|
|
|||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
|
|
Time Off
~ I will be taking the rest of the year off. Thanks for spending time with me over this year. I will be back in early 2009 with a new Craig-Photography public website and will have new interviews, rants and random whatnots for you to enjoy. Be good to each other…
Peace ~ John
Peace ~ John
Time Off
~ I will be taking the rest of the year off. Thanks for spending time with me over this year. I will be back in early 2009 with a new Craig-Photography public website and will have new interviews, rants and random whatnots for you to enjoy. Be good to each other…
Peace ~ John
Peace ~ John
Year in Review: 2008 (Best of)
See all Moments of 2008 here
Current Reading: Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Existential Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Thoughts: There are 800 million solutions to the world’s problems, and you are one of them.
See all Photos 2008 here
Current Reading: Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Existential Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Thoughts: There are 800 million solutions to the world’s problems, and you are one of them.
See all Photos 2008 here
Exposure: 0.2 sec (1/5)
Aperture: f/29
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 200
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Light Source: Cool white fluorescent (W 3900 - 4500K)
Year in Review: 2008 (Best of)
See all Moments of 2008 here
Current Reading: Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Existential Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Thoughts: There are 800 million solutions to the world’s problems, and you are one of them.
See all Photos 2008 here
Current Reading: Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Existential Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Thoughts: There are 800 million solutions to the world’s problems, and you are one of them.
See all Photos 2008 here
Exposure: 0.2 sec (1/5)
Aperture: f/29
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 200
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Light Source: Cool white fluorescent (W 3900 - 4500K)
Moment
Current Reading: The Selected Letters of Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, 1956-1991
Current Music: Rubber Soul by The Beatles
Mood: Headache, is that a mood?
Sounds: Telephone conversations
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 30 degrees with snow
Thoughts: I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness.
Current Music: Rubber Soul by The Beatles
Mood: Headache, is that a mood?
Sounds: Telephone conversations
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 30 degrees with snow
Thoughts: I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness.
Moment
Current Reading: The Selected Letters of Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, 1956-1991
Current Music: Rubber Soul by The Beatles
Mood: Headache, is that a mood?
Sounds: Telephone conversations
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 30 degrees with snow
Thoughts: I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness.
Current Music: Rubber Soul by The Beatles
Mood: Headache, is that a mood?
Sounds: Telephone conversations
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 30 degrees with snow
Thoughts: I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness.
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200 Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/22
Focal Length: 28 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200 Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/22
Focal Length: 28 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Rainbow in a Ghost Town - Short Story
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? I hear this in my head. Again, “Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town?” Where is this audible thought coming from? It speaks from behind me keeping pace with me as I walk. I stroll into the coffee shop and order a medium holiday blend coffee with room for milk. The voice says, You’re stuck between creation and evolution, no longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re only a metaphor stuck inside a shell. Shell in which you’re preserved and housed and someday will have to return back to the soil. “That will be $1.87 sir. Would you like to donate a dollar to our children’s holiday fund.” The barista startles me back into consciousness. I smile at her and say yes.
I pick up a copy of yesterday’s New York Times that someone left on the table. It is opened to an article in the Health section about how Hong Kong finds more tainted eggs. I drink my coffee and watch people come and go and think about this strange narrative experience I am having. Eggs tainted with the chemical melamine that drops out of the butts of chickens and an audible thought standing behind me and within me.
I am not you. I am separate from you. I have my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. I am what I am becoming. I embrace loneliness. I am fluid motion and complete stillness. I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness. I am not human. I am your shadow.
Darting up from my table I go to the men’s room. Splashing water on my face I think about all the times I jokingly wrote about the onset of schizophrenia. I stare at myself in the mirror questioning the validity of this occurrence. I laugh out loud, my heart beats heavily. Splash more cold water on my face, wash my hands with that pink soap that never gets soapy and dry myself with brown rough paper that has no absorbent worth to it. I stand looking at my face. Same stubble on my chin, same haircut, these are my clothes. Never could recognize my own face, nevertheless this is me.
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? “No”, I reply quietly in my head. “Why do you ask?” Not sure. It seems symbolic. A perfect image. “Image for what?” I ask. You; your existence. “How much do you weigh?” I ask. That is the dumbest question; I am the absence of light. I am neither matter nor anti-matter. I do not exist in time, only in flow of motion can I have presence in this world. Why would you ask suggest a question? “Because you have been feeling heavy to me and I can feel myself dragging you around. My own shadow aches.
Rub my hands over my face, straighten my jacket and adjust my scarf around my neck. Three deep breaths and I exit the men’s room. Walk back to my table, finished the article on tainted eggs. The article states: “Illegal levels of melamine, the industrial chemical blamed for sickening hundreds of thousands of young Chinese children, six fatalities.” Why?
Rainbow in a ghost town, that’s why. Perfecting that art of doing something so beautifully or something that is completely wicked. That’s what you humans do with your shells. But you, my master, you take things in. You are a rainbow in a ghost town.
This is eerie. I get up and leave the coffeehouse. Walking down the street I think this is a different reality from normal life and it is standing next to me. My new reality is inescapable; I wish I would have seen a UFO, a ghost meeting Jesus or Buddha or something like that. The street traffic is crowded, the sun is bright, the wind is cold and I just had a conversation with my shadow. The shadow calls me “my master”. Hair raises on the back of my neck as I repeat the phrase to myself, “my master.
I knock into a pizza deliveryman on the sidewalk, stumble off the curb into traffic. Car horn blows; blue Pontiac. The driver gives me the finger. I wave apoplectically, he doesn’t seem to care. Think I’ll take the subway. No tokens in my pocket, buy a seven day trip ticket. I sit across from a high school-aged couple on the train. She is polished; a mature look reminding me of Gwyneth Paltrow. Long blond hair, large black bag, turtleneck sweater, short, plaid skirt with a getting-back-at-daddy look on her face. The boy has that look of growing up in a cul-de-sac community but wishes he was raised in “the hood”. He is too clean looking to pull off the style but I am sure the girl’s father hates him. They look like they’re in love.
No voice in my head. I sit alone on the train unnoticeable to anyone else around me. I think that I could probably die in this seat and nobody would notice until the train stopped running for the day. My body would most likely be found by a cleaning crew. Train stops, the light flickers twice and I get off at Jameson St. and 9th.
Walk two blocks down the street to my apartment. Six flights of stairs to my front door. Every time I walk up the steps I tell myself this is the cheapest gym membership. It’s a small, clean apartment. I don’t have much stuff. Some books, CD’s, one small closet of clothes, toiletries, an exercise mat and a small collection of cooking utensils. You don’t need much in the kitchen to cook a good meal. One sharp knife for chopping vegetables, a large cutting board, a deep frying pan and a small arsenal of oils; with all of this you can pretty much cook anything.
Still no voice. Maybe it is the onset of schizophrenia. Go to the fridge and get a bottle of beer. Drink that down and get a second one. Realized that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Twelve hours without food is too long for a man to go without eating. Bag of carrots, red peppers some onions. Mix that up with rice and chicken and that’s dinner. Feeling odd and not knowing what to do next, I flip through my mail while eating dinner. Junk mail, bills and a single Christmas card. Who remembered me? It’s from the real estate agent that I leased this apartment from. This can make you feel alone in the world; a single Christmas card from a real estate agent that you only met once. I am a walking ghost.
That’s why you can hear me. You can feel me. You sense your own shadow. Shadows are given no thought from the human mind, no connection to the soul. This is essential for our survival. If you become me, I will no longer exist. That leaves me with no purpose. This is killing me; literally killing me and I want to live, my master.
“Sorry” I say out loud, definitely the onset of schizophrenia, I think to myself. “Shadow voice in my head or whatever crazy thing that you are!” I scream out loud. “Where have you been? Why do you come and go?” I’ve been out in the ether doing good deeds. “Really?” No. You are killing me and in doing so are slowly dieing yourself. I will not be able to speak to you many more times. A life of hopeful longing to be noticed is your hell, my master. No longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re a rainbow in a ghost town. The voice stops abruptly. Not getting the last sounds of the word “town” out. Am I alive? Did the voice die? My heart beats…
Next, I go into the bathroom. The lights are too bright. Squinting, I brush my teeth. I am alive, I am not schizophrenic. I repeat this to myself as I brush. Music. I need music. I need the music to fill my head, no longer do I want to think. Finishing up in the bathroom I enter the bed room. Clean, empty room, gray bedspread, two books, a bible and a travel log on Paris sits on the nightstand. One lamp and an Ipod connected to stereo speakers. Scroll through the Ipod and decide on Herbie Hancock; the Joni Letters. I lie in bed, listen and breathe. This music is an ideal blend of instrumentation and words, both equally strong, supporting each other. Piano mixes with vocals with horns laced through them. It is a poetic landscape of sounds, perfection, and neither one a shadow to the other.
Shadow…shadow…sha…my heart stops…
I pick up a copy of yesterday’s New York Times that someone left on the table. It is opened to an article in the Health section about how Hong Kong finds more tainted eggs. I drink my coffee and watch people come and go and think about this strange narrative experience I am having. Eggs tainted with the chemical melamine that drops out of the butts of chickens and an audible thought standing behind me and within me.
I am not you. I am separate from you. I have my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. I am what I am becoming. I embrace loneliness. I am fluid motion and complete stillness. I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness. I am not human. I am your shadow.
Darting up from my table I go to the men’s room. Splashing water on my face I think about all the times I jokingly wrote about the onset of schizophrenia. I stare at myself in the mirror questioning the validity of this occurrence. I laugh out loud, my heart beats heavily. Splash more cold water on my face, wash my hands with that pink soap that never gets soapy and dry myself with brown rough paper that has no absorbent worth to it. I stand looking at my face. Same stubble on my chin, same haircut, these are my clothes. Never could recognize my own face, nevertheless this is me.
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? “No”, I reply quietly in my head. “Why do you ask?” Not sure. It seems symbolic. A perfect image. “Image for what?” I ask. You; your existence. “How much do you weigh?” I ask. That is the dumbest question; I am the absence of light. I am neither matter nor anti-matter. I do not exist in time, only in flow of motion can I have presence in this world. Why would you ask suggest a question? “Because you have been feeling heavy to me and I can feel myself dragging you around. My own shadow aches.
Rub my hands over my face, straighten my jacket and adjust my scarf around my neck. Three deep breaths and I exit the men’s room. Walk back to my table, finished the article on tainted eggs. The article states: “Illegal levels of melamine, the industrial chemical blamed for sickening hundreds of thousands of young Chinese children, six fatalities.” Why?
