Fight
Flight
Feed
Freeze
Fornicate
*
Decisive Moment - ephemeral & spontaneous
Image represents the essence of the event itself
Work the scene
Use your intuition
Poetic
Lose yourself zone
Or creative flow state
The beauty of shape & form
A sense of simplicity expression
*
Yangon, Burma, 2015
Captain Tremendous Tremor here again with an update from the dead zone of grieving Chinese parents and crushed kiddies. One reality shows to go ya where Big Brother wraps barbwire around collapsed schools preventing parents from rescuing 10,000 kids. Educational corruption and fear thrives in a Brave New World.
If you want to play you must pay. We know so much and understand so little.
“I don’t understand a thing. Let’s take the day off and be creative,” sang Zeynep, “grab our cameras and tale a walk.”
Lucky and Zeynep passed through ephemeral effervescent worlds healing strangers. Free non-transferable luck was distributed to the needy.
Air simmered grilled meat aromas in a tomato culture as swirling silver musical spoons tickled tea glasses. Seven tonal notes create cosmic spectrums.
Inside Ulus alleys near Ankara laughing blacksmiths with calloused hands burnished musical metallic containers. Friends forged balconies, grates, bars and enclosures on anvils with Thor’s hammer. Gateless gates.
A coal man loaded bags of black on his back. A cornered Russian mistress wearing diamonds on the sole of her shoes waited for rich monkeys. A weaver loomed geometric silk ikat threads. A father taught his son the art of carpet repair. Needle led thread. Dusty stories coagulated and copulated on teakettles rusting atop Roman burial slabs covered in binary codes.
Expanding universal maps and NSA spy satellites collected data.
Total information awareness. TIA.
A peasant woman rolled dough to make ravioli-like manta pasta. A brown snail carrying its spiral galaxy home scaled green and white stones as waving antenna received signals from orbiting space-time Dream Sweepers.
Head scarfed Kurdish women inside stone path shadows near crumbling straw packed homes with broken wooden slat shutters sat in a sacred circle talking and rolling spicy grated seeds into grape leaves. Thick meaty fingers toiled. Heavy 24-caret golden bracelets reflecting scattered light led to undiscovered archaeological sites for sore eyes and a doctoral thesis on amalgamated dust.
“It’s true to report that everyone in Turkey is psychologically well adjusted, employed and content with their free life,” said Zeynep.
“You’re dreaming, delusional or telling real lies,” said Curious.
“Made in the shade, cool baby,” Lucky said. “This is to say with precise specific clarity they have the courage to speak, are never tired or afraid of falling in love and marrying someone outside their rigid social and/or economic class. They take amazing risks and suffer greatly with gratitude.
"Photographing the universe they rent time-share apartments in black holes sucking matter into a void. Some scribble or doodle unintelligible non-linear calligraphic ideograms. The majority disappears into phosphorescent television monitors where they absorb political blather and fake reality shows. Media buys them. They give up their consciousness and miss the show.”
In Bursa a father + two son trash collection team pushed a rolling cart loaded with discarded plastic computers past crumbling Ottoman buildings secured behind barbwire and rusty locks. Faded orange and blue pigments peeled a long lost hollow bell.
One freezing morning a grandmother staring at Ottoman history lifted her child’s child to an iron-grated window. Zeynep, an invisible street photographer present with empathy squeezed a soft shutter release. A whirling dervish painting with light in continuous mode murdered time.
“Freedom is essential in my life. I control the result with spontaneity. I develop real relationships and embrace extreme situations. I’m a photographer who needs to travel. If I stay in one place I go blind.”
“Our images communicate light, story, form, emotion, information and raw aesthetics,” said L.
“Emotional impact. Photography is more art and intuition than process and procedure,” said Z.
In a warm art studio overlooking a fast icy river flowing from Uludag a female flute player fingering emptiness explained melancholic notes. Her chattering laughing friend created marbled flower art using pinpoint dabs of color in a tray filled with hot wax.
