 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/13 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Vernon Harper I remember so many moments with Vern. We travelled to sweats in the prisons, across canada and the states. I spend one full day a week with him in Toronto for years when he worked for the Native Legal system and we’d go to healing circles, asian lunch on Spadina, pick up a boxing mag in a little store on Bathurst, be together and talk about everything under the sun, many personal conversations about his past and struggles within the dominant society’s ways. Vern was a very sincere man and though i have not been with him for years he has been in my heart since the day we met. He encouraged me to document that past of his live through-out the late 80’s and and 90’s. The original of this image was taken in his sweat lodge. It feels appropriate now knowing he’ll be conducting sweats on the plains of the spirit world and enter our minds for many years to come. My heart feels for his family and the inner and outer circles of his life. Vern has brought peace to many a weary heart.

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#76 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/10

#76 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/10 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Theo Cotee Harper on the deck of a ferry ship around Martha’s Vineyard on the Atlantic side. Vernon Harper and his wife Jerilyn and i travelled there in my Volkswagon Van visiting friends. I remember Vern leaving his long relationship with his hat behind….not sure if he ever got it back. He had it for years and it is in many of my photographs. A great trip, there were some beautiful moments i remember. Cotee had a little purse with her that day……Circa late 80’s

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#73 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/07

#73 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/07 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘Even The Eternal Source Is A Reflection’
I uploaded over fifty images from my trip to Thailand to my website http://patrickwey.zenfolio.com/p776377158. All these images are reflections off the canal that surrounds the old city of Chiang Mai. This canal is straight and slowly flows stagnant water, unlike the curved roofs of the ancient structures within its walls. I remember reading somewhere how this curvature was to avoid the evil unnatural straight energy of fire dragons versus the curved natural vortical movement of water and the water snake of life. This stagnation allows for the beauty of reflections included in my PuddleArt Series which i have been producing for years. Water has been imprisoned all over the world. Water is the foundation of what we call memory, consciousness and if one is aware that we are life forms derived from a ‘Living Earth’, it would be intelligent to pay attention to all aspects of water, from LaoTsu, Viktor Schauberger, Ancestral Wisdom the visions are everywhere. Some day hopefully soon i will be producing a book of these and other reflection images with poetry and text.

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

Even the Eternal Source is a Reflection

Dreams are like reflections, everything is…

dreams and reflections are one and everything

reality is a reflection

words are reflections

dreams are made of reflections

everything is reflected

the deepest thought is a reflection of the simplest

where we are is where we are not

life is a reflection of death

silence is the greatest reflection

the dream is never over, it has just passed

a reflection is like love, it is always on the move

thinking is knowing, knowing is a reflection

a dream is a dream is a reflection

everything is a dream

reality is captured reflections, it is melting

no matter how still they appear, they are moving

thought and dream and reflections are one and two and….

true love is like a pure reflection, a simple dream

thought is the killer of silence, silence is the substance of everything

the melting smile of eternal twists

a perfect reflection is in the eyes of the becoming

the depth of reality is on two sides of the surfaces

dualism is the illusion of two worlds reflected by one surface

the perfect reflection is the perfect moment

a moment is a point in a refection which appears still

now is rejected by reflection, therefore life and death

the now appears to be silent but is moving still

re, it’s in your body, it’s in the air, it’s in the land, in the aquifers, the mountain streams, the creeks, the rivers, lakes and oceans. Water is everywhere, it’s in your tea, it’s in your bacon, it’s in your beliefs, it’s in your dreams, it’s in your lover, it’s in your enemies, it’s in your religion, it’s in your science, it’s in your music, it’s in your business, water is in everything. Healthy water, healthy everything, sick water, a dying world. Water gives life, water takes away life, honour water and it will honour you. Shit in it and it’ll shit in you. Feed it carcinogen’s and it will teach you with cancer. Dissect it and it will dissect you. Water is the reflection of the soul, water is your life, water is the vessel of light, water is you, you are water and water is everywhere. How is Your Water?

This is my opinion based on numerous endeavours into the depths of the mind, the so called spirit world. With many experiences with what may at first appear as other dimensions, spirits, higher thought embedded into my mind, i have investigated the one tool that binds all of this together and found illusion after illusion. There is nothing more than my coyote instincts to be alive. I can not teach anyone anything and no one can teach me anything. I am a being upon this earth for a short time. I developed an identity from societal conditioning and stepped out of it numerous times to see its facade. It has been frightening at times because the ego does not want to die, but die it must to see clear. There is nothing to find, the search has ended, the search itself has been the biggest hoax of all. I have nothing to live for and yet i live. I have nothing to care for and yet i care. I have nothing to be and yet i am. Sometimes i am happy and sometimes i am sad, sometimes i am interested and sometimes i am not. I look just like you and no one can see what i have seen. The world is trapped into its nature. The body knows all i need to know. It owns me, it is the environment. It all begins with the body. It all ends with the body. I am merely a dream sitting in the home of a mind. The illusion has seen itself, like a reflection in the water i am gone.

