362 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/20

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

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360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18

360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Unfinished sketch of an Irish man whom lost his hat on a movie set……
He crossed the scene from some other time zone but it didn’t make any sense neither here nor there. The same issues were laid out across the streets, now and then. The world and all its dreams were going to go along in its own way no matter what. The stage was set the take was shot, reality edited, exposed, a medium where innocence dies. You could attempt to fly high with transcendental airlines and meditate yourself numb or just soar low with the rest and get your fare share of the mess. It didn’t matter in the long run to the gossip from the avenues, it had not altered for centuries and wasn’t about to shift drastically now. A better time, a better place awaited, the romance envisioned would recover from the turmoil behind closed doors, or so thought thought. They want it all clear as day but it ain’t that way in reality. There are no words that will set them free, it’s a trap, it’s a condition in the mind, everything will talk itself out across concrete tables and end clearly unclear as it always does when prime temptations are evoked. That is just the way it is, so get used to it, spend your time wisely or not; not everybody can win. He walked across the set again and again tryin to get it right but he never did; there was no right, just the remnants of a hat lying half dead on the walk-side in a scene for more lost lovers to dream upon.
That was a day grey that ended short on a vacant timeless road in some forsaken town in Ireland mid century with his name concealed and the story split like time shatters in the middle of things unclear and ends with no end, no script left to the story line, no dream to dream upon. Cut, end.
Image circa early 90’s Ireland, writing last night.
#Ireland#patrickwey#streetphotography#losthat#oldcars,

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349 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/07

349 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/07 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Along some wavy street of Old Montreal one night at dusk. Stumbled upon a door way to another side. Saw things i never suspected i could. Left slowly along some back alleyway. Took this shot just so i could remember the dream; the one that keeps me alive.
Image circa the 90’s Old Montreal through a puddle…
#oldmontreal#sureal#patrickwey#photoart

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Patrick Wey

317 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/06

317 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/06 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I went down by the waters edge. I sat there quietly for sometime before the air became alive and entered me to places i’ve never touched. The sound of the way whispered to my heart things i had never known. The beauty caressed me, entangled me in its web, light and uneven i followed the view to beyond and it was there i was told things i could not and would never tell.
The day was gray and no one noticed when the wind had stopped; right in the middle of a melody trampling across the wavering sky the vision appeared and left me stranded there alone like an island.
The way it was was not the way it is. The war inside ended in the light of darkness and the beginning of the end ended in very uncertain terms. ‘Dreams move about free of form with reality tainted by imagination. Observe, there is no answer, there are many questions.’
The water lies mellow over the rocks, the tree line silhouettes the near horizon and the gray sky takes it in to the limits and that swings you back to the grass weaving itself into the wind like a snake across a deserts sand.
Everything is complete. In times like these a silent gaze into the scene is the perfect answer.
Image circa late in the century / writing this morning

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312 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/01

312 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/01 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
i get the feeling that things aren’t quite right here and nobody gives much of a damn. at least that’s what i’m thinkin sometimes. the people on the streets got their worlds and their dreams that they’re trying to untangle. they don’t have time for stepping out, attempting anything less secure. so the city rolls down the avenue, the life lives as it does, with its face hidden and its walls painted, dreams floating about like blurred leaves on a pond. i happened to hear your voice echo in the background and your future advertised in the signs hidden across the streets. the sense of direction moves about like a kite from one breeze to the next, wind rushing thru your skull and freedom riding high in the clouds. yea that was me watching you sit on the side lines with your green shirt and all, your broken-machine working overtime and your buddy learning the tricks. yea that’s the city life, it may not be the best life, but it’s your life and as i said, nobody really cares.
the image caught the beauty just right don’t ya think, your square heads floatin down the worlds way like you belong. life in the stream of things, coming from nowhere heading nowhere but with lots of plans, thats the way to do it, just like you know what’s happening and you do……kool

Image circa Thailand 2016 – writing last night

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306 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/26

306 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/26 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

No other has taken me to the depths of my being, no other has forced me to see what i had failed to see. As it should be, if one is growing, i am forced to see the impermanence of it all. It is quite uncomfortable at times, this world without eternity, these thoughts doomed to disintegrate. The whole world full of dream, this life set to die, an endless stream of illusions to observe. This thought dying unto itself.
Money, it all revolves around paying rent, taxes, poverty has its claws inside my heart. Where could i be without this hindrance chaining me to mediocrity. This afternoon of springs last winters-wet-snow and gloomy skies and desperate thoughts hanging on to the last remains of your love. Can we grow? I don’t know. Is there hope beyond this air?
Image circa Poland late 90’s – writing April 2, 2005 4am

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303 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/23

303 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/23 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

Today change has come, the weather has shifted, the roads have opened, the way is clear. It always seems so obvious when the light comes shining thru, when clarity settles in the brain, when the universe makes sense again. It is these moments of understanding that lay the foundations of uncertainty in pillars of time that move thru the mystery so perfectly inrhythm and endless rhyme. An acceptance of the wavering truth that enters the mind one way and exits into a completely new universe. Today change has come.
Waves of a conscious mystery are rolling along the open shores. Tangerine skies are skimming melodies on the waters and dreams are scattering themselves about like autumn leaves blowing across a forests floor. Change is changing today into yesterday like bent light surrounding the wind in an open mind of dreaming dreams.