Rainbow in a ghost town, that’s why. Perfecting that art of doing something so beautifully or something that is completely wicked. That’s what you humans do with your shells. But you, my master, you take things in. You are a rainbow in a ghost town.
This is eerie. I get up and leave the coffeehouse. Walking down the street I think this is a different reality from normal life and it is standing next to me. My new reality is inescapable; I wish I would have seen a UFO, a ghost meeting Jesus or Buddha or something like that. The street traffic is crowded, the sun is bright, the wind is cold and I just had a conversation with my shadow. The shadow calls me “my master”. Hair raises on the back of my neck as I repeat the phrase to myself, “my master.
I knock into a pizza deliveryman on the sidewalk, stumble off the curb into traffic. Car horn blows; blue Pontiac. The driver gives me the finger. I wave apoplectically, he doesn’t seem to care. Think I’ll take the subway. No tokens in my pocket, buy a seven day trip ticket. I sit across from a high school-aged couple on the train. She is polished; a mature look reminding me of Gwyneth Paltrow. Long blond hair, large black bag, turtleneck sweater, short, plaid skirt with a getting-back-at-daddy look on her face. The boy has that look of growing up in a cul-de-sac community but wishes he was raised in “the hood”. He is too clean looking to pull off the style but I am sure the girl’s father hates him. They look like they’re in love.
No voice in my head. I sit alone on the train unnoticeable to anyone else around me. I think that I could probably die in this seat and nobody would notice until the train stopped running for the day. My body would most likely be found by a cleaning crew. Train stops, the light flickers twice and I get off at Jameson St. and 9th.
Walk two blocks down the street to my apartment. Six flights of stairs to my front door. Every time I walk up the steps I tell myself this is the cheapest gym membership. It’s a small, clean apartment. I don’t have much stuff. Some books, CD’s, one small closet of clothes, toiletries, an exercise mat and a small collection of cooking utensils. You don’t need much in the kitchen to cook a good meal. One sharp knife for chopping vegetables, a large cutting board, a deep frying pan and a small arsenal of oils; with all of this you can pretty much cook anything.
Still no voice. Maybe it is the onset of schizophrenia. Go to the fridge and get a bottle of beer. Drink that down and get a second one. Realized that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Twelve hours without food is too long for a man to go without eating. Bag of carrots, red peppers some onions. Mix that up with rice and chicken and that’s dinner. Feeling odd and not knowing what to do next, I flip through my mail while eating dinner. Junk mail, bills and a single Christmas card. Who remembered me? It’s from the real estate agent that I leased this apartment from. This can make you feel alone in the world; a single Christmas card from a real estate agent that you only met once. I am a walking ghost.
That’s why you can hear me. You can feel me. You sense your own shadow. Shadows are given no thought from the human mind, no connection to the soul. This is essential for our survival. If you become me, I will no longer exist. That leaves me with no purpose. This is killing me; literally killing me and I want to live, my master.
“Sorry” I say out loud, definitely the onset of schizophrenia, I think to myself. “Shadow voice in my head or whatever crazy thing that you are!” I scream out loud. “Where have you been? Why do you come and go?” I’ve been out in the ether doing good deeds. “Really?” No. You are killing me and in doing so are slowly dieing yourself. I will not be able to speak to you many more times. A life of hopeful longing to be noticed is your hell, my master. No longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re a rainbow in a ghost town. The voice stops abruptly. Not getting the last sounds of the word “town” out. Am I alive? Did the voice die? My heart beats…
Next, I go into the bathroom. The lights are too bright. Squinting, I brush my teeth. I am alive, I am not schizophrenic. I repeat this to myself as I brush. Music. I need music. I need the music to fill my head, no longer do I want to think. Finishing up in the bathroom I enter the bed room. Clean, empty room, gray bedspread, two books, a bible and a travel log on Paris sits on the nightstand. One lamp and an Ipod connected to stereo speakers. Scroll through the Ipod and decide on Herbie Hancock; the Joni Letters. I lie in bed, listen and breathe. This music is an ideal blend of instrumentation and words, both equally strong, supporting each other. Piano mixes with vocals with horns laced through them. It is a poetic landscape of sounds, perfection, and neither one a shadow to the other.
Shadow…shadow…sha…my heart stops…
Rainbow in a Ghost Town - Short Story
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? I hear this in my head. Again, “Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town?” Where is this audible thought coming from? It speaks from behind me keeping pace with me as I walk. I stroll into the coffee shop and order a medium holiday blend coffee with room for milk. The voice says, You’re stuck between creation and evolution, no longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re only a metaphor stuck inside a shell. Shell in which you’re preserved and housed and someday will have to return back to the soil. “That will be $1.87 sir. Would you like to donate a dollar to our children’s holiday fund.” The barista startles me back into consciousness. I smile at her and say yes.
I pick up a copy of yesterday’s New York Times that someone left on the table. It is opened to an article in the Health section about how Hong Kong finds more tainted eggs. I drink my coffee and watch people come and go and think about this strange narrative experience I am having. Eggs tainted with the chemical melamine that drops out of the butts of chickens and an audible thought standing behind me and within me.
I am not you. I am separate from you. I have my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. I am what I am becoming. I embrace loneliness. I am fluid motion and complete stillness. I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness. I am not human. I am your shadow.
Darting up from my table I go to the men’s room. Splashing water on my face I think about all the times I jokingly wrote about the onset of schizophrenia. I stare at myself in the mirror questioning the validity of this occurrence. I laugh out loud, my heart beats heavily. Splash more cold water on my face, wash my hands with that pink soap that never gets soapy and dry myself with brown rough paper that has no absorbent worth to it. I stand looking at my face. Same stubble on my chin, same haircut, these are my clothes. Never could recognize my own face, nevertheless this is me.
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? “No”, I reply quietly in my head. “Why do you ask?” Not sure. It seems symbolic. A perfect image. “Image for what?” I ask. You; your existence. “How much do you weigh?” I ask. That is the dumbest question; I am the absence of light. I am neither matter nor anti-matter. I do not exist in time, only in flow of motion can I have presence in this world. Why would you ask suggest a question? “Because you have been feeling heavy to me and I can feel myself dragging you around. My own shadow aches.
Rub my hands over my face, straighten my jacket and adjust my scarf around my neck. Three deep breaths and I exit the men’s room. Walk back to my table, finished the article on tainted eggs. The article states: “Illegal levels of melamine, the industrial chemical blamed for sickening hundreds of thousands of young Chinese children, six fatalities.” Why?
Rainbow in a ghost town, that’s why. Perfecting that art of doing something so beautifully or something that is completely wicked. That’s what you humans do with your shells. But you, my master, you take things in. You are a rainbow in a ghost town.
This is eerie. I get up and leave the coffeehouse. Walking down the street I think this is a different reality from normal life and it is standing next to me. My new reality is inescapable; I wish I would have seen a UFO, a ghost meeting Jesus or Buddha or something like that. The street traffic is crowded, the sun is bright, the wind is cold and I just had a conversation with my shadow. The shadow calls me “my master”. Hair raises on the back of my neck as I repeat the phrase to myself, “my master.
I knock into a pizza deliveryman on the sidewalk, stumble off the curb into traffic. Car horn blows; blue Pontiac. The driver gives me the finger. I wave apoplectically, he doesn’t seem to care. Think I’ll take the subway. No tokens in my pocket, buy a seven day trip ticket. I sit across from a high school-aged couple on the train. She is polished; a mature look reminding me of Gwyneth Paltrow. Long blond hair, large black bag, turtleneck sweater, short, plaid skirt with a getting-back-at-daddy look on her face. The boy has that look of growing up in a cul-de-sac community but wishes he was raised in “the hood”. He is too clean looking to pull off the style but I am sure the girl’s father hates him. They look like they’re in love.
No voice in my head. I sit alone on the train unnoticeable to anyone else around me. I think that I could probably die in this seat and nobody would notice until the train stopped running for the day. My body would most likely be found by a cleaning crew. Train stops, the light flickers twice and I get off at Jameson St. and 9th.
Walk two blocks down the street to my apartment. Six flights of stairs to my front door. Every time I walk up the steps I tell myself this is the cheapest gym membership. It’s a small, clean apartment. I don’t have much stuff. Some books, CD’s, one small closet of clothes, toiletries, an exercise mat and a small collection of cooking utensils. You don’t need much in the kitchen to cook a good meal. One sharp knife for chopping vegetables, a large cutting board, a deep frying pan and a small arsenal of oils; with all of this you can pretty much cook anything.
Still no voice. Maybe it is the onset of schizophrenia. Go to the fridge and get a bottle of beer. Drink that down and get a second one. Realized that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Twelve hours without food is too long for a man to go without eating. Bag of carrots, red peppers some onions. Mix that up with rice and chicken and that’s dinner. Feeling odd and not knowing what to do next, I flip through my mail while eating dinner. Junk mail, bills and a single Christmas card. Who remembered me? It’s from the real estate agent that I leased this apartment from. This can make you feel alone in the world; a single Christmas card from a real estate agent that you only met once. I am a walking ghost.
That’s why you can hear me. You can feel me. You sense your own shadow. Shadows are given no thought from the human mind, no connection to the soul. This is essential for our survival. If you become me, I will no longer exist. That leaves me with no purpose. This is killing me; literally killing me and I want to live, my master.
“Sorry” I say out loud, definitely the onset of schizophrenia, I think to myself. “Shadow voice in my head or whatever crazy thing that you are!” I scream out loud. “Where have you been? Why do you come and go?” I’ve been out in the ether doing good deeds. “Really?” No. You are killing me and in doing so are slowly dieing yourself. I will not be able to speak to you many more times. A life of hopeful longing to be noticed is your hell, my master. No longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re a rainbow in a ghost town. The voice stops abruptly. Not getting the last sounds of the word “town” out. Am I alive? Did the voice die? My heart beats…
Next, I go into the bathroom. The lights are too bright. Squinting, I brush my teeth. I am alive, I am not schizophrenic. I repeat this to myself as I brush. Music. I need music. I need the music to fill my head, no longer do I want to think. Finishing up in the bathroom I enter the bed room. Clean, empty room, gray bedspread, two books, a bible and a travel log on Paris sits on the nightstand. One lamp and an Ipod connected to stereo speakers. Scroll through the Ipod and decide on Herbie Hancock; the Joni Letters. I lie in bed, listen and breathe. This music is an ideal blend of instrumentation and words, both equally strong, supporting each other. Piano mixes with vocals with horns laced through them. It is a poetic landscape of sounds, perfection, and neither one a shadow to the other.