#71 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/05

#71 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/05 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Wroclaw Poland https://www.facebook.com/wroclaw.wroclove/
In the centre of the city is this beautiful square inside a square of old brick, stone and youth live from a long history of persecution in from the winds of west and east.
A mime dancer in bare black and white with ancestral memories too dear to expose. Years turn into years and time twists down the bent roads of minds like a gray day does within the shadows of life. There was a slight breeze of melancholy that day, dull from an awareness of a past; lives shattered and splattered against walls and yet a magic encircling hypnotized the space in beauty and tender thought . Life has its way of moving on. We do move on. A rose is a rose is……

circa very late 1900’s

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#69 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/03

#69 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/03 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I was 21 in 69……I have an unedited/unfinished very personal intro/middle to a part of a Memoir that i plan on completing someday,……contact me privately if you want a read and i will give you the link (can’t trust Facebook with copyright issues)
I have tons of unfinished work, as many do. This was a dangerous time with many of us youth experimenting with alterations to the brain and with ‘battle lines being drawn’ and ‘Far between sundown’s finish an’ midnight’s broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing ‘. Love and war were on the river in the wind and i was the captain of a ship heading thru mysterious seas, unknown islands and with ‘no direction home’…….image circa 1969

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

I was 21 in 69
Posted on May 2, 2018 by admin
99-12-01

I was 21 in 69, my hair hung down around my shoulders, i had a black mennonite hat, a double vested black coat, black kid leather angle shoes and a pair of black jean bell bottoms with my black shirt. That was the way i dressed, that was my essence of the times. Many dressed with colourful outfits, it was wonderful, everybody did their own thing and we all seemed to appreciate what ever anyone wanted to wear, think, everything was cool. I was a ring leader of sorts in this community, but always in the back edges. I began my quest in to drugs in California in 1965, i was 17 and i took a bus the 3000 miles to visit my best friend Helmut who moved their when we were 15. It was already happening there, the Stones and Beatles had just started smoking grass, Dylan was writing songs no one could understand except for a few lines and the intense meaning that howled thru his lyrics like a hurricane. Frank Zappa just came out with Freak Out and i could only listen to it stoned. In those 4 years the times were exploiting, thousands of kids hit the roads, hitchhiking out west, California, Vancouver, New York, Chicago. I must have put a good 100,000 miles on in those days. I’d be back and forth between California, Vancouver, up the coast, down the coast, the mid west, the south west, freight cars, whatever got me there, but there wasn’t anywhere to get, it was all just to experience the road, see nature, disgusting city slums, beautiful people and not so beautiful people. Drugs was a big thing, we loved to get stoned and watch the world turn, it was a quest into the mind, some didn’t make it, too much for their heads. I look back with great reverence for the psychedelic times that taught me many things….

In 69 i had been fired from a life long career job of construction estimating, they knew that i knew this would never work, i was a marxist at the time, LSD was very much apart of my life and i was only interested in truth, art, love and life…I had been going with Carolyn thru all this time, since i was 17 tho she never did any drugs herself, she accepted my quest into the void but the differences were beginning to reveal themselves. Our tastes were becoming evident that we were going in different directions. By this time she was living up in Ottawa about 300 miles from Kitchener and i didn’t see her as often. She was good friends with my friends and their girl friends and well respected but while she was gone to Ottawa all the girls started doing acid and grass and things began to shift quite radically. It was around this time that Sue came in to the picture. The first time we got stoned together we had such an amazing time, we really were totally in tune to each other. One thing led to the next and before long we were seeing each other all the time, sleeping together and deeply in love. When two people do a psychedelic together the bonding can be very strong, but especially if you are very in tune to each other and already attracted to each other. This went on for about 6 months and then i hitched to California for a few months and wrote to Sue and kept in touch with Carolyn. I was beginning to really feel the dilemma i had allowed myself to enter. I was aware that i truly loved both women and had no idea what to do about it.

When i got back to Canada, Sue had moved in with a bunch of my friends and i just moved in with her, we shared a single bed in a room with a few other friends. We were all communists at the time, but there were only a few of us that really took philosophy serious and the quest for truth was not everybody’s real focus. They were more or less what we called weekend hippies. They liked the drugs and they just could not really be unselfish enough to think of a world where every body may be on more of an equal basis. Most of my childhood friends were polish. There was Les Krynicky, Ted Sajakowski, Stan Mycysic(?).

I could go on and on but what i am getting at to you Ola is something much more serious. My relationship with Sue was great, we had great sex together, we really got along really well. On the other hand was Carolyn, she was like a goddess, an angel from a Leonardo DaVinci painting and i knew her and felt save with her. Carolyn moved back to Kitchener and i told her about Sue and she was very hurt about it. We started to see each other a-lot but i could not get Sue from my mind. Carolyn started to do psychedelics with my friends and i . My better friends were Joe, Don, Bob, and my brother Allyn. Though there were many friends that i hung out with, i was in to film, photography, writing reading tons of literature on many subjects and doing drugs in a fairly good way I did not drink alcohol at all in those times, we all felt drinking to be very archaic and down right stupid. I spent a-lot of time alone thinking and diving into the unconscious like some explorer out in the sea. In many ways i was the strong minded adventurous one of the group.

Well it was right in the middle of all the excitement happening everywhere with a magic in the air that had never existed in the history of this world as we know it. Many say it lasted a few years, but i say it was really about 9 months. Only a few could really feel the intense vibrations emanating across the land but many were blown along the current like leaves along a river. The songs that came out in that short period of time still ring the bells of LOVE loud and clear, though many of the artists have become sombre, lost and even bitter for what was and never really shone. I could go on and on about the changes that took place from that short moment in history. I can’t deny that yes i believe that LSD and Sacred Mescaline(derivative of peyote) was the catalyst that pushed the last millennium in to awareness. The native american Indians have prophesies that talk about the Rainbow tribe of the ancestors of the white man that slaughter them, that they would come back and show them the way. Now very few Red Men will admit this these days, but there are some elders that know the truth and say that yes the Hippies, the Drug Users of the Sixties led us to retaliate. Wounded Knee take over in 1973 in South Dakota, storming of the parliament buildings in Canada in 1974, led by my friend and teacher Vern Harper.