Image 1980’s puddle shot slide sandwiched with hand painted colour gelatin acetate – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

302 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/22

302 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/22 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

hurricanes blowing across the sands
turmoil on every corner, every street, deceit
you got your love secure and camouflaged 
waiting for a little breeze
for some relief from the heat

Words trampled and crushed into little packets of self contained messages colonialized like small islands off the coast. How did it ever get to this, warped boats over treacherous waters carrying the cargo of ‘boxed-up-meanings’ leaking into the vast unknown seas. It is here we attempt to understand each other with a soul full of emptiness and a heart forsaken across discontented distant waters and a sincerity to reach into each others arms, sabotaged.
The drifter walks ahead already looking back at the silent coast and the ones so dearly loved. With the scrap heap of the west on our heals and the parade of saints playing in pools of nymphs and pirates and such, who could have ever guessed we were end-bound. What used to survive desolate in the alley ways of the metropolis we now find in remote villages across the globe. Like an unstoppable disease of the heart spreading like thought waves doomed by its own desires, humanity crawls along alone. There is no way out for it, only more illusions to soothe its fateful appetite, and as the drifter always says from his cool twisted damp lips, “choose careful, beware, everything fades towards the end of time”. And with that said the ships unload, the docks disperse, the constant pounding of the drums continue along the avenues and into the endless winds of dream, things come and go.
Image circa 80’s two slides sandwiched into one…writing yesterday

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297 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/17

297 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/17 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The open road: where in the hell is that? Nowadays you can travel half way around the world, carry a cell phone and send selfies live back home, but where in gods mind is that open road? Where is that place where real freedom is hanging in the air, where there is no direction home, no place left to be, no one to aspire to; where is that road? There was always some place to get away from, some place to feel your way thru. A few thousand miles down Route 66 seemed an eternity, no one could track your step, you were on your own, maybe a phone booth a couple hundred miles down some dirt road could get you a scratchy voice to some past you left behind; if you needed to be lucky.
Leaves of Grass found falling in the air long ago, now nothing but splashes of dull colour from eight miles high. The open road is a myth like Robert Johnson and answers blowin in some wind fallin in some time zone that can’t be reached no more; so far outa touch from this space only ancient text can attempt to reveal.
The open road closed for some museums reconstruction, fake images bracing imaginary brains, modern students with science degrees in hard-luck while the true old road is left dying alone in some ditch. The road warriors are not what they used to be, whatever that was. That’s the way it is, nothin stays the same but if you’re really careful and time is on your side there is still a way to get a glimpse of that road that is barely open yet for but a few that just might make the right moves. But beware, it holds nothing but raw freedom and that has left most lonely, weary and desperately miserable in the end. But, for but a very few of the few, the drifter does escape.
Image Infra-red B/W 35mm circa 80’s – some 60’s look-a-like of Highway Route #66, 61 or whatever, down some lonely New Mexico highway…Writing; years in the making, squashed into yesterday for no tomorrow.

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296 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/16

296 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/16 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The morning has arrived just like it said it would. Mist moving almost still and hanging off the mountain like a veil. The valley flooded with white geese dotted about, the air is tender, i’m not sure i should be here. My heart can breathe high and it can sore low but it just stares and wonders if there are other valleys though. The green lush blanket winding in the distance to unknown land and the mountain tops sharp and hazy edge against the grey grey sky. I could have been so many things, i could have learned the dance; i questioned i till there was nothing left and still it demands to belong where there is no valley towards a mountain top left to go. I sit here in the morning light and watch the wood stove blue smoke fall down into the valley and disappear where no dreams flow. Like stopping by a woods on a snowy evening i have my horses too, some are tired in the sun, some just wanna run, how can i possibly get it done, said the valley to the road.
Woke up fell outa bed, rubbed some horses across my head, and right in the middle of a dream this is what i heard i said, ‘wow’……..and that was that, moved right into another day, nothing more to say; the rain kept gleaming down and here i am, where the forest is my home.
Image circa – rain forest of 2001 – writing in this morning light

