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Tag Archives: photography

Paint It – A Poem

I paint to keep thoughts in

I paint to get words out

I write these vicious words

I write elaborate doubts

I photograph sharply

I photograph the cracks

I look to the future

Looks like there’s no turning back

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Bee

Aint got nothing on me

Cause I’m busy as a

And the colours are great

When things grow wild

Special people

And lonely child

And they aint got nuffin

Nuffin on me

Busy bumbling

Stingy bee.

 

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Cat Shit

I threw up from the smell of cat shit today. It’s always there, permeating the walls and climbing up the stairs. The stench that is. If the shit did that I would be packed and hitching a lift to Oklahoma by now. No, there was something about it today that made me retch. 

I hate cats. I would like to see them thrown over a fence. But my housemate, she loves the little hairballs. The shitting, fur ridden hairballs. So I end up with a fine coating of fluff and a bad attitude

But today, my god, I start it with my head down the drain and cold shivers and sweat up my spine. The little bastards. They just keep on looking while I scurry to my room and slam the door. 

This time it’s personal. 

 

(I don’t really hate cats this much, purely fiction, we have two, and most of the time they are awesome. But their shit did stink this morning)
 

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Photographic Memories

Being a photographer by heart I often end up looking at old photos more then the average clicker. I am always striving to save that image I took in 1993 of the goats, or the one in 2009 with the clouds over the sea. Sometimes it takes years to master a way of getting it right.

And of course with old photos come old memories, old flames, old friends… And it quite often takes years to master them too.

Some schools of thought feel it better to forget the past, to tear it up and throw it away. It smothers the brain in goo and wont let you grow. Other schools think you should grasp these times with both hands and never let go, or you will never learn from your mistakes.

I hated school, but does it make me wrong that I spend time going back to improve on the past?

Sometimes I draw horns on their heads. And willies.

And they’ll never know.

 
 

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