Shadow…shadow…sha…my heart stops…
I pick up a copy of yesterday’s New York Times that someone left on the table. It is opened to an article in the Health section about how Hong Kong finds more tainted eggs. I drink my coffee and watch people come and go and think about this strange narrative experience I am having. Eggs tainted with the chemical melamine that drops out of the butts of chickens and an audible thought standing behind me and within me.
I am not you. I am separate from you. I have my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. I am what I am becoming. I embrace loneliness. I am fluid motion and complete stillness. I need the light to live yet I am in utter darkness. I am not human. I am your shadow.
Darting up from my table I go to the men’s room. Splashing water on my face I think about all the times I jokingly wrote about the onset of schizophrenia. I stare at myself in the mirror questioning the validity of this occurrence. I laugh out loud, my heart beats heavily. Splash more cold water on my face, wash my hands with that pink soap that never gets soapy and dry myself with brown rough paper that has no absorbent worth to it. I stand looking at my face. Same stubble on my chin, same haircut, these are my clothes. Never could recognize my own face, nevertheless this is me.
Do you know what it feels like to be a rainbow in a ghost town? “No”, I reply quietly in my head. “Why do you ask?” Not sure. It seems symbolic. A perfect image. “Image for what?” I ask. You; your existence. “How much do you weigh?” I ask. That is the dumbest question; I am the absence of light. I am neither matter nor anti-matter. I do not exist in time, only in flow of motion can I have presence in this world. Why would you ask suggest a question? “Because you have been feeling heavy to me and I can feel myself dragging you around. My own shadow aches.
Rub my hands over my face, straighten my jacket and adjust my scarf around my neck. Three deep breaths and I exit the men’s room. Walk back to my table, finished the article on tainted eggs. The article states: “Illegal levels of melamine, the industrial chemical blamed for sickening hundreds of thousands of young Chinese children, six fatalities.” Why?
Rainbow in a ghost town, that’s why. Perfecting that art of doing something so beautifully or something that is completely wicked. That’s what you humans do with your shells. But you, my master, you take things in. You are a rainbow in a ghost town.
This is eerie. I get up and leave the coffeehouse. Walking down the street I think this is a different reality from normal life and it is standing next to me. My new reality is inescapable; I wish I would have seen a UFO, a ghost meeting Jesus or Buddha or something like that. The street traffic is crowded, the sun is bright, the wind is cold and I just had a conversation with my shadow. The shadow calls me “my master”. Hair raises on the back of my neck as I repeat the phrase to myself, “my master.
I knock into a pizza deliveryman on the sidewalk, stumble off the curb into traffic. Car horn blows; blue Pontiac. The driver gives me the finger. I wave apoplectically, he doesn’t seem to care. Think I’ll take the subway. No tokens in my pocket, buy a seven day trip ticket. I sit across from a high school-aged couple on the train. She is polished; a mature look reminding me of Gwyneth Paltrow. Long blond hair, large black bag, turtleneck sweater, short, plaid skirt with a getting-back-at-daddy look on her face. The boy has that look of growing up in a cul-de-sac community but wishes he was raised in “the hood”. He is too clean looking to pull off the style but I am sure the girl’s father hates him. They look like they’re in love.
No voice in my head. I sit alone on the train unnoticeable to anyone else around me. I think that I could probably die in this seat and nobody would notice until the train stopped running for the day. My body would most likely be found by a cleaning crew. Train stops, the light flickers twice and I get off at Jameson St. and 9th.
Walk two blocks down the street to my apartment. Six flights of stairs to my front door. Every time I walk up the steps I tell myself this is the cheapest gym membership. It’s a small, clean apartment. I don’t have much stuff. Some books, CD’s, one small closet of clothes, toiletries, an exercise mat and a small collection of cooking utensils. You don’t need much in the kitchen to cook a good meal. One sharp knife for chopping vegetables, a large cutting board, a deep frying pan and a small arsenal of oils; with all of this you can pretty much cook anything.
Still no voice. Maybe it is the onset of schizophrenia. Go to the fridge and get a bottle of beer. Drink that down and get a second one. Realized that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Twelve hours without food is too long for a man to go without eating. Bag of carrots, red peppers some onions. Mix that up with rice and chicken and that’s dinner. Feeling odd and not knowing what to do next, I flip through my mail while eating dinner. Junk mail, bills and a single Christmas card. Who remembered me? It’s from the real estate agent that I leased this apartment from. This can make you feel alone in the world; a single Christmas card from a real estate agent that you only met once. I am a walking ghost.
That’s why you can hear me. You can feel me. You sense your own shadow. Shadows are given no thought from the human mind, no connection to the soul. This is essential for our survival. If you become me, I will no longer exist. That leaves me with no purpose. This is killing me; literally killing me and I want to live, my master.
“Sorry” I say out loud, definitely the onset of schizophrenia, I think to myself. “Shadow voice in my head or whatever crazy thing that you are!” I scream out loud. “Where have you been? Why do you come and go?” I’ve been out in the ether doing good deeds. “Really?” No. You are killing me and in doing so are slowly dieing yourself. I will not be able to speak to you many more times. A life of hopeful longing to be noticed is your hell, my master. No longer a monkey nor yet to become an angel. You’re a rainbow in a ghost town. The voice stops abruptly. Not getting the last sounds of the word “town” out. Am I alive? Did the voice die? My heart beats…
Next, I go into the bathroom. The lights are too bright. Squinting, I brush my teeth. I am alive, I am not schizophrenic. I repeat this to myself as I brush. Music. I need music. I need the music to fill my head, no longer do I want to think. Finishing up in the bathroom I enter the bed room. Clean, empty room, gray bedspread, two books, a bible and a travel log on Paris sits on the nightstand. One lamp and an Ipod connected to stereo speakers. Scroll through the Ipod and decide on Herbie Hancock; the Joni Letters. I lie in bed, listen and breathe. This music is an ideal blend of instrumentation and words, both equally strong, supporting each other. Piano mixes with vocals with horns laced through them. It is a poetic landscape of sounds, perfection, and neither one a shadow to the other.
Shadow…shadow…sha…my heart stops…
Recommended Reading & Viewing
Writing a short story today. No time to blog so here are some blog post for you to enjoy.
We have met the enemy – Friedman & Liebert
Donna & James by Elizabeth Craig
Apocalypse Not by Stuart Davis
Yellow is crazy hot by Matthew Dallman
We have met the enemy – Friedman & Liebert
Donna & James by Elizabeth Craig
Apocalypse Not by Stuart Davis
Yellow is crazy hot by Matthew Dallman
Recommended Reading & Viewing
Writing a short story today. No time to blog so here are some blog post for you to enjoy.
We have met the enemy – Friedman & Liebert
Donna & James by Elizabeth Craig
Apocalypse Not by Stuart Davis
Yellow is crazy hot by Matthew Dallman
We have met the enemy – Friedman & Liebert
Donna & James by Elizabeth Craig
Apocalypse Not by Stuart Davis
Yellow is crazy hot by Matthew Dallman
Moment
Current Reading: Never Cry Jack by Kit Anderson
Current Music: Red Letter Year by Ani Difranco
Mood: Sleepy, yes it a mood
Sounds: Rain
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 43 degrees with rain
Thoughts: Stuck between creation and evolution, no longer am I a monkey nor I have yet to become an angle.
Current Music: Red Letter Year by Ani Difranco
Mood: Sleepy, yes it a mood
Sounds: Rain
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 43 degrees with rain
Thoughts: Stuck between creation and evolution, no longer am I a monkey nor I have yet to become an angle.
Moment
Current Reading: Never Cry Jack by Kit Anderson
Current Music: Red Letter Year by Ani Difranco
Mood: Sleepy, yes it a mood
Sounds: Rain
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 43 degrees with rain
Thoughts: Stuck between creation and evolution, no longer am I a monkey nor I have yet to become an angle.
Current Music: Red Letter Year by Ani Difranco
Mood: Sleepy, yes it a mood
Sounds: Rain
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 43 degrees with rain
Thoughts: Stuck between creation and evolution, no longer am I a monkey nor I have yet to become an angle.
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 28 sec (28)
Aperture: f/29
Focal Length: 46 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 28 sec (28)
Aperture: f/29
Focal Length: 46 mm
ISO Speed: 100
God Damn It, You've Got To Be Kind.
I have been sitting with these thoughts for a week. Here goes.
A Senator is seated to my left, a legislator is sitting to my right and a novelist sits across the table from me. I am drinking bottled beer, the Senator is drinking black coffee and the legislator is having a gin and tonic, the novelist does not have a drink although he is jotting something down in his moleskin journal. We share a dinner of salmon, chicken and green beans. The conversation covers “where are you from”, “how did you get here”, “what camera should I buy?” and “how do you know when you have a balanced and educated understanding of the what-nots of this world?”
Earlier in the day my wife and I had the opportunity to spend time with the girls of San Mar Children’s home. “I don’t know what each of their stories are, but I can tell you that the resilience I saw in each of their eyes was a profound lesson in love and forgiveness.” You can read the rest of my wife’s thoughts on our day here; she was the one that gave us the opportunity.
When leaving the home and saying our goodbyes, one girl stopped us and said, “thank you for really showing up.” The word “really” broke my heart and, at the same time, made me a better person. Kurt Vonnegut said, “There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind.” As I write this there is a crowd in California that is picketing and protesting the legalization of gay marriage. One thousand pages in the bible on serving the poor and less fortunate and they pick the 4 vague sentences to stage a protest. Wonder how many homeless people they passed on their way to the protest.
Sitting at dinner I was able to ask the Senator all my questions about the political state of affairs. He was kind, politically correct and respectful with his responses. He answered, “No, I do not know Obama or McCain”, “Yes, I feel the same about Palin”, “Things are bad but the financial environment of 1991 was worse”, “People are good on both sides of the aisle, most of them”, “That’s never been asked of me.” At this point I am screaming quietly in my head.
The legislator makes remarks on the 1960’s, peace core and why she became an activist for the disabled. They serve us pie. I have pumpkin, it was good. The legislator looks like an earthy Meryl Streep to me. She tells me, “the Senator and I don’t share the same views but I like him.” I lean over to her and say, “I also chose hope.” We giggled. Then she proceeds to tell me about the best grass fed steak she ever had. “The beef was grown in Kansas, flat land not many trees, but they can place a tasty steak on your dinner plate. Plus no vegetable; just steak and a large potato.” I’m stuck on the word “grown”. At least it was grass fed. She was kind to me. Her husband leans over to me and tells me that he loves the bridges of Pittsburgh. “I have a print in my kitchen.” The legislator said, “that’s Pittsburgh? I thought it was somewhere in England or France.” I hope she still enjoys the print. I talk about my previous evening trying to photograph the not-so-light-up-night in Pittsburgh.
