Following the third year of a holiday letter comprised
of my (increasingly complex) life via a (increasingly complex) year-in-photographs, I
wondered what it would be like to join the great experiment of 365 days of photographs.
I'm not a photographer,
I'm a writer. I'm a visual thinker, and if ever there was proof that a photo is worth a
thousand words, it would be the story a photo tells me, or in this case, about me.
Follow me on this adventure, where I
learn about photography, my ability to record my life, my dedication to something (I've
never been known for doing anything everyday) in my posts. I've also discovered I'm
learning about time, the history of it, and the odd practice of recording it, measuring it,
turning it into something tangible, and I'll record these explorations in the sidebar.
As always, feel free
to say anything. My experiment is not a spectator sport.

September 4, 2009

September 04 2009 Expect

to sleep, perchance to dream
but all the dreams were militant and bitter like the last words spoken before bed in a state of mind that precludes the rule of not going to bed angry
and all the bitterness awoke in the darkness with a head full of clouds and a struggle for sleep
immunities start weak, especially against militant words
and waking with the sun is too soon or too late because you can't take anything back

tiny bits of pharmaceuticals and herbs as a combat aid
programmed chemicals against the ones you didn't expect
there are no drugs for the dreams I had last night
or the dreams you had
where we tore each other limb from limb in bitter hatred
no bitter bit of chemical to wash down with water

nothing to ward off what can't be explained

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