A white seagull’s calibrated internal navigation system negotiated air currents with Winter Hawk, Lone Wolf, 101 Screaming Eagles and Labrys of raging violin string theories. Piano melodies and hard bop jazz improvisation reinforced Bamboo resilience.
A 19% waxing crescent moon danced with clouds. Moon remembered moons in Augustine Fujian. Eat moon cakes, said Curious. Feed dead ancestors with filial duty. A cruel heartless forgotten forgiving month heard sky welcome moon. Clouds explored atmospheric conditions.
HELP screamed in a literary agent’s slush pile.
Help was a bulldozer leveling forests to harvest trees outside Phonsavan, Laos.
Vietnam bought them all. One tree = $10,000.
Chopsticks chairs tables toothpicks. Wood you believe it?
Lighter than Winter Hawk’s feathers, HELP made fun of people.
Invisible howling soft wing energy manifested Beauty. Letters. Signs. Symbols. Metaphors. Observations. Unpleasant facts.
Help expressed brevity. How are you? I'm short, said Brevity.
Help played with variable truth-value meaning.
Help, a landmine in Cambodia below the surface of appearances in a luminous landscape reaching infinity weighted for sensation.
Trust your blazing intuition on a hot Saturday after walking along the green leafy river street. Walk down an old familiar broken unsaved path. You know left and right. Go forward. The road is made by walking.
Thread follows needle.
It's a small self-contained place. A room. A bed. Small kitchen.
She is in a plastic recliner watching tv. He has a feeling. It reminds him of the V woman in Kampot, with the massage sign. He stops. Steps past bamboo. She's maybe 30, lipstick, smile, good eyes. They talk money. She locks the glass door covered in old newspapers. Pulls a curtain closed. Kills the tv. She is not a chicken.
They shower. They scrub each other.
Her naked body is white. She caresses him and goes down slobbering, noisy, sensations - she moves so he can tongue her essence. He eats, saliva, lips, long luxurious. He discovers her need. She moves faster. Yes. Yes. Yes. She shudders, releases. He pulls her closer increasing the desire. She can't move, her passion flows again, again, until she's exhausted.
She turns over. He enters her, moaning her lips, her legs up, over his shoulders, her pain pleasure, joy - kissing his ears, cheeks, and he never comes. It's only about her pleasure.
She gives him mouthwash. He swishes it around and spits it out. They shower, dress and he hands her paper. She smiles. He leaves.
Tropical sun penetrates atmospheric conditions.
Trust your intuition. Yum-yum.
Everything has already happened.
You just need to experience it.
Everything you know is a lie.
Instinct.
Intuition.
Follow your bliss.
Mahliang, Myanmar
He broke down.
He returned to the bamboo shock shacks in deep rutted fields. Under cover. She wasn't there. Massage love called a sprite of 25 wearing flower ring on her finger. Silver with seven petals. Open. Consternation in his weak heart. He felt the sense of loss. Accept loss forever.
This symbol, how it transformed men's eyes into want.
This silent metallic flower only now, under a weak light as mama smiled through her destined crooked teeth, saying, Money.
Ling's 25-year young friend is beautiful, they all are, in an immature, petulant way.
Lack of confidence met betrayal.
Betrayal knew the stranger desired L.
The sensitivity of seeing the future with Awareness - Attention – Non-attachment.
Transference - emotions - an instinctual way of living objectively.
POWER
Masks - good or (d)evil?
- money or sex
- relationships
- life and death
- beauty and truth
The mask eats the face.
Maybe, she said, being a Player. Lying in her Ling heart. No intention. Intention is karma.
She got what she needed. Money. Traded her passion for cash. You can't put passion in the bank. You can't eat passion, it eats you. Grasping is suffering.
Solvent with clear heart. Heart had nothing to do with passion. Passion sang its joy describing her minor character.
The 3-act play ran five weeks in Luang Prabang.
On opening night her love opened like a flower. It rained flowers over a lonely man.
Mutual needs were satisfied.
Intuition augured well, laughing.
It's difficult to take any of this seriously.
Posture. Breath.
Plant heliotropes. Night aroma in gardens.
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