There are many movements that took place because of the explosion of the sixties, a wave from a smaller group of renegades from the 50’s called the beat generation.

All of this is a part of my story. In the middle of all this i found myself in the middle of being totally in love with two very beautiful women and dealing with the contradiction of communism and the lies of Propaganda to convince the ignorant of what they don’t know, to truth about love and freedom and the mess of capitalism, to the dreams in psychedelic heaven…… I didn’t know what to do , where to go, who to believe, so i did what i thought was my best choice. I went in to the country and i searched for a place not too far from town and yet secluded enough not to be disturbed. I found a place along the Nith river a few miles out of a small town called Ayr. The river flows under an old metal bridge and just down a short distance a small creak flows into the Nith. Just back from the river up the creek many cedar trees form a very secluded camp. This is where i went to solve my dilemma. I have just learned in the last few months 1999 that this is called Cedar Creek. Very appropriate to my path of today.

2nd LOVE

re: Ola…..since these excerpts are letters to you but also have the intentions of evolving into a book, i may overly describe some things that may seem overly evident to you. Also i may decide occasionally to include more to you on any given day, just because i’d rather talk to you in now time, in-fact , i’d rather talk to you most of the time, but then i’d never get any work done. I do have a major teaching in mind that will become increasingly evident as time goes on. Back to “Don’t Mess with the Medicine”, a title for now.

In the Sixties there were many issues and circumstances that let into the space described as the Summer of Love and there were also as many happenings that let us into the Seventies and on to now, the year 2000. Timothy Leary described the Turn on Tune in and Drop out generation in many documented articles, it is too vast to include the many influences that took place in these times, there was an explosion in all the arts, but by far it was music that tuned everybody in. All the other forms of media were dominated by the ‘Establishment’, as we put it in those days. We became Anti-establishment as they labeled us, Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll, that’s what the media wanted the world to believe about us, they were paranoid, thousands of kids were dropping out and saying Fuck this Shit, this is fucking crazy, the worlds gone mad, ‘we gotta get outa this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do, baby, there’s a better life for me and you'(Eric Burton and the Animals). I could go on and on with lyrics from the Sixties, but i suppose John Lennon said it the simplest, ‘All you need is LOVE, Love is all you Need’ and Sergeant Pepper still stands as the best album ever. It is a master piece of continuity, heart and spirit. All in all there was more magic in the air for more people at one time then this world has ever seen from it’s four corners, since the last time this world was inhabited across the globe, if ever. Now of course, people from other generations may be offended thinking their youth was the big one. Well all youth is the big one, but i truly believe that many that didn’t even come close to the Sixties know that something happened very very big there, deep, very very deep. There is no doubt that my time there was amplified by the facts i am about to reveal.

I can’t express the feelings i was experiencing with my love for Carolyn and Sue. I couldn’t bare the thought of being with one and not the other, i was torn, there was no one i loved more than the other, i loved them both differently and equally. The best advice i had was from an older woman that i worked with in the construction firm. Betty turned me on to Leonard Cohen and a book called Cosmic Consciousness, very rare in those days to find anyone that was into anything along that line in those days..She said go out east, get away, they will still be there, if it is true. I stayed and went down to the river and spent 3 or 4 days there with out so much as seeing another human being. This took me on many trips, i did mescaline or lsd, whatever of the two in those days. It was quite clean, as things deteriorated as time went on in the world of underground drugs was concerned. It is without a doubt that i have forgotten many of the visions, the experiences of those days. What i do remember is the drift of the whole trip and certain traces of visions. My intentions for going there and doing psychedelics was specifically to determine who i loved the most or how i was to decide on whom i should be stay with. Little did i know until about 16 years later that i was performing a ritual with a sacrament and moving into the real underworld of the subconscious, spirits, the medicine world.

The beauty of the nights were miraculous, the horrors of my mind were intriguing, frightening, amazing and i learned many ways to over come my fears. I learned to have faith in the process, i had never come off an experience on a bummer. I always conquered the nightmares with integrity, my will to survive and to face the truth no matter how difficult or scary it was. Most of my experiences for the next 5 months were done alone or with a very few people,, very close friends. I quit the group that i had originally started to talk about the world but because of Martin and his in depth knowledge of philosophy, marxism, art music etc., we were let in to Communism. It really was the best answer at the times. The only philosophy truly written for the people. Well, this is not the place to go into any depth about politics, but i will say this. I could never quite accept the aspect of propaganda necessary to convince the ignorant and or stupid people to do the right thing. Dylan in a song ‘It’s Alright Ma’, said “Propaganda all is phoney”. Well on one of my first trips involved with these new intentions i had some sort of vision telling me to quit this path, this group and that one could never convince anyone of anything, only true example is all we have and who knows how long it may take for the people to follow the right road. Jesus’s images crept in and out of my thoughts and i knew without a doubt that it was time to move on. I need no logic to express that only Love was important, i couldn’t tell my friends, but they did feel and see a major change take place in me. There were a few times that real changes took over me in those 4 to 6 years or so. This was the third great change, and by far the deepest. I have had only glimpses of this world since. I remember one time with Carolyn around this time and we had done acid together and to express how deeply i loved her, and also loved Sue, i put on a record for her. Head phones was a new thing in those days. All the new technology concerning the record industry was totally controlled by the new bands and psychedelic music and the new market it was creating. My friend Joe had the best sound system around and that is where we hung out the most. The song i played was To Love Somebody, an Animals version. There is a part in the music where it is extremely emotional and Eric Burton is singing ‘you don’t know what it’s like(about 3 times) and then ‘too love somebody, to love somebody, like i love you’. Well Carolyn flipped out and was screaming and couldn’t get the head phones off, while i was in the other room. I ran in and got the phones off her head and was realizing all the time that she was just beginning to understand the depth of what i was going thru and the love that existed in this triangle, of her and Sue and myself. I felt terrible, she was pushing me away, crying, and Mary, Joes girlfriend, was trying to calm her down. I don’t think she ever experienced anything so torturous before.

