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

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

362 … water reflections of uncertainty

362 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/20 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My life has been a coast line of water reflections of uncertainty, dreams waving in and out of realities, roads with too many bends. My love has been mistaken, my integrity misunderstood, my visions misrepresented. My journey has been long, barren and born of random continuity, possibilities beyond the norm, realms hardly exposed. Disturbances of air on water and hues slender like night the traveller never stops, the path never ends, beauty never dies.
I attempted to document everything i saw, felt and imagined. There was nothing that escaped my sight when i was young, free of form and ready. Things have changed, time has slipped into my veins, the present is so close now, the distance so short. Stars shine in me, the universe is not so far as it once was, death is so full of life.
Image circa a few years ago – writing, last night as i rode my horses along the shore.
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