The Senator chimes in, “John, on your last question, I was giving it some thought. It works the same way for us in the Senate as it does for you. We try our best with the information we have.”
That’s it… that is how our Government works. I look up at the novelist, he seems uninterested in the conversation. He likes pie – he is on his third slice of apple.
This is the thought that has been ringing in my head for a week:
We try our best with the information we have - God damn it, you've got to be kind. Really.
A Senator is seated to my left, a legislator is sitting to my right and a novelist sits across the table from me. I am drinking bottled beer, the Senator is drinking black coffee and the legislator is having a gin and tonic, the novelist does not have a drink although he is jotting something down in his moleskin journal. We share a dinner of salmon, chicken and green beans. The conversation covers “where are you from”, “how did you get here”, “what camera should I buy?” and “how do you know when you have a balanced and educated understanding of the what-nots of this world?”
Earlier in the day my wife and I had the opportunity to spend time with the girls of San Mar Children’s home. “I don’t know what each of their stories are, but I can tell you that the resilience I saw in each of their eyes was a profound lesson in love and forgiveness.” You can read the rest of my wife’s thoughts on our day here; she was the one that gave us the opportunity.
When leaving the home and saying our goodbyes, one girl stopped us and said, “thank you for really showing up.” The word “really” broke my heart and, at the same time, made me a better person. Kurt Vonnegut said, “There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind.” As I write this there is a crowd in California that is picketing and protesting the legalization of gay marriage. One thousand pages in the bible on serving the poor and less fortunate and they pick the 4 vague sentences to stage a protest. Wonder how many homeless people they passed on their way to the protest.
Sitting at dinner I was able to ask the Senator all my questions about the political state of affairs. He was kind, politically correct and respectful with his responses. He answered, “No, I do not know Obama or McCain”, “Yes, I feel the same about Palin”, “Things are bad but the financial environment of 1991 was worse”, “People are good on both sides of the aisle, most of them”, “That’s never been asked of me.” At this point I am screaming quietly in my head.
The legislator makes remarks on the 1960’s, peace core and why she became an activist for the disabled. They serve us pie. I have pumpkin, it was good. The legislator looks like an earthy Meryl Streep to me. She tells me, “the Senator and I don’t share the same views but I like him.” I lean over to her and say, “I also chose hope.” We giggled. Then she proceeds to tell me about the best grass fed steak she ever had. “The beef was grown in Kansas, flat land not many trees, but they can place a tasty steak on your dinner plate. Plus no vegetable; just steak and a large potato.” I’m stuck on the word “grown”. At least it was grass fed. She was kind to me. Her husband leans over to me and tells me that he loves the bridges of Pittsburgh. “I have a print in my kitchen.” The legislator said, “that’s Pittsburgh? I thought it was somewhere in England or France.” I hope she still enjoys the print. I talk about my previous evening trying to photograph the not-so-light-up-night in Pittsburgh.
The Senator chimes in, “John, on your last question, I was giving it some thought. It works the same way for us in the Senate as it does for you. We try our best with the information we have.”
That’s it… that is how our Government works. I look up at the novelist, he seems uninterested in the conversation. He likes pie – he is on his third slice of apple.
This is the thought that has been ringing in my head for a week:
We try our best with the information we have - God damn it, you've got to be kind. Really.
God Damn It, You've Got To Be Kind.
I have been sitting with these thoughts for a week. Here goes.
A Senator is seated to my left, a legislator is sitting to my right and a novelist sits across the table from me. I am drinking bottled beer, the Senator is drinking black coffee and the legislator is having a gin and tonic, the novelist does not have a drink although he is jotting something down in his moleskin journal. We share a dinner of salmon, chicken and green beans. The conversation covers “where are you from”, “how did you get here”, “what camera should I buy?” and “how do you know when you have a balanced and educated understanding of the what-nots of this world?”
Earlier in the day my wife and I had the opportunity to spend time with the girls of San Mar Children’s home. “I don’t know what each of their stories are, but I can tell you that the resilience I saw in each of their eyes was a profound lesson in love and forgiveness.” You can read the rest of my wife’s thoughts on our day here; she was the one that gave us the opportunity.
When leaving the home and saying our goodbyes, one girl stopped us and said, “thank you for really showing up.” The word “really” broke my heart and, at the same time, made me a better person. Kurt Vonnegut said, “There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind.” As I write this there is a crowd in California that is picketing and protesting the legalization of gay marriage. One thousand pages in the bible on serving the poor and less fortunate and they pick the 4 vague sentences to stage a protest. Wonder how many homeless people they passed on their way to the protest.
Sitting at dinner I was able to ask the Senator all my questions about the political state of affairs. He was kind, politically correct and respectful with his responses. He answered, “No, I do not know Obama or McCain”, “Yes, I feel the same about Palin”, “Things are bad but the financial environment of 1991 was worse”, “People are good on both sides of the aisle, most of them”, “That’s never been asked of me.” At this point I am screaming quietly in my head.
The legislator makes remarks on the 1960’s, peace core and why she became an activist for the disabled. They serve us pie. I have pumpkin, it was good. The legislator looks like an earthy Meryl Streep to me. She tells me, “the Senator and I don’t share the same views but I like him.” I lean over to her and say, “I also chose hope.” We giggled. Then she proceeds to tell me about the best grass fed steak she ever had. “The beef was grown in Kansas, flat land not many trees, but they can place a tasty steak on your dinner plate. Plus no vegetable; just steak and a large potato.” I’m stuck on the word “grown”. At least it was grass fed. She was kind to me. Her husband leans over to me and tells me that he loves the bridges of Pittsburgh. “I have a print in my kitchen.” The legislator said, “that’s Pittsburgh? I thought it was somewhere in England or France.” I hope she still enjoys the print. I talk about my previous evening trying to photograph the not-so-light-up-night in Pittsburgh.
The Senator chimes in, “John, on your last question, I was giving it some thought. It works the same way for us in the Senate as it does for you. We try our best with the information we have.”
That’s it… that is how our Government works. I look up at the novelist, he seems uninterested in the conversation. He likes pie – he is on his third slice of apple.
This is the thought that has been ringing in my head for a week:
We try our best with the information we have - God damn it, you've got to be kind. Really.
A Senator is seated to my left, a legislator is sitting to my right and a novelist sits across the table from me. I am drinking bottled beer, the Senator is drinking black coffee and the legislator is having a gin and tonic, the novelist does not have a drink although he is jotting something down in his moleskin journal. We share a dinner of salmon, chicken and green beans. The conversation covers “where are you from”, “how did you get here”, “what camera should I buy?” and “how do you know when you have a balanced and educated understanding of the what-nots of this world?”
Earlier in the day my wife and I had the opportunity to spend time with the girls of San Mar Children’s home. “I don’t know what each of their stories are, but I can tell you that the resilience I saw in each of their eyes was a profound lesson in love and forgiveness.” You can read the rest of my wife’s thoughts on our day here; she was the one that gave us the opportunity.
When leaving the home and saying our goodbyes, one girl stopped us and said, “thank you for really showing up.” The word “really” broke my heart and, at the same time, made me a better person. Kurt Vonnegut said, “There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind.” As I write this there is a crowd in California that is picketing and protesting the legalization of gay marriage. One thousand pages in the bible on serving the poor and less fortunate and they pick the 4 vague sentences to stage a protest. Wonder how many homeless people they passed on their way to the protest.
Sitting at dinner I was able to ask the Senator all my questions about the political state of affairs. He was kind, politically correct and respectful with his responses. He answered, “No, I do not know Obama or McCain”, “Yes, I feel the same about Palin”, “Things are bad but the financial environment of 1991 was worse”, “People are good on both sides of the aisle, most of them”, “That’s never been asked of me.” At this point I am screaming quietly in my head.
The legislator makes remarks on the 1960’s, peace core and why she became an activist for the disabled. They serve us pie. I have pumpkin, it was good. The legislator looks like an earthy Meryl Streep to me. She tells me, “the Senator and I don’t share the same views but I like him.” I lean over to her and say, “I also chose hope.” We giggled. Then she proceeds to tell me about the best grass fed steak she ever had. “The beef was grown in Kansas, flat land not many trees, but they can place a tasty steak on your dinner plate. Plus no vegetable; just steak and a large potato.” I’m stuck on the word “grown”. At least it was grass fed. She was kind to me. Her husband leans over to me and tells me that he loves the bridges of Pittsburgh. “I have a print in my kitchen.” The legislator said, “that’s Pittsburgh? I thought it was somewhere in England or France.” I hope she still enjoys the print. I talk about my previous evening trying to photograph the not-so-light-up-night in Pittsburgh.
The Senator chimes in, “John, on your last question, I was giving it some thought. It works the same way for us in the Senate as it does for you. We try our best with the information we have.”
That’s it… that is how our Government works. I look up at the novelist, he seems uninterested in the conversation. He likes pie – he is on his third slice of apple.
This is the thought that has been ringing in my head for a week:
We try our best with the information we have - God damn it, you've got to be kind. Really.
Moment
Current Reading: Fast Track Photography by Dane Sanders
Current Music: A Different Kind of Wild by Bill Deasy
Mood: Happy
Sounds: Printer
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 32 degrees light snow
Thoughts: Music is Good for You – Link from Integration Journal
Current Music: A Different Kind of Wild by Bill Deasy
Mood: Happy
Sounds: Printer
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 32 degrees light snow
Thoughts: Music is Good for You – Link from Integration Journal
Moment
Current Reading: Fast Track Photography by Dane Sanders
Current Music: A Different Kind of Wild by Bill Deasy
Mood: Happy
Sounds: Printer
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 32 degrees light snow
Thoughts: Music is Good for You – Link from Integration Journal
Current Music: A Different Kind of Wild by Bill Deasy
Mood: Happy
Sounds: Printer
Smells: Coffee
Temperature: 32 degrees light snow
Thoughts: Music is Good for You – Link from Integration Journal
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 50 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 50 mm
ISO Speed: 100
I’m Number 51, AGAIN
I’m angry, it happened again…fifth year in a row; I’m number 51. People magazine just listed 2008’s fifty sexiest men alive. They never print, publish, promote or publicize number 51. Just an Oh-So-Close e-mail, yet again. Then I noticed that most of the men are members of the cult (oops) club (oops) church of Scientology, check out this list. At this point I can no longer stand being number 51. As of this moment I dedicate my ego and all my good-lookingness to the cult/club/church of Scientology. Move over Oprah, I’m jumping on your sofa.