It was hard on all three of us, I was only seeing Sue very rarely. She worked in a bank down town and every once in a while i just had to see her and i would go and see her for lunch. I learned from some of the other girl friends that Sue was fainting, blacking out at work and she was hurting so bad, she was goin nuts. She never really got over this.

It took me years to really understand what happened here. I continued to do acid or mescaline, tho i much preferred mescaline and now i also understand that relationship to the earth. Timothy Leary said that acid was Atomic and mescaline was Organic in vision. I always agreed with him but it wasn’t until i did Peyote years later with Annette in Mexico, Christmas Day, in i believe 1987, that i really began to understand Mescalito, the spirit of Peyote.

As the weeks went on, i was still no closer to the truth than when i began, concerning the two. My mind was expanding into realms i had barely dreamt of. In this period i had many visions, out of the body experiences, messages that i couldn’t understand for years and many i still don’t understand, but i know they are sacred within me, within you, within all of us.

I remember that usually i did a trip on a friday night and stayed up all night and often cleaned myself up in the morning and went to visit my mother. We’d sit in the back yard and she’d take me around and show me all the plants and new flowers blooming and we’d talk about life and pleasant things. It was the first time that we really got to know each other. I know she could tell that i was changing rapidly and something very magical was taking place within me. She might have even suspected that i was stoned. In those days no one knew the depth to these experiences except the users. In a sense, nothing has changed. It may sound arrogant, but the only thing i had to compare my new awareness to, was that i felt that i was seeing a world that was very similar to what i imagined St. Francis of Assisi’s world to be like.

To document the feeling inside of me i washed up one Saturday morning after being stoned all night and i went and had a portrait of myself done by a local established photographer. I give that blow up print to my mother. I forgot all about it for 25 years and when i was going thru all the photo’s that had been left to me in my mothers will, there it was. I didn’t recognize myself at first but felt a very strong connection to a past, still so close within me. I will post this print later.

By now Carolyn moved out from Joe’s where we were both living and moved into an apartment by herself. She could now see the dilemma i was in and in-fact was extremely compassionate towards me, but felt helpless within herself.

Soon after this, within a few weeks i was alone at Joe’s on an acid trip and i was very into the world of magic, the molecules of the air were visible, all exterior objects were in a state of eternal melting, everything was melting like a candle, but without growing smaller, it was eternal. Light danced across the room in speeds of light itself, atoms were shooting into my eyes like a 2001 Space Oddessy. Science and art had melted into spirit, electricity, waves, words floated across the room, everything was alive, imagination, and the world outside became one, nothing was not of me; i was everything, i was all that existed, everything was made of me.

It was then that I was given a way to an answer, this was the only way out of my situation, accept suicide itself, so it seemed. I had to promise to take the answer and live by it. I was told to focus all my energy into following the way i would be given. I had to make up my mind between the two and live by it. Either one could make me happy but i knew i could not make up my mind myself so i asked for help, an answer, a way to make a decision. I was given a very simple answer. Flip this coin and have Carolyn as heads and Sue as tails. It felt like the truth to my problem, it felt right, it felt sacred. I flipped the coin. Within a week or so i moved in with Carolyn. I never told anyone about this and i knew it’s depth, but i could never have known what was to take place in the very near future.

I had a very good understanding with both Sue and Carolyn, they both loved me dearly. Sue and i had a freer relationship, a better sex life, but Carolyn was like a pure angel, Sue was more magical.

I continued to use psychedelics and i was writing alot of poetry, listening to the latest from the best. Dylan’s new Nashville Skyline just came out, which was his most romantic album ever and to quote a verse from one of those songs which epitomizes my feelings and obviously his also of the times.

“Love is all there is, it makes the world go round

Love and only love, it can’t be denied

no matter what you think about it

you won’t be able to do without it

take a tip from one who’s tried.”

Shortly after i moved in with Carolyn i was up all night on acid. She was sleeping and i slipped in beside her. I was lying there when all of a sudden an energy came into the room that transformed her in to the ugliest creature i had ever seen. Still to this day i have never seen or felt anything so terrifying, demented, evil. I freaked out so bad that i literally jumped out of bed and crossed the room in a flash of a second and i could not look at her. Carolyn awoke immediately and realized that something very strange had taken place. She talked to me and i eventually told her a little of what had happened. She was great, she kept talking to me, but every time i glanced over towards her she started to emanate this terrifying entity. It was the freakiest presence imaginable, but little by little i could look at her longer and within an hour i finally felt ok to see her. She asked if i wanted a hot chocolate. We huddled in the small kitchen and she prepared it. While we were sitting there and i felt this immense love and caring for her, something very astonishing took place. She began to illuminate like a perfectly pure angel glowing with a softness and blended colours on her face that i have never seen the likes of to this day.

