momentary child

having a swelling night;
emotion wise

i'm already pitying the poor soul that comes on too hard
shattering isn't too far away
forgive me if i splatter onto your naive face

this morning orions belt had shifted west
and i almost cried

time is playing tricks on me


it's the best time to be redheaded

the satisfaction of coordinating with nature

for the sake of not being so vague:
mercy and i were between shoot and meeting:
saw alleyway and infiltrated.

one of the couples in the houses parallel were very confused
i think they thought we were well dressed burglars.
we only steal light


should be working:

hence the post

drinking: the weakest coffee ever.
why do i get so fearful with quantity of bean?

listening: new music. She and Him
not going to fib. i'm lurv'n it. even the hoe-down flair is swallowable.

reading: The Chosen
after Asher Lev i scrambled for more of the same genius

wearing: clean clothes
some of the last. washer contains tomorrows wardrobe.

wanting: Lines & Shapes
all my stalked blogs are raving about their copies.
may be my xmas present to myself this year.

smelling: honeysuckle
just try to resist smelling like early summer and age eight

being: hope filled
Dum spiro, spero


peter pan

some people wake up with songs stuck in their heads
i wake up to story lines and images

this one in particular this morning

"What's sewn?" he asked,
"You're dreadfully ignorant."
"No, I'm not."
But she was exulting in his ignorance. "I shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was as tall as herself, and she got out her housewife and sewed the shadow to Peter's foot.


Words, words, words

My photography work has the strange quality of Isolation.
Driving back and forth from equipment swapping...
my car and me and empty silence.

I've spent a lot of time alone this past year.
In the midst of a shoot with kids screaming and my mind chattering lightmath...

In the fight to remain covenanted and be...
I read.
Children's fiction mostly.
Simple stories with simple truths.
Bright colours
Vivid metephors
Laughter and tears
Because simplicity is a delightful foreign concept right now.

In the battle between Isolation and Being,
stories are sharp weapons.

Isolation is the vast Wasteland
When words, thoughts, actions, hopes and failures seem to pass unheeded.
Like wind on the desert.

A story takes the wind and gives it meaning.
A story is evidence of Being.

Moses' years as a shepard and Jesus' as a carpenter.
Not waste,
not barren,
but preparation
but pause
dramatic pause.

So i read.
In a small way;
reading is a way of loving the author,
the artist.

(Though my hands haven't gotten the message)
I think like an artist.
I know what they desire...
to be heard,
to be reacted to,
(possibly against)
to be 'true' enough to make welts on the brain.

Though I can't converse or touch Asher Lev,
(current character on the floor next to my bed)
I have the honour to listen
to care
to question
to acknowledge his Being.

Takes faith to believe the loving will be of good.
All those verbs are love.
Once Isolation hits,
my little heart goes numb,
and opening to be vulnerable...
(for all love will make way for pain)
...is the wildest sacrifice.

After hours of blinding photoshop,
the last thing I want to do is respond to my family.
But in doing so I accept my dependence of Being lies with them.

Here is the impossible miracle;
That I can give all to my work,
which involves invariably Isolation.
Turn, and give all to my dear ones,
which involves Being and Love.

Only because my Being was never mine.


what shall I say unto them?
And God said unto Moses,
and he said,
Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel,
I AM hath sent me unto you.
Exodus 3

Seeing God, Job forgets all he wanted to say,
all he thought he would say if he could but see Him.

George MacDonald

I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer.
You are yourself the answer.
Before Your face questions die away.
What other answer would suffice?
Only words, words;
to be led out to battle against other words.



Love is wild for reasons, and hope though short in sight,
Might be the only thing that wakes you by surprise
Jars of Clay

i have photos that hit me at the ribcage
such is this one

someday my children will look at me with that delight


you wish...

... you were with me and mine ...
because we amaze the living daylights out of colour

(that makes about as much sense as this photo)

and both contain laughter
if you're bold enough to look


George MacDonald

(click photo to enlarge)

The current bathroom book is a collection of George MacDonald quotes.
It's edited and prefaced by Lewis, who says of MacDonald's work:
"The quality which had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live."

So as I work away the moments tonight, I am encouraged by the grace of God, who covers my meager faithfulness and calls it "good".


this weekend:

my motto...
or should I say epitaph

there's going to be a massive amount of brave failure.


just to prove i do read...

even if the level of mental movement is slight


what i do

ask people to be awkward...
then record the moment.

my brain is going to explode with all that's undone that should be done.

*squeltches scream*


even with...

well crafted picture books make me happy
as do kisses and window light
there is truth in them things