Good reasons to become a Sciencetologist:
- They don’t go to war
- They only accept beautiful people
- You become automatically rich through osmosis or by the company you keep, or something like that.
- Tax exempt status – that’s why they only accept the rich
- Jenna Elfman (she’s pretty)
- Done the Christian/ Buddhist thing: Service to others, practice forgiveness, mindful of my actions, and I suffered. That is so two thousand year ago.
- Get to be immortal. Come on, that’s just cool.
- Story of Xenu is better than Star Wars.
- Sciencetologist lawyers kick ass
- South Park dedicated a full episode to satirizing Scientology – this only happens to famous and successful people. When’s the last time anybody satirized the Presbyterians?
- If Kurt Vonnegut would have conceived the idea of Scientology instead of L. Ron Hubbard nobody would have a problem with it.
Good reasons to become a Sciencetologist:
- They don’t go to war
- They only accept beautiful people
- You become automatically rich through osmosis or by the company you keep, or something like that.
- Tax exempt status – that’s why they only accept the rich
- Jenna Elfman (she’s pretty)
- Done the Christian/ Buddhist thing: Service to others, practice forgiveness, mindful of my actions, and I suffered. That is so two thousand year ago.
- Get to be immortal. Come on, that’s just cool.
- Story of Xenu is better than Star Wars.
- Sciencetologist lawyers kick ass
- South Park dedicated a full episode to satirizing Scientology – this only happens to famous and successful people. When’s the last time anybody satirized the Presbyterians?
- If Kurt Vonnegut would have conceived the idea of Scientology instead of L. Ron Hubbard nobody would have a problem with it.
I’m Number 51, AGAIN
I’m angry, it happened again…fifth year in a row; I’m number 51. People magazine just listed 2008’s fifty sexiest men alive. They never print, publish, promote or publicize number 51. Just an Oh-So-Close e-mail, yet again. Then I noticed that most of the men are members of the cult (oops) club (oops) church of Scientology, check out this list. At this point I can no longer stand being number 51. As of this moment I dedicate my ego and all my good-lookingness to the cult/club/church of Scientology. Move over Oprah, I’m jumping on your sofa.
Good reasons to become a Sciencetologist:
- They don’t go to war
- They only accept beautiful people
- You become automatically rich through osmosis or by the company you keep, or something like that.
- Tax exempt status – that’s why they only accept the rich
- Jenna Elfman (she’s pretty)
- Done the Christian/ Buddhist thing: Service to others, practice forgiveness, mindful of my actions, and I suffered. That is so two thousand year ago.
- Get to be immortal. Come on, that’s just cool.
- Story of Xenu is better than Star Wars.
- Sciencetologist lawyers kick ass
- South Park dedicated a full episode to satirizing Scientology – this only happens to famous and successful people. When’s the last time anybody satirized the Presbyterians?
- If Kurt Vonnegut would have conceived the idea of Scientology instead of L. Ron Hubbard nobody would have a problem with it.
Good reasons to become a Sciencetologist:
- They don’t go to war
- They only accept beautiful people
- You become automatically rich through osmosis or by the company you keep, or something like that.
- Tax exempt status – that’s why they only accept the rich
- Jenna Elfman (she’s pretty)
- Done the Christian/ Buddhist thing: Service to others, practice forgiveness, mindful of my actions, and I suffered. That is so two thousand year ago.
- Get to be immortal. Come on, that’s just cool.
- Story of Xenu is better than Star Wars.
- Sciencetologist lawyers kick ass
- South Park dedicated a full episode to satirizing Scientology – this only happens to famous and successful people. When’s the last time anybody satirized the Presbyterians?
- If Kurt Vonnegut would have conceived the idea of Scientology instead of L. Ron Hubbard nobody would have a problem with it.
Snow
First snow, autumn fall colors disappeared. Trees hibernate, beautiful and haunting standing strong as soldiers. Blue clouds lined with a pink hue fill the horizon. I am standing at a window resting on the wood seal frame looking out on the season. White-blanketed grass, cars dusted over and I listen to music as coffee brews.
Snow
First snow, autumn fall colors disappeared. Trees hibernate, beautiful and haunting standing strong as soldiers. Blue clouds lined with a pink hue fill the horizon. I am standing at a window resting on the wood seal frame looking out on the season. White-blanketed grass, cars dusted over and I listen to music as coffee brews.
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D70
Exposure: 0.005 sec (1/200)
Aperture: f/4
Focal Length: 29 mm
ISO Speed: 1000
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D70
Exposure: 0.005 sec (1/200)
Aperture: f/4
Focal Length: 29 mm
ISO Speed: 1000
Completed – Peak Conditioning Project
Starting weight 171lbs (goal weight 165lbs)
Current weight 162lbs
Height 5’9
BMI 23%
After 90 days I can say that I am in the best peak condition of my life. This is what I learned. I have an enhanced sense of personal responsibility to stay in balance within mind, body, and spirit. Corinthians 6:19, “Your body is a temple.” This passage holds true. A temple on the outside, stand tall and strong on the inside it is a place of quiet prayer and meditation.
Week nine I wrote,
"At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. "
That’s it; the lesson learned is balancing the internal and the external of your body.
Lastly, what I learned is that it will take another 90 days for my ego to deflate. So if you see me flexing in a mirror or checking out my own reflection it’s ok to giggle….my wife does.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
P.S. to read my previous posting on my PCP click here
Current weight 162lbs
Height 5’9
BMI 23%
After 90 days I can say that I am in the best peak condition of my life. This is what I learned. I have an enhanced sense of personal responsibility to stay in balance within mind, body, and spirit. Corinthians 6:19, “Your body is a temple.” This passage holds true. A temple on the outside, stand tall and strong on the inside it is a place of quiet prayer and meditation.
Week nine I wrote,
"At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. "
That’s it; the lesson learned is balancing the internal and the external of your body.
Lastly, what I learned is that it will take another 90 days for my ego to deflate. So if you see me flexing in a mirror or checking out my own reflection it’s ok to giggle….my wife does.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
P.S. to read my previous posting on my PCP click here
Completed – Peak Conditioning Project
Starting weight 171lbs (goal weight 165lbs)
Current weight 162lbs
Height 5’9
BMI 23%
After 90 days I can say that I am in the best peak condition of my life. This is what I learned. I have an enhanced sense of personal responsibility to stay in balance within mind, body, and spirit. Corinthians 6:19, “Your body is a temple.” This passage holds true. A temple on the outside, stand tall and strong on the inside it is a place of quiet prayer and meditation.
Week nine I wrote,
"At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. "
That’s it; the lesson learned is balancing the internal and the external of your body.
Lastly, what I learned is that it will take another 90 days for my ego to deflate. So if you see me flexing in a mirror or checking out my own reflection it’s ok to giggle….my wife does.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
P.S. to read my previous posting on my PCP click here
Current weight 162lbs
Height 5’9
BMI 23%
After 90 days I can say that I am in the best peak condition of my life. This is what I learned. I have an enhanced sense of personal responsibility to stay in balance within mind, body, and spirit. Corinthians 6:19, “Your body is a temple.” This passage holds true. A temple on the outside, stand tall and strong on the inside it is a place of quiet prayer and meditation.
Week nine I wrote,
"At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. "
That’s it; the lesson learned is balancing the internal and the external of your body.
Lastly, what I learned is that it will take another 90 days for my ego to deflate. So if you see me flexing in a mirror or checking out my own reflection it’s ok to giggle….my wife does.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
P.S. to read my previous posting on my PCP click here
5 Question Interview Series with Peter Kater
Peter Kater is a Multi-Platinum Selling pianist-composer, Kater, has received 5 Grammy nominations in the last 5 years and has scored over 100 television programs and films including 11 Off and On-Broadway plays. He is also a proud recipient of the prestigious Environmental Leadership Award from the United Nations.
Kater graciously agreed to take part in my ongoing “5 Question Interview Series”
How long have you had an interest in healing music?
I think since I was a teenager I was attracted to playing music that simply made me feel "good". There was a lot of family stress, illness and death around me and suddenly my music veered from Rock and Top 40 to my own improvisations. And in playing these improvisations I felt I was somehow helping to bring myself into a greater balance and deeper peace.
What is healing music and methods for stimulating healing?
There are many theories around what healing music is. I've read many and studied a few. But it's my belief that the most poignant and powerful healing music comes when the composer or performer (in this case, me) is expressing from a deep place of healing, presence and peace. There has to be a huge degree of acceptance and inclusion energetically. The mind needs to take a back seat and allow what's "essential" to emerge. In a sense, one must access the "divine" from within and communicate it thru one's instrument.
What was the “click” (or) “it” moment of your life that you knew that healing music was a passion that you needed to explore and develop?
I never had that "click" or moment. I've always had a sense that what I do naturally and easily is in many ways my strongest and most unique expression. Even though I've explored and will continue to explore other forms of music and sound, my love for music that heals and brings peace to my Self and others will always be where I return to.
What inspires your creative process to write music for the sole purpose of healing? Better question yet, how do you know when music develops into healing music?
There's a certain kind of "listening" that's essential to creating what I would call "healing"music. I've always said that music is not really a "Creative" process. It's a "Receptive" process. People that pride themselves in being Creative are often coming from their ego and are trying to take credit for what naturally exists in all the Universe . . . Creation. Every moment of life and every aspect of life is miracle of creation. There is no linear or tangible explanation for how all this exists and why. Life, in itself is the ultimate creative act. And that includes every moment, circumstance, person and living thing. And since everything is alive you don't have to look very far for inspiration. I don't try and write music for the sole purpose of healing. I allow myself to be a vehicle for the expression of what's "true" in any given moment. And what's "true" is everything, not just the pretty stuff. But all life is an expression of light and dark, happiness and sorrow, birth and death. To deny one is to deny the other. One needs to embrace all of it to become whole.
Kater graciously agreed to take part in my ongoing “5 Question Interview Series”
How long have you had an interest in healing music?
I think since I was a teenager I was attracted to playing music that simply made me feel "good". There was a lot of family stress, illness and death around me and suddenly my music veered from Rock and Top 40 to my own improvisations. And in playing these improvisations I felt I was somehow helping to bring myself into a greater balance and deeper peace.