Within a few hours i had felt and seen and smelt and tasted the worst horrors of my life and also the most pure and beautiful. Somehow there was a message that was very strong that is difficult to express in words. This awareness appeared to be that beauty lies within what is visible, a gift from the great spirit, that to see clear is to see the truth, that beauty is what is before your judgement enters, to see what is, not what you would prefer. Evil, is the karma of control, manipulation, it enters to teach. I may never understand or be able to express the lesson within me of that experience, but i know inside how to feel this seeing, this clarity, this beauty.

After this experience i began to feel more and more like a vision of a saint. Everything was sacred, every life was there for a purpose, there was beauty everywhere. I had no problem relating to anyone, or anything, i was in a dream that no one could move me away from. I was within total confidence that i was living within the truth of the most holy, the most sacred the most pure.

I suppose this lasted for about two weeks or so. This was a very long time to be transformed into something that i had no idea could ever exist. It felt like the most purest state of mind that a human being could achieve. It has been many years since this headspace and i have thought about it many times. I have not mentioned it more than a few times and i have always been careful of whom i would share this with.

This was the most significant period of my life and yet somehow it has only been allowed to reawaken within me in the last few years. It was up in Kopka, which is north of Thunder Bay above Lake Superior Ontario, which for the first time about three years ago that i mentioned a few of my visions of this past period to an Ojibway medicine man, Oliver who is my teacher as i speak. I follow what is called the Red Road, which i will be explaining as time goes on.

Ola, i need a break, i just want to talk to you. This writing is bringing many thoughts back to me, but the way i feel right now is that if i could i would forsake all of my past to be with you right here now…..this is a novel that i am writing, that has become evident and it is totally wrapped around you. I will be pouring my life out like a bucket of water, cool cool water. It is odd, but i suppose if one truly feels deep as they travel thru this life, the one ever present is the one that receives more love than any in the past. That is how i feel towards you, yes Chrys is fading, but she is not gone.

Carolyn is by the way still my friend, she lives out west and we have kept in touch and have been together many times. Since we left each other, we have never slept together, somehow that was never a desire for me. I can not speak for her.

I am surprised that i have written as much as i have and i hope i can keep this up. I know that i am motivated to tell you my story because there is some very important lessons entangled within this web for you. There are also some very important messages that will unfold into lessons for both of us. This is a living piece of work as all pieces of art must be. I best send this now.

Slodkich marzen from Patryku

#3 insects

Dzie dobry Ola

so nice to think of you first thing in the morning. this world is so crazy, hollow headed people everywhere, computerized memory response, videots in every scene; so nice to fantasize about you, to be anywhere with you, just away from this grey madness…a blanket over our shoulders, waves crashing against the rocks, a wind, a sun, a sky, grass green, you with silent eyes.

I know it is frustrating for you not to be able to write in your mother tongue, take this hug full of sympathy, this gift of empathy, this love of mine. I walk on thin ice, my truth, a ghost from the past, suffers with all honesty, i have walked as i have, one foot on the road and the other free, stumbling, flying.

There is so much more that could be said about this period of time, so many stories. I remember thinking about so many of the other so called hippies. I never considered myself a hippy, there were also yippies, which were intellectual hippies, i never related to any of that stuff. There were so many hippies wanderin around talkin about this and that, tripin out along the streets, visions, a dime a dozen. I never bothered too much with other groups, tho i knew many people and was always apart of the scene, somehow i stayed in the background. One thing that definitely separated me from the many was my respect for Bob Dylan. Even though Bob was well respected by many, not many really listened to him. Most street hippies were in to all the rock and roll of the day, there was Morison, Joplin, Henricks, the Kinks, we could make a list a mile long. There were ones that influenced others, but never really hit the lime light, there were others monopolizing on the flavour of the scene. But for the most part it was that little pill called LSD that distinguished the phoney shit from the good stuff. There are many theories about why this chemical came on to the scene as it did. Albert Hoffman discovered this substance in the early 40’s, but it wasn’t until after the bomb in Hiroshima of 1945, that his very accurate experiments this time revealed this extraordinary substance that altered his life for ever. It wasn’t until the late 50’s when Leary, Ralph Metzner, and the future Ram Dass experimented with LSD at Harvard University. There is tons of literature about these times. Leary believed that it was the bomb that altered the atmosphere or the intercellular relationship with mother earth that allowed this creation to take place. There is evidence thru people like Terrance McKenna, an Ethno Botanist, that animals threatened against their regular migratory routine will find hallucigenics as in Psylosibin Cubensis, a mushroom found on many continents, and they will eat quantities of these mushrooms. I have the same theory about humans, that when we get closed in we need some way to expand in our inner self. Hallucigenics is one way of traveling into the unconscious mind, this has been practiced by Shamans for centuries. There is also numerous sources on the subject of drug use, but i kinda like William Borroughs quote that he doesn’t like drugs that make you ‘twitch all over’. In a sense what he is describing is the difference between the Barbituates and the Psychedelics.