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Patrick Wey

294 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/14

294 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/14 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Flying high with blended hues against an eternal sky of a sun dipping below the line between existence and imagination. On the long trip north with restless children on board and a longing in my heart for things that never quite were, i followed the intense skyline until i was too tired to keep my eyes awake and faded into the dawn of another time. There i was on the beginning without a hope on earth and i saw you there like i was attached to your soul somehow but i wasn’t. You began to hesitate right from the start and i began to lie to myself to make things happen that weren’t there. We settled on an imaginary life and caressed each others wounds until death do us part. Somehow love did enter the realm that was as real as any other love, it was love what could you expect, love doesn’t choose what’s real or not it just is or isn’t. That was good, life continued in a way that was expected tho surprising at the same time. The sun fell and that was that the night the night hit like a tomb.
You might think that you understand the game and conclude to yourself to fulfill your own imaginary life but i assure you that you’r fooling yourself just like everyone else to get by in a world too dangerous to be aware of its truths. But that’s alright no need to get upset push me under your rugs i’m just your night light to get you thru when times get too weary, too absurd to realize, a wake up call just so you don’t take it all that serious. There ain’t no guru gonna get you or some devil waiting for your sleepy soul or nitemares you can’t get thru…….you’ll be fine, just follow the line till the end of time and you’ll get exactly where you outa be. Take a flower and put it into your hair, smell the essence of life, kiss the wind, be true and you’ll get thru right to the end of the bend and you’ll see.
Image circa 80’s – writing last night

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290 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/10

290 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/10 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Numero uno church in the main zacolo de ciudad de mexico. Poor Folk begging for a few pesos. The wealth of catholicism stands strong behind the gates. The way it is, hypocrisy crawls between the cracks, empty stomachs ache for jesus.
image circa 70’s, comment today, as yesterday and all bets on tomorrow.

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289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09

289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Just before i took this shot we stood there not knowing what to say. The end was dripping from our lips, the last kiss was done and in your mind, you were already walking. That’s the way it goes sometimes, quick, just like the way some things fly into your life. I recall the beauty of the day when i saw you by the bench, the one that faces the long and narrow park, the one we sat at for the next two weeks before this night. It appeared we were falling in love until our differences emerged and spread out on the avenue like a night can do. You had your dreams laid out like a text, mine just surfaced out of impulse and they saw each other in the light of the day and freaked out. Our love was never meant to build a family around, it was not tough enough to stand alone, not true enough to create. So there we were feeling miserable for a short sweet past that was ending and a future with no spirit to be.
You shuffled in there sandwiched against the masses and wham the door squeezed shut and that was it, the last train left the station and left me stranded in the twilight just as you had found me there in a Mexico City night at some forgotten stop long ago and that was that, done, gone forever cept this last image from my crazy shutter sped finger tips.
Image circa 77 Mexico City – writing yesterday

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288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08

288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early part of the century i made my living as a photographer on a tour boat in Xochimilco just on the south side of Mexico City. People called me Jose but my name was really Fernandez and i lived the life of a photo-specialist. Having the eye of an artist was just the beginning. In those days you had to know the science of lenses, the chemistry of film and developers and the physics of light. You had to be a mechanic of sorts to deal with all the apparatus and a carpenter and painter for sets, let alone a marketing genius and promotion manager just to stay in the business. I loved my work and photographed some of the many celebrities that visited the City from all over the globe. Up and down the canals of one of the most scenic places near the city. Flowers and vegetation showered the days with beauty and my life was in love with me. Things changed when 35mm cameras came into vogue and more and more people took their own images and the competition made the game much more challenging. I managed, i had a talent for staying in the game, i survived, lived a long life and have images in a few of the museums spread across the city. I died decades of years ago now and with the advent of digital modernism in all forms of media in the hands of the many, i survive only in the minds of a few surrealists and history buffs. This wandering 35mm gringo caught me doing my thing way before his time and he’s probably close to the final curtain himself if not already gone.
We shared a smile before our boats parted up and down the canal and that was that.
Image circa early 70’s – writing yesterday

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287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07

287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Strange the way waking-dreams weave in an out of mind. Troubled in the doorway of change, the delicate undertaker slips in to mind.
I swung in from the other side, just in time to see him leave for the top. They saw you trapped within your love but making it big on the social stage and that was good enough for you and you had already lost your honour towards the hard path, anyways. Meantime big business was buying up every green field of passion from here to the edge of the do-gooder horizon and you got sucked right in. When you thought you saw me there struggling in the forefront of humanity, you were mistaken, i wasn’t
struggling, i was breathing deep just before the night hit. I didn’t expect to turn in your heart or your expression on your delicate face when you saw me bend down to wash the feet of an unknown soul. What else could i do, the waves were pouring in, the crash was close and the immense pressure to surrender was overwhelming, i had no choice really and i’m glad the road turned and twisted into the dead end it is. How else could it have turned into this soft shadow slipping down the tears of your face? You, it seems were meant to be a star, it’s all over the media now, without much of a message, and without so much as a credit or a byline for the mysterious undertaker.
I stood there just on the verge when things changed and headed back from whence it came, the other side, leaving but with a few thoughts to get you through too.
Image circa late 70’s – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

255 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/05

255 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/05 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘It was a calm night, the snow had sheltered the silence under its wing. The hydro had flashed out. He lied there in the darkness, stretched out upon the couch. The soft dark moments etched shadows across the air. The night slipped out of itself into the imagination of sight. Light danced upon the walls as the erie silence hummed in the great distance.