What is healing music and methods for stimulating healing?
There are many theories around what healing music is. I've read many and studied a few. But it's my belief that the most poignant and powerful healing music comes when the composer or performer (in this case, me) is expressing from a deep place of healing, presence and peace. There has to be a huge degree of acceptance and inclusion energetically. The mind needs to take a back seat and allow what's "essential" to emerge. In a sense, one must access the "divine" from within and communicate it thru one's instrument.
What was the “click” (or) “it” moment of your life that you knew that healing music was a passion that you needed to explore and develop?
I never had that "click" or moment. I've always had a sense that what I do naturally and easily is in many ways my strongest and most unique expression. Even though I've explored and will continue to explore other forms of music and sound, my love for music that heals and brings peace to my Self and others will always be where I return to.
What inspires your creative process to write music for the sole purpose of healing? Better question yet, how do you know when music develops into healing music?
There's a certain kind of "listening" that's essential to creating what I would call "healing"music. I've always said that music is not really a "Creative" process. It's a "Receptive" process. People that pride themselves in being Creative are often coming from their ego and are trying to take credit for what naturally exists in all the Universe . . . Creation. Every moment of life and every aspect of life is miracle of creation. There is no linear or tangible explanation for how all this exists and why. Life, in itself is the ultimate creative act. And that includes every moment, circumstance, person and living thing. And since everything is alive you don't have to look very far for inspiration. I don't try and write music for the sole purpose of healing. I allow myself to be a vehicle for the expression of what's "true" in any given moment. And what's "true" is everything, not just the pretty stuff. But all life is an expression of light and dark, happiness and sorrow, birth and death. To deny one is to deny the other. One needs to embrace all of it to become whole.
Your current collaboration CD: “In a Dream” with Dominic Miller is transcendental music. It has quickly become one of my all time favorites. Do you think that you and Miller will have any future partnerships?
I truly hope that Dominic and I will do more music together. And I think we will. We have a synergy together that I think is very beautiful and interesting.
***Bonus Question***
I truly hope that Dominic and I will do more music together. And I think we will. We have a synergy together that I think is very beautiful and interesting.
***Bonus Question***
How does a guy who is born in Germany and raised in New Jersey develop a passion for Native American music, which led to winning United Nations Environment Leadership Award?
I guess one step at time.
I guess one step at time.
5 Question Interview Series with Peter Kater
Peter Kater is a Multi-Platinum Selling pianist-composer, Kater, has received 5 Grammy nominations in the last 5 years and has scored over 100 television programs and films including 11 Off and On-Broadway plays. He is also a proud recipient of the prestigious Environmental Leadership Award from the United Nations.
Kater graciously agreed to take part in my ongoing “5 Question Interview Series”
How long have you had an interest in healing music?
I think since I was a teenager I was attracted to playing music that simply made me feel "good". There was a lot of family stress, illness and death around me and suddenly my music veered from Rock and Top 40 to my own improvisations. And in playing these improvisations I felt I was somehow helping to bring myself into a greater balance and deeper peace.
What is healing music and methods for stimulating healing?
There are many theories around what healing music is. I've read many and studied a few. But it's my belief that the most poignant and powerful healing music comes when the composer or performer (in this case, me) is expressing from a deep place of healing, presence and peace. There has to be a huge degree of acceptance and inclusion energetically. The mind needs to take a back seat and allow what's "essential" to emerge. In a sense, one must access the "divine" from within and communicate it thru one's instrument.
What was the “click” (or) “it” moment of your life that you knew that healing music was a passion that you needed to explore and develop?
I never had that "click" or moment. I've always had a sense that what I do naturally and easily is in many ways my strongest and most unique expression. Even though I've explored and will continue to explore other forms of music and sound, my love for music that heals and brings peace to my Self and others will always be where I return to.
What inspires your creative process to write music for the sole purpose of healing? Better question yet, how do you know when music develops into healing music?
There's a certain kind of "listening" that's essential to creating what I would call "healing"music. I've always said that music is not really a "Creative" process. It's a "Receptive" process. People that pride themselves in being Creative are often coming from their ego and are trying to take credit for what naturally exists in all the Universe . . . Creation. Every moment of life and every aspect of life is miracle of creation. There is no linear or tangible explanation for how all this exists and why. Life, in itself is the ultimate creative act. And that includes every moment, circumstance, person and living thing. And since everything is alive you don't have to look very far for inspiration. I don't try and write music for the sole purpose of healing. I allow myself to be a vehicle for the expression of what's "true" in any given moment. And what's "true" is everything, not just the pretty stuff. But all life is an expression of light and dark, happiness and sorrow, birth and death. To deny one is to deny the other. One needs to embrace all of it to become whole.
Kater graciously agreed to take part in my ongoing “5 Question Interview Series”
How long have you had an interest in healing music?
I think since I was a teenager I was attracted to playing music that simply made me feel "good". There was a lot of family stress, illness and death around me and suddenly my music veered from Rock and Top 40 to my own improvisations. And in playing these improvisations I felt I was somehow helping to bring myself into a greater balance and deeper peace.
What is healing music and methods for stimulating healing?
There are many theories around what healing music is. I've read many and studied a few. But it's my belief that the most poignant and powerful healing music comes when the composer or performer (in this case, me) is expressing from a deep place of healing, presence and peace. There has to be a huge degree of acceptance and inclusion energetically. The mind needs to take a back seat and allow what's "essential" to emerge. In a sense, one must access the "divine" from within and communicate it thru one's instrument.
What was the “click” (or) “it” moment of your life that you knew that healing music was a passion that you needed to explore and develop?
I never had that "click" or moment. I've always had a sense that what I do naturally and easily is in many ways my strongest and most unique expression. Even though I've explored and will continue to explore other forms of music and sound, my love for music that heals and brings peace to my Self and others will always be where I return to.
What inspires your creative process to write music for the sole purpose of healing? Better question yet, how do you know when music develops into healing music?
There's a certain kind of "listening" that's essential to creating what I would call "healing"music. I've always said that music is not really a "Creative" process. It's a "Receptive" process. People that pride themselves in being Creative are often coming from their ego and are trying to take credit for what naturally exists in all the Universe . . . Creation. Every moment of life and every aspect of life is miracle of creation. There is no linear or tangible explanation for how all this exists and why. Life, in itself is the ultimate creative act. And that includes every moment, circumstance, person and living thing. And since everything is alive you don't have to look very far for inspiration. I don't try and write music for the sole purpose of healing. I allow myself to be a vehicle for the expression of what's "true" in any given moment. And what's "true" is everything, not just the pretty stuff. But all life is an expression of light and dark, happiness and sorrow, birth and death. To deny one is to deny the other. One needs to embrace all of it to become whole.
Your current collaboration CD: “In a Dream” with Dominic Miller is transcendental music. It has quickly become one of my all time favorites. Do you think that you and Miller will have any future partnerships?
I truly hope that Dominic and I will do more music together. And I think we will. We have a synergy together that I think is very beautiful and interesting.
***Bonus Question***
I truly hope that Dominic and I will do more music together. And I think we will. We have a synergy together that I think is very beautiful and interesting.
***Bonus Question***
How does a guy who is born in Germany and raised in New Jersey develop a passion for Native American music, which led to winning United Nations Environment Leadership Award?
I guess one step at time.
I guess one step at time.
Moment
Current Reading: We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For by Alice Walker
Current Music: The Very Best of Echo & the Bunnymen
Mood: Existential
Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Temperature: 44 degrees
Thoughts: What if shadows could talk?
Current Music: The Very Best of Echo & the Bunnymen
Mood: Existential
Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Temperature: 44 degrees
Thoughts: What if shadows could talk?
Moment
Current Reading: We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For by Alice Walker
Current Music: The Very Best of Echo & the Bunnymen
Mood: Existential
Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Temperature: 44 degrees
Thoughts: What if shadows could talk?
Current Music: The Very Best of Echo & the Bunnymen
Mood: Existential
Sounds: Random noise
Smells: Coffee & apples
Temperature: 44 degrees
Thoughts: What if shadows could talk?
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 34 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 30 sec (30)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 34 mm
ISO Speed: 100
The World Must Be Ok
(48 hr of perspective)
3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.
7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.
Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.
7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.
8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.
11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.
11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.
6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.
12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.
3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.
8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).
Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.
10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.
11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.
1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this
3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.
3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.
7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.
Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.
7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.
8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.
11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.
11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.
6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.
12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.
3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.
8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).
Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.
10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.
11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.
1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this
3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.
The World Must Be Ok
(48 hr of perspective)
3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.
7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.
Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.
7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.
8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.
11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.
11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.
6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.
12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.
3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.
8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).
Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.
10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.
11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.
1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this
3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.
3pm Election Day November 4, 2008 – I voted for the first time. No long lines, no lines at all, no campaign supporters pushing pamphlets at me and no protesting crowds. Only two college kids guiding me through the election process. Not sure if I feel a sense of pride or disbelief that my vote will effect change positively.
7pm sitting in a bar waiting on election results. I ordered a draft beer. The bartender places the mug in front of me with an orange wedge on the brim of the glass and charges me $4.80. The patrons are talking about the NFL, pizza, and cheap gas prices and I just ordered a five-dollar beer. The world must be ok.
Twenty-one months of following this election, I just acted on my civic duty and I sit alone in a bar drinking overpriced draft beer. Watching the lives of other people I open my journal to write. Loud crash of breaking dishes from the back of the bar kitchen bring the crowd to a hush. Smiles, giggles and a sense of – glad I didn’t do that to bring life back into the clientele. The TV channel is turned from election coverage to college football reruns – the world must be ok.
7:30 pm I write a letter in my journal to my daughter. I title it “Life”, it’s a love letter of sorts with lessons that I hope to teach her. A little boy runs into the table at which I sit. He and his family are sitting across the room from me eating pizza. He asks me “watch you doing?” “Killing time”, I told him. He responded, “ok” then he ran back to his family and his pizza. Left the bar to pick up my wife. She was at a coffee house attending a meeting. I walk to the coffeehouse and order peppermint tea.
8pm voting polls close on the East coast and the first election results are in.
11:01 pm Barack Hussein Obama is our new president elect. “We the People”, the ancestors of the founding fathers of the constitution chose hope and change for our country. It feels good. The world must be ok.
11:30 pm I check on our sleeping daughter; so cute. She rocks herself gently from shoulder to shoulder when she is sleeping and wiggles her bum sometimes. I smile and try not to giggle aloud. I stand over her crib and I think about how she will never have to understand that the world she fell asleep in is not the world she will awake to. The world has lost enough, for this brief moment the veil has been lifted.