Cocaine, speed, even ecstasy and numerous of the counter pharmaceuticals are classified as the twitching type, they can make you grind your teeth, all in all they are a dulling of the senses, a narrowing in on a few areas of awareness. Psychedelics on the other hand are a totally opening up of the senses, and an awareness across the gamut. There is no doubt that our society prefers the barbituates, the legal drug industry has made billions and billions on the anxieties, and stress that is so common with the american way of life.

The main influence for myself in the sixties were a very few things, Psychedelics, Bob Dylan, and my love for two women that took me on a trip that altered my life forever. Sure there was many other things that altered, influenced and changed my life but in one way or another they were interrelated to these three. Bob Dylan turned on the Beatles literally, literally, with weed and words, we could say weed words. Dylan influenced just about every rock and folk song writer of the day and is still standing on the foundation of post modern times. There is no doubt in my mind that he took the world, shook it up, woke it up, wound it up and no body has come close to his magnitude. A few minds come to mind of artist with similar intensity, Shakespeare, Arthur Rimbaud, that’s it, i can’t think of any other in the last millennium. Anyways, i can honestly say that Dylan’s songs helped me out enormously and possibly even more than him himself in areas and times of need.

I have had numerous dreams with Dylan and we have become good acquaintances in these dreams. Lennon has been around, along with the other beatles and surprisingly enough, it was Paul who really treated me with respect in these dreams. Neil Young visited me a few times also, but all in all these dreams always had the reality of really existing somewhere in that other world. Who knows, you can believe what you want to believe, i just leave it open, who am i to know.

So like it could have been foreseen, things started to change. This was the beginning of my dream coming to an end. I would wake up in the middle of the night with a terrible nightmare. I haven’t found anything quite like this to compare with these nitemares. At first i had no idea what i was terrified about. This all evolved quite rapidly, within a few days i was waking up a few times a night with these terrible dreams that insects were trying to devour me. They were tall sizes. From a creature the size of an ant to the ugliest insects 60 feet long. They looked like a microscopic close up of insects from this world but uglier, more terrifying and with the strangest sharp loud piercing screeches imaginable. Sure, i had had flashes of nitemarish activity while i was on acid or whatever, but this was different. Specifically designed to scare the hell out of me, for me alone, and realer than reality. It took about a week, if i remember correctly before i could hardly close my eyes and there they were, huge insects walking over me, on me starting to suck on me, gooey, slimy, grossly coloured guck dripping from their fangs, mouths, eyes. Hair sharp and singular, long and scratching my neck, my chest my body. And more coming, the glue, the deafening high pitch screech of insect world, fuckin terror, man get me outa here, wake up, open my eyes, oh my god what the fuck is happening with me. Carolyn couldn’t understand, she didn’t know what to do, i didn’t know what to do. The doctor didn’t even come in to my mind. I thought they were all nuts, they didn’t know what the fuck was going on anyways. They’d probably shoot me up with drugs, bad drugs, i didn’t trust their drugs, and for the most part i still don’t, nothin much has changed. So i was stuck, i’d get up write some words, listen to some music, go for a walk, have a herbal tea, get my mind off them, the bugs. I was getting to the point that as soon as i would think of them i could almost see them coming in the open space of my awakening mind. It was getting scary and i had no where to turn. I didn’t trust any doctors of any kind. I had already had my experiences with their narrow views, shallow medicines. Friends had been thru that walk. I didn’t believe in the establishment. There was absolutely no one older than myself that i trusted. No one had ventured into this territory before. I was a pioneer, an explorer and there was no turning back, but how could i continue on. I thought of suicide, but i had only really entertained the idea of taking my life because i had no reason to live, never because i found things too tuff to deal with; well maybe a few times. I can’t remember exactly how long this went on for but i remember that i was just about nuts, couldn’t close my eyes without insects attracting me, was so tired, i had been up for days. I couldn’t continue, physically, my body was giving up, i wasn’t eating, i was in real bad shape.

I remember as if it was yesterday. I lied down and i said to myself, to them, alright, take me, eat me, devour me, i surrender and i closed my eyes. I remember the sounds of insects having a feast, a feast of me. They all had there different techniques, some pierced me with long tubular mosquito like needles, in my neck, in my eye and sucked out my inner juices. Some slobbered all over me with their stinky, sticky, gooey, slimy coloured syrup and took hunks of my skin in their slurpy mouths. Larger insects came and pulled my arms right out of their sockets and others shared in on the feast of eating my body parts.

I could continue but i believe i have painted a picture to make you aware that it was the best horror show i have ever seen. On another level i was realizing that no matter how much they killed me and devoured me that i was still in existence, my spirit was of another nature, life is spirit first, the body is a gift.

To this day i have great reverence for insects, and generally they don’t bother me, i welcome their life.

Ola, i need to go out…well i hope you like this writing that i am sharing with you…..it gets better, or worse…anyways , tell me something, anything, i’m cold…..

maybe a hug would work much better.

talk later

patryku

\

4th messin with magic

It is all somewhat vague around this time period, there were a number of experiences that i have never had since. It was a vortex of psychedelia, magic was everywhere, i hesitate to write certain things in respect for the people involved. Carolyn got pregnant, we were planning on getting married. We were going to my child hood church to see a priest for premarital teachings. The priest became quite confused dealing with me, he couldn’t understand that someone could exist without believing in a god or not believing in a god. I simply had no true knowing inside of me so i chose to be honest and claim ignorance. He could not marry us without me believing in Jesus, so i told him, well, i don’t disbelieve in him. Through frustration he just left me alone. He was pissed off because we were having John Veltri (the Jesuit in the Documentary about me) perform the ceremony and of course then another priest is coming into his territory and politics and money become the issue. Anyways, it was announced in the church bulletin a few weeks before and the priest was furious when i called him and told him we had decided to cancel the wedding. Carolyn got an abortion, it was 3 months old and it was a boy. Yes there are regrets i have, i don’t believe i had the right to take this little life from this earth. I know that Carolyn also regrets that decision. I pray to this day for the spirit of that child, i feel fine about it now, i have been forgiven.