He thought about how obscure and fainted the memories erased themselves unaware leaving fragments dancing across the room free and true. Words forcing sounds upon the form almost in control.

Everything comes to an end he realized as the separation of the past melted into his eyes. His touch was meant for another realm as he handed himself a sigh and took a long breath that began hundreds of years before and ended stretching into a cloud of premonitions. “What will become of this useless beauty that my eyes behold, if for a million nights this sadness can’t escape the wonder of mystery deep within my bones”. His voice without sound and his dreams but a breeze against the wind, he stated once again, “love is love, and that is all it is made of”.

The darkness faded into the night, silence swam still………’

The man in the cafe walked here, thought this, then left.

Image circa the 80’s, literature May 2017

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251 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/01

251 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/01 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Somedays makes you wanna just sail away into the breeze of the sea, leave it all behind, find a new life, fall off the earth, fly off the cliff, hit the road on the open sea and live all those dreams hiding, swimming around the water in your head. That shimmering insight born of the depth you dove, the breath you’ve held tight, the strength of your will to be something new, something totally different, an adventure that never sees behind.
Somedays you can just sit on the dock and watch the ripples of water warp reality into dreams, all yours, all magic for a few moments of eternity washing up upon the shore line like silence whispering tones of pure purity right to the core of your being.
Yes, sail boats wavering off the water and me in some strange form of reality.
Image west coast 2017, writing last night…

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Patrick Wey

118 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/21

118 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/21 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The window sees thru the wall….Eyes meet,
Down by the edge of a down town and a second millennium, in his flannel trousers and a head full of pain he headed in the wrong direction. His name was hard to find and his looks were likewise. The wet from the sweat drenched his heart but it still wasn’t enough to keep the demons away; times took him were he was told not to enter, those crazy places that one has already left.
In another part of a town and the world, she lifted her head to a soft wind, gentle hair black against a night and her shoulders, she let go a gaze that pierced his heart.
The night brushes against the brick, footsteps lay across the valley’s like lead. In a miracle someone catches a glimpse in a red road of dust upon his heals, and he turns up in the ceremony, and someone says, ” hey cowboy, is that red around your throat”, and stretches off into the distance backwards.
She sees the brick laced in night and yellow faces crowded in sacred places, quiet hiding across terrains of mad beliefs and terrible sadness; the silence enters her web like the brick.
His voice is gentle as it reaches a window on the silver side of town, ” that’s the way to the other side”, down towns blocked with heavens from a black book on the edge of dawn.
When he awakes she’s dreamin he’s leavin, comin soon, and carries water from a secret well in flesh of silk and satin and draws him to her breast.
The day spreads itself out like time does when it’s twisted around a bend. From the corners of hallucinations to transparent-dust-forming-dreams, sacred air from the other side, the neons dangle off the brick.
On the trail his mouth is on fire, “Hey cowboy, you comin out here”, the tracks are torn of grime and greed, the shadow of the nite, she whispers in some ancient lore,”(rush of wind a half an earth apart)”.
On the street to ecstasy under construction, signs rustling in the wind, crows cawing over splattered glass, the pavement livin the life in the underground, the kid shufflin thru a long turn out.
In the backwoods by the turn of a century some magic tree is walking towards them, ” you will meet again, this earth is your saviour”, the wind clutches clouds, hurls rain, time and them far apart. Destiny plays fate to the crow, black hair in sea-wind blowing thru space where time is dead, truth laid out like the brick spread out against the alley.
The scent of her golden skin, from the glow of a million moons, whispers in the silence of the earth beneath his feet. Patience falls soft in a gentle rain, two crows sit huddled in a tree blowing across a horizon in a dream.
The day cracks open and the trail reaches out towards the other side. In the room there is new furniture from another piece of history. The window sees thru the wall. The love once so soft hard against the brick dangles medicine from its neck. In the end sage brush smiles to the wind, the sea is wild inside calm upon the earth and two strangers touch.
There is another day waiting in the streets, from Shanghai, New York is sinking and the drum is rolling across the plains. He speaks into the machine, her keypad stretches across the wire but the link is dead.
In an afternoon across the street by the edge of the park, sun glistening off the air, their eyes meet between light years and a million worlds.

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