6am Wednesday the 5th woke to a new world. The TV reports that the world likes us again, even the French. The planet celebrates the U.S. president elect. Russia moves their military forces towards Poland. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev delivered an aggressive speech against the US.
12 noon, lunchtime, decide to listen to conservative Rush Limbaugh right wing radio (the day after the election) for the first time. I thought it would be fun. I read The New York Times, The Economist, I listen to independent local radio and I am a fan of Al Gore. Basically I am the poster boy for all things tagged liberal fascist. Personally I always thought of myself as a conservative in lifestyle and liberal in my judgment towards others. I pay my taxes and if you want to marry a man, woman, dog or tree I do not care. Truth be told, I care if it is my dog but that’s it. After taking in some of their views you can call me a tree hugging liberal fascist. Upon my death I will stand in front of my God and let her/him/it judge me. Rush Limbaugh is loud and angry – we’re a socialist country now, shouts through my speakers. It amazes me how devoted his audience is when his job title is “On Air Personality”. Journalism is dead and we can’t even blame Rupert Murdock.
3pm listened to the Sean Hannity conservative right wing radio show. Hannity is hoping for the resurrection of Ronald Regan. Based on how the world has treated the teachings of the last successful resurrection I hope Regan stays dead; let him go the way of Buddha, his teachings have not been as badly distorted. This is what I learned from a couple of hours of conservative “entertainment” radio – if you want to be a Christian Cowboy listen in. The world must be ok.
8pm attended a lecture at Heinz Hall in downtown Pittsburgh with my father. Not sure why I always refer to Pittsburgh as downtown. The lecture is given by Paul Rusesabagina, the humanitarian of Hotel Rwanda. 6am I awoke to hope, 8pm I am listening to a talk about the genocide of Rwanda, Africa. I sit and take note of the living history in the flesh standing in front of me talking about the power of words and peaceful dialogue (to understand Hotel Rwanda read this…).
Rusesabagina talks about disturbing observers; people who only scrutinize the events but cause no change. Media, United Nations, Foreign Governments; none of them are peacekeepers or peacemakers. The phrase “never again” becomes again and again and again throughout history. In our current time we had the Holocaust of the Jewish people in Germany, the genocide of Rwanda and Darfur in Africa.
10:30 pm Walk out of the lecture hall never more aware of the birthright I have due to the soil I was born upon. Citizen responsibility towards a global perspective on civility, equality and human rights needs to be held by all.
11:30 pm flipping through late night news I hear the blurb “there is no more right wing politics, there is no more left wing politics, there is only forward or backward politics.” I like that.
1pm Thursday 6th I start writing this
3pm I complete writing: the world must be ok.
Abstract, City Night and Ambient
My wife and I took a late nigh stroll in Pittsburgh by the river. Long exposures, tripod equals some fun. 
Abstract, City Night and Ambient
My wife and I took a late nigh stroll in Pittsburgh by the river. Long exposures, tripod equals some fun.
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1 sec (1)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1 sec (1)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Murakami Tribute (of sorts)
Sunday afternoon, finished reading “Norwegian Wood” by Murakami. This was the last novel of his that I had yet to read. I enjoyed it. Four years ago I was handed “Kafka on the Shore” from a friend of mine that suggested I read this strange piece of fiction. I liked it too. I read the novel over the Christmas holiday, which, at the same time, I happened to be sick. Sitting alone when the rest of the world was celebrating the holiday I read Murakami. I became a fan.
Nowadays I wait for the next work of his to be published. I feel like a Murakami character myself, longing in a quiet existence for the new work to be released.
Prepared a pot of black tea, ate almonds and apple slices waiting for my daughter to wake up. Felt like listening to some music…turned on the ipod, Miles Davis “Kind of Blue”, the phone rang.
Nowadays I wait for the next work of his to be published. I feel like a Murakami character myself, longing in a quiet existence for the new work to be released.
Prepared a pot of black tea, ate almonds and apple slices waiting for my daughter to wake up. Felt like listening to some music…turned on the ipod, Miles Davis “Kind of Blue”, the phone rang.
Murakami Tribute (of sorts)
Sunday afternoon, finished reading “Norwegian Wood” by Murakami. This was the last novel of his that I had yet to read. I enjoyed it. Four years ago I was handed “Kafka on the Shore” from a friend of mine that suggested I read this strange piece of fiction. I liked it too. I read the novel over the Christmas holiday, which, at the same time, I happened to be sick. Sitting alone when the rest of the world was celebrating the holiday I read Murakami. I became a fan.
Nowadays I wait for the next work of his to be published. I feel like a Murakami character myself, longing in a quiet existence for the new work to be released.
Prepared a pot of black tea, ate almonds and apple slices waiting for my daughter to wake up. Felt like listening to some music…turned on the ipod, Miles Davis “Kind of Blue”, the phone rang.
Nowadays I wait for the next work of his to be published. I feel like a Murakami character myself, longing in a quiet existence for the new work to be released.
Prepared a pot of black tea, ate almonds and apple slices waiting for my daughter to wake up. Felt like listening to some music…turned on the ipod, Miles Davis “Kind of Blue”, the phone rang.
I Need Your Help
Photography website & blogs that you can not live with out
Recently I lost my list of web/blog favorites that I use to research and educated myself on the ever on-goings of photography. In effort to rebuild my list I am asking you for your must have sites of interest. Please leave your favorites in the comments or e-mail me at Craig Photography (at) mac.com. After generating and reviewing the list I will post a blog entry to share will all of you.
Thanks ~ John
Recently I lost my list of web/blog favorites that I use to research and educated myself on the ever on-goings of photography. In effort to rebuild my list I am asking you for your must have sites of interest. Please leave your favorites in the comments or e-mail me at Craig Photography (at) mac.com. After generating and reviewing the list I will post a blog entry to share will all of you.
Thanks ~ John
I Need Your Help
Photography website & blogs that you can not live with out
Recently I lost my list of web/blog favorites that I use to research and educated myself on the ever on-goings of photography. In effort to rebuild my list I am asking you for your must have sites of interest. Please leave your favorites in the comments or e-mail me at Craig Photography (at) mac.com. After generating and reviewing the list I will post a blog entry to share will all of you.
Thanks ~ John
Recently I lost my list of web/blog favorites that I use to research and educated myself on the ever on-goings of photography. In effort to rebuild my list I am asking you for your must have sites of interest. Please leave your favorites in the comments or e-mail me at Craig Photography (at) mac.com. After generating and reviewing the list I will post a blog entry to share will all of you.
Thanks ~ John
Becoming “Indifferent To”
Becoming “indifferent to” without the labor of study - In a life of limitless choices becoming “indifferent to” is a daunting task to avoid without the passion of practice and study. What I love about being a working artist is the work, not the end product.
The function, flow and wakening energy of creating something new is an addiction for most artists. When your art/skill/practice becomes your mistress, a culture of generosity can coexist with the ethics of profit (a.k.a. – making money by doing something you love.) It’s a point of ecstasy and a different reality when you enter this creative point of fulfillment.
Society values consumerism as a substitute for the creative process. It is easy to become “indifferent to” the whatnots that make up our lives. Understanding art, food, education, health and exercise has lost the resonance that drove our culture forward.
The function, flow and wakening energy of creating something new is an addiction for most artists. When your art/skill/practice becomes your mistress, a culture of generosity can coexist with the ethics of profit (a.k.a. – making money by doing something you love.) It’s a point of ecstasy and a different reality when you enter this creative point of fulfillment.
Society values consumerism as a substitute for the creative process. It is easy to become “indifferent to” the whatnots that make up our lives. Understanding art, food, education, health and exercise has lost the resonance that drove our culture forward.
Becoming “Indifferent To”
Becoming “indifferent to” without the labor of study - In a life of limitless choices becoming “indifferent to” is a daunting task to avoid without the passion of practice and study. What I love about being a working artist is the work, not the end product.
The function, flow and wakening energy of creating something new is an addiction for most artists. When your art/skill/practice becomes your mistress, a culture of generosity can coexist with the ethics of profit (a.k.a. – making money by doing something you love.) It’s a point of ecstasy and a different reality when you enter this creative point of fulfillment.
Society values consumerism as a substitute for the creative process. It is easy to become “indifferent to” the whatnots that make up our lives. Understanding art, food, education, health and exercise has lost the resonance that drove our culture forward.
The function, flow and wakening energy of creating something new is an addiction for most artists. When your art/skill/practice becomes your mistress, a culture of generosity can coexist with the ethics of profit (a.k.a. – making money by doing something you love.) It’s a point of ecstasy and a different reality when you enter this creative point of fulfillment.
Society values consumerism as a substitute for the creative process. It is easy to become “indifferent to” the whatnots that make up our lives. Understanding art, food, education, health and exercise has lost the resonance that drove our culture forward.
Moment
Current Reading: Remix by Lawrence Lessing
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Superb
Sounds: Wind & rain
Temperature: 38 degrees and rain
Thoughts: We are becoming indifferent “to”, without the labor of study.
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Superb
Sounds: Wind & rain
Temperature: 38 degrees and rain
Thoughts: We are becoming indifferent “to”, without the labor of study.
Moment
Current Reading: Remix by Lawrence Lessing
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Superb
Sounds: Wind & rain
Temperature: 38 degrees and rain
Thoughts: We are becoming indifferent “to”, without the labor of study.
Current Music: In a Dream by Peter Kater & Dominic Miller
Mood: Superb
Sounds: Wind & rain
Temperature: 38 degrees and rain
Thoughts: We are becoming indifferent “to”, without the labor of study.
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1.8 sec (9/5)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 35 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1.8 sec (9/5)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 35 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
On Photography –
Perceptions, light, click of the shutter and then you’re done, that’s how you create a photograph.
Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.
Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.
Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”
Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:
I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.
Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.
Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.
Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.
Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”
Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:
I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.
Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.
On Photography –
Perceptions, light, click of the shutter and then you’re done, that’s how you create a photograph.
Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.
Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.
Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”
Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:
I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.
Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.
Surrender to love without possessing. That is the first key to understanding what perception is. A photographer is not in control no matter what the subject or lack of subject is. A photographer is only a seer of light. The judgment of what you do with the click of the shutter is perception.
Second key is light: light is alive and stirring, light has sounds, scent, colors, patterns, textures, emotion and flow. To see the light you need to practice. Concede that you don’t know everything there is to know about light. Concede that you do not have to know everything about light. Know that you will have to be present and accountable for what you do with the light. Practice being a seer of the light. Be a poet of the light and enjoy this part.