My nitemares were gone but i began to get terrible headaches. We decided to split up for awhile and i left and moved in with Wayne Masters. Now there was and i presume still is a real character. I met Wayne a few years earlier buying some hash from him. We started to hang out here and there. Wayne started the first Coffee house that this city had ever known. It was called The Fog, it was off on an alley way down by the railroad station. We’d go there and smoke dope and listen to bands from the city’s in the south of Ontario, blues and heavy underground rock. I don’t think we even had a name for alot of the music that was happening. Wayne never grew long hair, always had a moustache and was more hip then the hippest around. He was totally into anything, electronics, film, optics, colour science, making wild clothes, growing marijuana. At the end of 69 i moved into a student residence of all engineering students except for myself and Wayne. We had one large room and we’d work on electronic amplifiers, colour organs, speaker cabinets and what ever else we thought was cool. In those days the hi fi equipment was behind the quality needed to satisfy this new generation of music lovers. It wasn’t likely that we were going to all grow up and become what the last generation became. I learned alot hanging out with Wayne and it was good to get me away from my childhood friends, family and of course Carolyn and Sue. I remember getting a call once from Mary that Sue was over there, so i talked to her and we decided to get together. That was the last time i saw her. People would ask me years later why i didn’t go to her. She has never loved anyone like me, i know that, she told me a few years back on a phone conversation. I wanted to see her, just see how she looked, how she was, but it became apparent that she was afraid she would not be able to control herself. I caused her so much pain and it took me years to really understand what happened there. I never truly understood why i didn’t just go to her, it was only a few years gone by. Carolyn and i hung on to each other for another 4 or 5 years before she finally just went out, with infact a close friend of mine, and that ended it for good with us.

I have never told Carolyn or Sue this. I have never had the opportunity to express my thoughts to Susan, i have wanted to for years. Carolyn had often told me, go to Sue, you love her. Somehow she was taken from me, i had no right to her, i had forsaken the medicine. I never knew any of this, i never knew the seriousness of medicine in relation to the spirit world. It has only been in the last few years that i have become increasingly aware of the workings of the medicine world.

When i took LSD and Mescaline with the intention to find an answer about Carolyn and Sue, no one knew this but myself. I asked to understand LOVE, to know love, to know who i should be with, Carolyn or Sue. Now, i understand that many in the world would and will find this odd and even ridiculous, but i have learned that Mishomis( the word i use to depict the great mystery, god, nothingness, whatever that web is) acts in incredibly mysterious ways. I can only know what i feel i know, I know that i promised to be honest with the answer, to follow the path that the flipping of that coin would state. I tried to hide the answer, i don’t know why, we all needed to learn these lessons i suppose. The flip came up tails, i was supposed to forget Carolyn and go to Sue. That is why Sue flipped out so much, her spirit knew the answer, she knew we were destined to be together, her whole being could not understand how something so perfect could go so wrong.

That is why i never when back to her, because the spirits took her memory from me, they gave me headaches that were so bad, i was in pain all day long for about 9 months. I was a mail man thru out that winter and everyday i would practice breathing exercises and little by little i conquered the migraines. I refused to go to a doctor, i refused offers to take legal drugs. Somehow i knew that i had to conquer this myself and i did. That summer i went to California with Carolyn and started film school in the fall of 1970. I moved in with 3 other guys after i returned from California and we became known by some as the Doon Crazy’s. Doon was the small town that the college was in, just a few miles from Kitchener. We did some ‘acid tests’ there where we had almost a hundred people all stoned on acid. We had 3 or 4 film projectors going, with loops that we’d paint as they flew thru the projectors, we had hand manipulated slides of amazing colours going on a few walls, and a life band. We lived in a huge older hotel, one huge room with a separate kitchen at the end. We served rice putting and our famous balls of molasses. All in all it was a great time. My headaches were gone, i was emotionally unhappy with Carolyn, but i never seemed to really understand that for a few more years. I did alot of really creative stuff back then.

It was just before the end of the semester when i packed my school days in. I didn’t like the prof, he was a Chec with some Documentary to his name from his home land. He couldn’t understand that things were changing rapidly, there was a new breed of colour coming in to view.

Anyways, i started playing guitar around that time. My friend Don who i had known since grade 7 was playing and so was his younger brother Mike. They kept bugging me to come around, they had started shooting speed in the spring of 71. It’s a wonder some of us have survived from the sixties. I suppose when i think of it, some didn’t survive, at least with all of there faculties. I started playing guitar the first time i shot speed. I knew one chord and i literally played for almost 24 hours. Speed was fantastic for feeling the music, i can’t denign that. That is why so many in all those bands did speed, cocaine, and then morphine, heroin. It was for the music. But all good things have there price. We know enough stories of the many that have ruined their life’s because of the use of drugs. I shot speed for about 3 months or so and then that was it, never touched it again.

