Test new rollerball inside the labyrinth of love.
A sweltering day after long nights of torrential rain.
Muddy paths of reality.
Walk to mama-san.
Let's Eat.
Visualize the details.
Paint a picture with words.
One sharp line of description.
Visualize the story. Imagine.
Say what you mean.
Say what you see.
May(be)
open your third eye
see more
be more
direct perception
imagination
breath
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_eye
Metta.
seeing or watching or looking
blind people see
sharp diabolical edges of conversations
laying out splendid contorted plans
program expectancies
there is so much we do not
or will not or cannot know
where the inside is wrapped
in the outside
what people don't see is fascinating
like a land mine
below the surface of appearance
Greetings,
Many thanks to Kerstin Klein for featuring my photography work on her site: What is Red for you?
Kerstin is a graphic designer, movie lover and Moleskine aficionado in Berlin.
Have a look-see and send her your Red inspirations, your visually articulate Red creativity.
People should talk less and draw more.
Metta.
Greetings,
Tomorrow is the BIG new year day here in the kingdom. I am a shamanic camera. SNAP!
It is morning. The four Japanese tourists left on 125cc motorcycles for a day in the country. The man had long gray streaked hair and wiggled his bare feet when the authoritative diminutive black haired elf woman spoke. Food was more important to her than conversation. Nodding her head in agreement helped her chew.
They agreed on everything. This helps them avoid losing face. Losing face is the worst thing in the whole wide world in their culture.
Her female friend was bigger than an exploding astroid eating space at the speed of sound. The man talked with his mouth full of pliable eggs. Another woman hiding behind big dark sunglasses appeared. Everyone talked in staccato preparing plans to have a grand adventure along the river, through flat countryside filled with land mines far away from Tokyo.
An arisotocratic French couple sat in front of the lodge facing the river. He was 40. Fat and morose. He blamed everything on her and she cared less and less. He covered his mouth while speaking with her blocking his deep unconscious emotional secrets about guilt, desire and fear. She was 32, wore new brown Birkenstock sandals and picked her toenails out of boredom. Sex was their glue.
Wearing biased blinders they comfortably ignored small brown faced humans as they traveled through Asia.
A Swedish man in a safari hat with his conservative white checked shirt tucked into his pants asked another Nordic man how to work his digital camera. He ran across the street, took a photo of the river and mountain and ran back to show his friend. He was very excited.
Five bored tuk-tuk drivers sat across the street in their chariots of fire playing with their cell phones.
A foreigner's girlfriend had a simian face. He rescued her from a bar called The Heart of Darkness. She knew how to peel his banana. She deserted him. She ran to the market to find Boredom, her secret lover.
"I love Boredom. I can't get enough Boredom. It's a genetic necessity. Goodbye." He returned to The Heart of Darkness to find a temporary replacement. Life is a temporary condition.
Metta.
Sappho, the Greek lyric poet of Lesbos
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