Third key: be humble, uphold and a mind-set of gratitude. When people tell me that they are a photographer/artist my answer is always the same; already? My follow-up question is always “how do you know?”
Fourth Key: write your ideal moment. This is mine:
I raise the camera to my eye looking through the viewfinder. I go into a place of silence, a place of inner stillness. My environment could be filled with noise and rumblings of a passerby or I could be in the forest sitting next to a raging stream. At that instant of composition I go into stillness, simple mindfulness. My consciousness changes into the environment that surrounds me, moving into a moment of unearthing discovery. Looking to see the unseen to find the spark where God lives and art grows. Following that I move into the “yes of the blessing”, when I capture that sacred frame that lived only for that finite second of stillness. To conclude, I move into the point of celebrating the gift, that presence of grace that I alone was able to see, experience, document and share with the world.
Conclusion: the light is never the same twice, as it should be.
Peak Conditioning Project – Week 9
Day 67 of my PCP journey and this is what I learned (so far).
Starting Weight 171 lbs. Current Weight 164 lbs. Height 5’9
I enjoy the personal responsibility I have towards keeping this goal. Seeing my body change in the mirror is nice, but the real conviction to sustain this practice is the mind-body connection that I am undergoing. At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. Dropping limitations, focusing more on consciousness, which in turn has transcended my self-limitations.
Truth-be-told I am no super model (yet) but the knowledge of matching my exterior workout with the interior subtle body is the achievement that I will carry with me. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. All inclusive, this is integral and paramount to having a balanced mind-body-spirit connection.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
Starting Weight 171 lbs. Current Weight 164 lbs. Height 5’9
I enjoy the personal responsibility I have towards keeping this goal. Seeing my body change in the mirror is nice, but the real conviction to sustain this practice is the mind-body connection that I am undergoing. At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. Dropping limitations, focusing more on consciousness, which in turn has transcended my self-limitations.
Truth-be-told I am no super model (yet) but the knowledge of matching my exterior workout with the interior subtle body is the achievement that I will carry with me. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. All inclusive, this is integral and paramount to having a balanced mind-body-spirit connection.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
Peak Conditioning Project – Week 9
Day 67 of my PCP journey and this is what I learned (so far).
Starting Weight 171 lbs. Current Weight 164 lbs. Height 5’9
I enjoy the personal responsibility I have towards keeping this goal. Seeing my body change in the mirror is nice, but the real conviction to sustain this practice is the mind-body connection that I am undergoing. At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. Dropping limitations, focusing more on consciousness, which in turn has transcended my self-limitations.
Truth-be-told I am no super model (yet) but the knowledge of matching my exterior workout with the interior subtle body is the achievement that I will carry with me. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. All inclusive, this is integral and paramount to having a balanced mind-body-spirit connection.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
Starting Weight 171 lbs. Current Weight 164 lbs. Height 5’9
I enjoy the personal responsibility I have towards keeping this goal. Seeing my body change in the mirror is nice, but the real conviction to sustain this practice is the mind-body connection that I am undergoing. At this stage I am seeing my body as a thought process. There is no difference between physical and mental effort. Dropping limitations, focusing more on consciousness, which in turn has transcended my self-limitations.
Truth-be-told I am no super model (yet) but the knowledge of matching my exterior workout with the interior subtle body is the achievement that I will carry with me. Meditation and prayer are equal to but not greater than diet and physical strength training. All inclusive, this is integral and paramount to having a balanced mind-body-spirit connection.
For more information see: Peak Conditioning Project (be sure to check out the sidebar links)
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1.6 sec (8/5)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Photo of the Week
Camera: Nikon D200
Exposure: 1.6 sec (8/5)
Aperture: f/25
Focal Length: 70 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0 EV
Craig Photography by Elizabeth
Elizabeth, my wife, has started her own blog featuring what she does best as a photographer; weddings.
I have purposely shied away from writing about weddings since the conception of this blog. Sporadically, I would post a quick "thank you" or upload a photo from a wedding but the focus never seemed to be a fit for me.
Stepping to the pulpit as a voice, photographer, and the driving force behind Craig Photography is my wife. Please check out her new blog, leave a comment and spread the love as a passionate, kind and intelligent woman writes and posts photos about the subject she loves….
I have purposely shied away from writing about weddings since the conception of this blog. Sporadically, I would post a quick "thank you" or upload a photo from a wedding but the focus never seemed to be a fit for me.
Stepping to the pulpit as a voice, photographer, and the driving force behind Craig Photography is my wife. Please check out her new blog, leave a comment and spread the love as a passionate, kind and intelligent woman writes and posts photos about the subject she loves….
Craig Photography by Elizabeth
Elizabeth, my wife, has started her own blog featuring what she does best as a photographer; weddings.
I have purposely shied away from writing about weddings since the conception of this blog. Sporadically, I would post a quick "thank you" or upload a photo from a wedding but the focus never seemed to be a fit for me.
Stepping to the pulpit as a voice, photographer, and the driving force behind Craig Photography is my wife. Please check out her new blog, leave a comment and spread the love as a passionate, kind and intelligent woman writes and posts photos about the subject she loves….
I have purposely shied away from writing about weddings since the conception of this blog. Sporadically, I would post a quick "thank you" or upload a photo from a wedding but the focus never seemed to be a fit for me.
Stepping to the pulpit as a voice, photographer, and the driving force behind Craig Photography is my wife. Please check out her new blog, leave a comment and spread the love as a passionate, kind and intelligent woman writes and posts photos about the subject she loves….
To Know My Space
Bold dark coffee, re-mixed acoustic music, a fresh fire-roasted tomato and egg sandwich served on a whole wheat pita and my day begins.
Standing to my left working behind the counter are fiercely artistic independent employees of this local bistro. Like the type of employees that Starbucks used to hire before they became the McDee’s of coffee. Remember them? People with piercing tattoos, cultures of style, their own genre of music and demarcated values, which would shape the next generation of autonomous thought. I sit alone, sip my coffee, and write in my journal, take a bite of my breakfast. I feel inspired from this atmosphere.
This environment in which I sit is what life needs more of. Life, a simple concept, local economy set within local environment. In the truest definition of the word economy: management of one’s household. That is what this bistro represents. A connection to the life that is local to our own humanity.
This blog is read by a global audience (which I ‘m thankful for) but I often wonder how many people in a ten mile radius of where I write will read this rant?
To live a life which a person gets to experience the space of their own, not living a virtual hyper-linking existence. Economy of household, food from local soil, community of culture…this is what I want to become familiar with. To live within the ten mile radius from which I write this. To no longer just transport myself from edge to edge of this city, but to be within society of these ten miles.
To know my space, a simple concept – wisdom is bliss, ignorance is suffering.
Standing to my left working behind the counter are fiercely artistic independent employees of this local bistro. Like the type of employees that Starbucks used to hire before they became the McDee’s of coffee. Remember them? People with piercing tattoos, cultures of style, their own genre of music and demarcated values, which would shape the next generation of autonomous thought. I sit alone, sip my coffee, and write in my journal, take a bite of my breakfast. I feel inspired from this atmosphere.
This environment in which I sit is what life needs more of. Life, a simple concept, local economy set within local environment. In the truest definition of the word economy: management of one’s household. That is what this bistro represents. A connection to the life that is local to our own humanity.
This blog is read by a global audience (which I ‘m thankful for) but I often wonder how many people in a ten mile radius of where I write will read this rant?
To live a life which a person gets to experience the space of their own, not living a virtual hyper-linking existence. Economy of household, food from local soil, community of culture…this is what I want to become familiar with. To live within the ten mile radius from which I write this. To no longer just transport myself from edge to edge of this city, but to be within society of these ten miles.
To know my space, a simple concept – wisdom is bliss, ignorance is suffering.
To Know My Space
Bold dark coffee, re-mixed acoustic music, a fresh fire-roasted tomato and egg sandwich served on a whole wheat pita and my day begins.
Standing to my left working behind the counter are fiercely artistic independent employees of this local bistro. Like the type of employees that Starbucks used to hire before they became the McDee’s of coffee. Remember them? People with piercing tattoos, cultures of style, their own genre of music and demarcated values, which would shape the next generation of autonomous thought. I sit alone, sip my coffee, and write in my journal, take a bite of my breakfast. I feel inspired from this atmosphere.
This environment in which I sit is what life needs more of. Life, a simple concept, local economy set within local environment. In the truest definition of the word economy: management of one’s household. That is what this bistro represents. A connection to the life that is local to our own humanity.
This blog is read by a global audience (which I ‘m thankful for) but I often wonder how many people in a ten mile radius of where I write will read this rant?
To live a life which a person gets to experience the space of their own, not living a virtual hyper-linking existence. Economy of household, food from local soil, community of culture…this is what I want to become familiar with. To live within the ten mile radius from which I write this. To no longer just transport myself from edge to edge of this city, but to be within society of these ten miles.
To know my space, a simple concept – wisdom is bliss, ignorance is suffering.
Standing to my left working behind the counter are fiercely artistic independent employees of this local bistro. Like the type of employees that Starbucks used to hire before they became the McDee’s of coffee. Remember them? People with piercing tattoos, cultures of style, their own genre of music and demarcated values, which would shape the next generation of autonomous thought. I sit alone, sip my coffee, and write in my journal, take a bite of my breakfast. I feel inspired from this atmosphere.
This environment in which I sit is what life needs more of. Life, a simple concept, local economy set within local environment. In the truest definition of the word economy: management of one’s household. That is what this bistro represents. A connection to the life that is local to our own humanity.
This blog is read by a global audience (which I ‘m thankful for) but I often wonder how many people in a ten mile radius of where I write will read this rant?
To live a life which a person gets to experience the space of their own, not living a virtual hyper-linking existence. Economy of household, food from local soil, community of culture…this is what I want to become familiar with. To live within the ten mile radius from which I write this. To no longer just transport myself from edge to edge of this city, but to be within society of these ten miles.
To know my space, a simple concept – wisdom is bliss, ignorance is suffering.
Heather & Kevin (Elizabeth)
We had such a great time photographing Heather and Kevin's wedding this weekend. This couple was such a blast and up for anything!
We were fortunate to have this fantastic blue shed nearby the church.
Absolutely loved this red door.
Thought this was such a cute picture.
We were fortunate to have this fantastic blue shed nearby the church.
Absolutely loved this red door.
Thought this was such a cute picture.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