When we grew up in the sixties we didn’t have any mentors to give us the dope, so to speak, on the dope. So we had to figure it out for ourselves. Do you think that for one slice of a moment that we in our wildest imaginations ever thought this world would end up here. No fucking way, it’s worse than it was, everybody is misusing everything, mistrusting, mistreating anything and everything. Yea, it’s worse, there are more divisions. Divide and Conquer, that is the basic principle that has been used for eons. There is less and less unity in the hands of the good guys, us, me and you. Money rules, media serves money, money owns media. The greatest freedom right now is pornography. The best selling drugs these days is sex, it’s sold legally to minors, it predominates every media mankind has invented.

Anyways, back to my story. What happened to me that became much more clear years later is two things. I did something that is common within the teachings of any medicine path. There was no one i know that had even an inkling of any of this. I had no idea why i was chosen to learn these lessons. This is, only now, becoming evident of my destiny.

The first shamanic practice i did was to use a medicine with intentions. I have payed dearly for not listening to what my heart had told me. The second shamanic quest was to allow the insects to devour me. This is called dismembering, which is not something that one can decide to do. It has to be presented to you. This has now happened to me again, since i have walked the red road.

Ever since the insects started to come into my dreams, i had started to become paranoid in the world around me. I would smoke a few tokes from a joint and i be like i was on acid, and i knew that none of my friends could or would understand. I had gone way further then where any of them would go in their complete lifetimes. I did know and yet i did not know all of this at that time. I couldn’t play all the games that were played any longer and yet i was not within the grace of the medicine, because i had gone too far and then i abused it. I lied to myself, i hurt others, i was tortured by my own failure to do the right thing.

I was not aware of all this because i was in pain, i was paranoid, and yet i had to struggle on, life would not wait for me to get it together. So i continued to hang out with my friends, i continued to be creative, i began playing guitar for hour and hours.

to be continued

#68 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/02

#68 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/02 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Jo McLeod holding an image patrickwey took of Iggy Pop (https://www.facebook.com/iggypop/?ref=br_rs) one night when he got to hang out with Iggy and the Stooges back stage (https://www.facebook.com/iggyandthestooges/?ref=br_rs)….Jojo is a close friend living close-by on an island real and virtual all wrapped up in one…. Jo is the owner and amazing creator of OM Design Jewelry fit for a Queen, the real queens…… no queen is an island always….come visit..(https://www.facebook.com/jo.mcleod.374)

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#67 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/01

#67 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/01 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

liquid sky
spring love radiates across damp air
live energy glows from a long night
water glistens of harmonic dreams
pursuing things perfect and all impressions right
a tender brush stroke from pure simple
with a sky as liquid and sun as white
makes this weary world a mystical wonder
as it flows curved sure into sight

Circa a few days ago with my eye-phone

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#66 Image-Content of the Day 2018/04/30

#66 Image-Content of the Day 2018/04/30 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
sometimes you try too hard and your spirit runs out of gas just to find out the whole damn technology has moved into a new terrain and the games change and the way is no longer the way and what you once thought was clear is vague and uncertain and you’ve been misunderstood misrepresented even shunned for a world that doesn’t exist a crowd mad with a predestined emotion floating up above somewhere and where does that leave me down here amidst the nature of things moving in with the process far beyond and out of control of the mind of man and does it all matter here when so few see what there is to see with just another day as glorious and dying and changing as the last…..this must be the beginning, what else could it be!
(an interpretation of my relationship with film photography versus the new world of everyone now a photographer, a journalist, a critic, a politician, advocates for peace, for war, for one belief against another, the inter-net and the likes)…photo circa 90’s i presume and route 66 looks alot like highway 61 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1i_Q9NDGJk)…lyrics..(
“Highway 61 Revisited”

Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”
Well Abe says, “Where you want this killin’ done?”
God says. “Out on Highway 61”

Well Georgia Sam he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department they wouldn’t give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard where can I go
Howard said there’s only one place I know
Sam said tell me quick man I got to run
Ol’ Howard just pointed with his gun
And said that way down on Highway 61

Well Mack the finger said to Louie the King
I got forty red white and blue shoe strings
And a thousand telephones that don’t ring
Do you know where I can get rid of these things
And Louie the King said let me think for a minute son
And he said yes I think it can be easily done
Just take everything down to Highway 61

Now the fifth daughter on the twelfth night
Told the first father that things weren’t right
My complexion she said is much too white
He said come here and step into the light he says hmmm you’re right
Let me tell second mother this has been done
But the second mother was with the seventh son
And they were both out on Highway 61

Now the rowin’ gambler he was very bored
He was tryin’ to create a next world war
He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor
He said I never engaged in this kind of thing before
But yes I think it can be very easily done
We’ll just put some bleachers out in the sun
And have it on Highway 61

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#19 Image-Content of the Day 2018/03/14

#19 Image-Content of the Day 2018/03/14  of-by patrickwey
Original image taken in the downtown of Chicago. The image is superimposed onto a gelatin slide that i made back in the late 60’s early 70’s. I made hundreds of these with coloured dyes and gelatin, oils, acid, anything i could find to add texture and colour to clear acetate. This finished image was printed onto plexiglass about 26 by 40 inches. This image now hangs on a wall at Martina Mysicka‘s home. She bought it just before we moved out west two years ago……

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey