Author Archives: admin

348 … symbolic junk yards hanging around

348 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/06 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Well now, I been in jail when all my mail showed
That a man can’t give his address out to bad company
And now I stand here lookin’ at your yellow railroad
In the ruins of your balcony
Wond’ring where you are tonight, sweet Marie…………..Bdylan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv20TjFzwA8
To understand Dylan you have to twist some concepts around from the winds of symbolic junk yards hanging around in the corners of your mind. They’re in there just behind the veneer, the walls that keep us straight, that keep us from falling inside.
Image circa 80’s – model Georgina, an old friend somewhere down that velvet railroad line.
#bobdylan, #sweetmarie, #deadend

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Patrick Wey

346 … Rita Nagle and some dude

346 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/04 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Rita Nagle and some dude walkin along King Street KW both posing in their own way and if you look real close i had images on display in the Walper Hotel window. I recognize ‘Vern Amongst The Tire Men’ an image i titled of a shot of Vern Harper taken in Santa Fe and a part of an exhibition ‘Urban Elder’ at the KW Art Gallery of 1994. I think this shot was taken at the time of the Blues Festival moments a while ago. At any rate, it’s all over now, the streets are filled with snow i hear and people have all disappeared. My, it’s a crazy life.
#streetphoto, #kitchener, #potraits
Image circa late 90’s

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Patrick Wey

345 … This raven sits at the Tower of London.

345 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/03 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
This raven sits at the Tower of London. The myth goes back far and wide. The white mount of London will fall to foreign invasion if the ravens evacuate. The story goes that Winston Churchill a Druid ordered more ravens from Wales to the Tower in the second world war when he was told there was but one raven remaining.
I have my own long experiences with the raven and his sister the crow. This is what led me here to the Tower to smoke the sacred Pipe commissioned in dream, synchronicities and vision. I was living in Ireland at the time and had the opportunity to travel with a friend to London in her two cylinder Citron named Dotty. I hopped at the chance.
At a later time, perhaps, i will write about the experiences and visions that the spirit crow immersed upon my soul. Rosetta the crow whom adopted me, came to me a day after my mothers funeral in 95, which i performed and talked about our ancestors the germanic people and Odin and his two crows, one on each shoulder. The crows that led me to England from Ireland, the experience at the Tower and along the Wye river the home of my ancestors. Rosetta lived with me for a year. Numerous events involving her precluded what conclusions i had developed concerning another side, the other side, the spirit world, the unseen, the land of the dead. Imagination is a map, reality the terrain. To walk like a crow is to hobble across all roads in one.
Ravens in Celtic Mythology http://avesnoir.com/ravens-in-celtic-mythology/
#raven #crow #toweroflondon #celticmyth #patrickwey
Image circa late 90’s Tower of London

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Patrick Wey

344 … in a dream dreamt alone

344 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/02 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
He was a poet walking in a mystery full of himself like a stretched paragraph. The times tore thru his eyes cold and blunt with an air silently surrounding walls of statues and ghosts . In came dreams spread out like a magnet of prayer and sacrifice. Swam thru fantasies camouflaged in ritual and truth unlike most minds in the streets. He was a poet amongst himself, a dreamer sincere beaten by the scorn lying around. An Irish spirit, an Italian romance and German idealism pushing him towards some ridge amidst mountains of the arts. He never arrived, he never survived the split in the lowlands, tho he wove in and out of reality like a vine, possibly famous amongst the trees. Nothing became of his work. He was found, dead by a few and his words faded into the streets of modernism. This was a portrait of a young man as an artist in a world that didn’t exist, in times that bent beyond compare, in a dream dreamt alone.
Image circa Ireland 90’s

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Patrick Wey

343 … Girls School

343 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/01 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
A bunch of young girrrrls in a band called Girls School. Shot in a school room in Detroit for a magazine called HotWax……During the early 1980s the band was one of the relevant groups of the new wave of British heavy metal. I found them rather shy, innocent, but on stage they were ‘heavy’….. https://en.wikipedia.org/wi…/List_of_Girlschool_band_members ….. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYNWo93fPG8
The days when nothing much mattered as long as you got a sufficient image and had some fun. Some people think i must have had tooo much fun, but that ain’t so.
Image circa early 80’s

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Patrick Wey

338 … Uncle Alex, my fathers brother.

338 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/27 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
My Uncle Alex, my fathers brother. I never knew him well at all. He lived in Detroit. I never knew my father much at all, either. I have a son in Brazil. I don’t know him at all. Sometimes things happen for a reason, sometimes things don’t happen at all. Most of the time, things take much too long to get resolved. Issues that make no sense at all when you’re sitting near the end of the trail. Things that could have been, gone, things twisted around realities into dreams half done, love spread out across fields of regret and yet somehow everything is just fine just the way it is.
I would have liked to have got to know my Uncle and my father more. One moment around dusk i was sitting with my dad as we watched the sun sail into the horizon from a front porch at my sisters ( Trudy Schmidt) home where he spend his last few years in a little northern town called Douglas. For the first time in my life we felt all the questions had been answered about a past long gone and we shared a beautiful moment of father and son watching, listening, caring. My father always wished for a family reunion and in two weeks from that setting sun, Uncle Alex and his eight children were all showing up outside Kitchener for a get together with us eight kids and lots of off-spring. I had only met one cousin the summer before. That Saturday afternoon arrived and i was on my way to the country hall for the reunion. An urge to stop at a spot that meant a lot to me concerning my dead brother Bill situated on a bend in the road where we had moments together. I stopped and i felt that strange feeling when things are understood from a realm that is too mysterious, too sacred to attempt to describe. Possibly that was the moment my father spoke to me with the powers of deadly silence.
I arrived a little late and everyone was inside the hall. One cousin was outside and introduced himself to me. He looked like the one i had met the year before, an older brother i believe. He said, “you don’t know do you”.
Some how i then knew. My father had passed away on the way to the reunion that he worked so hard to make happen. It happened.
A few kilometers away in the back seat with a niece and my sister and her husband in the front travelling down a gravel road with a stretch of trees over hanging creating a shaded tunnel with light just waiting at the other end as if for enlightenment. My brother in law Joe mentioned the extraordinary beauty of that natural tunnel and my father with a long soft mystical voice answered, “yes” and died. No warning, no reason, work accomplished and time to go we suppose.
Perhaps, sadness makes one feel alive. Many melancholy moments in winds blowing free thru the softened memories so silently fading thru-out our minds makes it all worthwhile somehow as we drift in and out of each others hearts.
There is no revelation here, simply life and then death and a mellow smile.
Image circa 90’s

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Patrick Wey

337 … Jeffrey Beckner wandering around in the streets of NYC

337 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/26 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Jeffrey Beckner wandering around in the streets of NYC back in the 80’s. Jeff is the founder of Tunnel Inn in Kitchener back in the mid 60’s which brought in some of the best folky blues music in Southern Ontario at the time. A master graphics/idea man and always fighting for the little guy. I was living in NYC for a short while and Jeff came down for a visit. We investigated the streets and gallery’s to feed our inquisitive artistic minds for endless hours of discussions on subjects about anything and everything. In the early days Jeff had the best handle-bar-moustache in Canada.
Image circa late 80’s

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Patrick Wey

336 … Mohalk along the trail

336 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/25 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mohalk along the trail, outside the frame.
A unique composition with the subject dancing outside of a frame and a mysterious head protruding almost emanating from ancient air from stage left. These days you can manipulate any image and create whatever composition one wants. Somehow it holds more weight when you know that it is the way it appeared in 3D reality. I don’t know why, it’s a cultural thing but it is interesting when a great composition gets it right in real life. Nothing incredibly special but as Mick once said, ‘it’s just rock and roll but i like it’…..somehow that fits; tho i never really liked that song much i do get the understanding and as half the population is now realizing, ‘it’s just another image, but i did it and i like it’.
The old and the new, the red and the blue, the way it was, the way it is, changing.
Image circa early 90’s

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Patrick Wey

334 … my favourite youngest sister Rosalyn

334 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/23 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
It is possible that i have the right date for my favourite youngest sister Rosalyn Rose Hanna‘s birthday. She is the one on the left and my favourite oldest sister Barbara is on the right. Well if i got it right ‘happy birthday’ and hope you get many more; life is so much fun half the time, especially thru these golden rust ridden years. I know my childhood friend Helmut (Mike Klein) whom i just discovered got facebook hacked has his birthday today and after all these years i just learned that my sisters is the same day. You can see, i really keep track of ‘birthdays’. This is a nice shot of two of the four sisters, they were all like mothers to me since i was the youngest, spoiled some say but i never paid much attention to that gossip. But Rosalyn by far was my favourite…..have a nice great day today and the rest of um also…come and visit west…..you’d love it and i’d take you many places.
Image circa 90’s i believe.

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Patrick Wey

332 … Mr. Giant Puffball and Mike Milburn

332 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/21 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mr. Giant Puffball and Mike Milburn. We captured this Giant when we hung out in Ontario a few years back. He says they are much smaller where he lives now out on Cape Breton Island, his original stomping grounds and which is where he grew up. They are much smaller out here also, where i live on Vancouver Island 4000 miles from him at the other end of the world, Canada. I searched high and low for this photo yesterday and finally found it. Howdy partner!…and for those non believers out there, they are sometimes even bigger back home in Ontario. Recipes…http://www.kitchenfrau.com/puffball-recipes/
Image circa 2000ish

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Patrick Wey

331 … Two old Irish laddys

331 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/20 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Caught them in the act of it……doin good……pickin up a sign that had fallen over.
Two old Irish laddys strolling down the streets of Dublin late one morning while i was out catching any possible interesting light across my nikon lens. Street photography seems easy when the shot is there and done but it is not usually that way at all. Henri Cartier-Bresson once remarked when the trend was that photography is not really an art form because anyone can take an image and get a great shot by chance. His remark was, ” yes but chance begets the disciplined mind”. I always believed that there was an amazing shot anywhere anytime but one must seek it out. Street photography is that way but today i wonder if it really has changed with so many catching images by chance with their iphones, but then again he also said, “Of course it’s all luck.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Cartier-Bresson
Image circa 1990’s

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Patrick Wey

330 … doin our laundry a billion years ago

330 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/19 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Les, husband of Brigitte Krynicki father of Eve Krynicki-Matzelle with me in the back ground doin our laundry a billion years ago, look like late 60’s…..i’d just about give anything to get back there for a few infinities, we don’t look nothin like that now. That’s life, death closer up ahead than it used to be, but as they say, it’s all good……i guess…lol
Image circa 70’s

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People I’ve Known | Patrick & Les Krynicki
Patrick Wey

328 … David Finlay and Dusan Nedelko

328 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/17 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
David Finlay and Dusan Nedelko……Two funny curly haired guys at a party by the looks of it. We had a lot of good times thru bad times and some of the memories have been slightly dampened by the substance abuse. Over all we were moderately doing our youth justice by being ourselves and walking our own paths. Dave was a video guy with tons of ideas forprojects and Dusan ended up teaching kids in remote camps in northern Ontario. Me myself, well i’m writing this am i not. I think this is the kitchen of a house i owned with George Demelo. We ran an Information Brokerage Co at the time called Parallel Source which had the promise of doing really great things but it didn’t. Dusan had a fatal accident on the way home one miserable northern highway night. David is around, George is too, KW area. Of course there is so much more that could be written and maybe someday if i ever find the time i will. All these images bring up so many thoughts and i really do wish i had the time to twist some words into something; create an image-book novel, a picture book with text of all sorts, serious, poetic, loose words, detailed, maybe an image play or two.
Image circa late 80’s i believe.

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Patrick Wey

327 … Jodi Koberinski and her friend Robin

327 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/16 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Jodi Koberinski and her friend Robin (i believe). Women are beautiful, they are beautiful, strong women demanding freedom both in their own way for all. That’s how i remember them. Possibly they are travelling still, up that peaceful road, that purple lit mysterious space always just a step ahead, a little further down around the bend, up the curve across the dream, a love shifting within, without.
Image circa early 90’s….

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Patrick Wey

326 … Coral Andrews….me thinks; the Back Door

326 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/15 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Coral Andrews….me thinks; the Back Door, down under where all the Little Berlin bohemians hung about when things were simpler, younger and you never really imagined you’d get this far ahead in time but here we are the ones left the ones gathered about here on the front end of the social press for a few more years most there some here a few spread about the earth like fallen apples that landed in the back of a passing truck on some remote highway and got taken for a ride…….me, here i sit in some local cafe in a paved west coast forest throwing pictures to the winds of memories connecting the space between us. The suns shinin the grass is green. I miss that white stuff sometimes, both kinds but the road moves on, modern cowboys and indians walkin in the streets and lumberjacks and new age hippies building malls along the highways. The world’s a magnificent dream. I see a large crow walkin the pavement sqawkin about something and a young woman with dreads a foot above her scull eating a salad at a table on the outside of the cafe. Half the people or more are fixated on a little screen in the palm of their hand. Hello bohemians and friends from the east or wherever you be……
Image circa late 70’s i presume…writing today

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Patrick Wey

325 … Kevin Diebolt happy on his way to somewhere

325 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/14 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Kevin Diebolt happy on his way to somewhere for who knows what many hair-dooos ago.
I am sure there are others but i personally know of no one whom knows more than he about musicians, bands, the data that kept them together and tore them apart and tons of other nitbits that many music lovers and fanatics of the area depend upon…. X-Disc-C
https://www.facebook.com/X-Disc-C-420979828049409/
Image circa the 80’s KW.

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Patrick Wey

324 … so much free sky in my eye

324 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/13 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sometimes i think i tend to stick my neck out a little too far and though it is a long way down to my feet on the earth i am still inclined to shove my foot into my throat much too often. With that being said and over with, it’s a lovely day from here, somewhat higher than most, a touch surreal and by far extremely glorious to have so much free sky in my eye. Nothing much to report to the lower level that can’t be noticed from down there if you really pay attention, tho there is this one thing that i question occasionally and that is, ‘how come so many want to be so high’?….
Image circa 80’s – Infra Red 35mm B/W neg…an African confined on Canadian soil.

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Patrick Wey

323 … understand, comprehend and copy nature.

323 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/12 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
There will always be another pipe line to separate the people until who knows when. First of all, we are all one people, the police, natives, the whites, blacks, yellows, multi-coloured. This is a human problem not a race problem. The ownership of land is an illusion we kill for on a basis of separation for control and wealth. The problem is not oil, gas, fossil fuel, it is explosive energy systems and the misunderstanding of natural living-energy and the relationship of water in all organic life systems. Viktor Schauberger laid out the principals for a free energy system based on the true ways in which a life-giving energy works within nature. I refuse to attempt to converse his knowledge here. I have tried unsuccessfully in the past. At that i was a failure. http://waternature.org/
We have the internet now and there are numerous pages of his conclusions, theories, inventions and procedures that shows how we can eliminate this dilemma that we are facing. I see all the new social media reporters in their social press with their lame attempts to educate the world with their quilt induced articles and comments that do nothing more than give them a number of ‘likes’ and a following with fuel for more inflation of the ego.
If one really wants an answer to these problems there are numerous web sites with implosive bio-technology in mind. But it takes personal time, integrity and money. There is no excuse any longer, the knowledge is accessible. The problem is the will of people to really want a future world for future generations, not just talk for sympathetic likes. The problem is problems on top of problems but there are some basics that most cannot comprehend the foundational aspects clearly. Most are fighting for causes with solutions that will change very little. It is a scientific misinterpretation, manoeuvring, a greed selfish human issue, a misunderstanding of the validity of thought itself and consequently the misuse of the sacred.
The white guilt praise for the red anger over broken treaties not worth the paper they were written on. The black man, the yellow and all the mixed colours fighting for their own identities and the land they can scrape up between the shadows of a past and the dream of a future in turmoil. Prophesies gone wrong shifted into sentimental dreams of romantic worlds living alone surreal in the imagination.
We know the world of man is a mess no matter how many gentle thoughts we comfort ourselves with, how many safe conclusions caress our weary souls. We dream on, it is the nature of the mind.
My dream has concluded that the technological answer is implosive biotechnology introduced and understood by Viktor Schauberger and secondly to constantly investigate the validity of the main tool that has conjured the world we live in, ‘thought’ itself. Both are related to the foundation of living energy. The mind is a myth, useful immensely but none the less a myth, therefore always on trial and always to be questioned from religion to politics to science to the brains mind itself and all its beliefs. This alone would enhance the understanding that we know very little and possibly nothing ‘absolute’ which would leave us much more vulnerable to love one another and all things.
It is an individual comprehension of the total that can lead us to understand our insanity and without that we are doomed. Thought can only describe the door but it is the heart that must walk through and these words are but mere symbols for an understanding that lives within a mystery.
The energy-fuel for our world is a monopoly of power and control, perhaps it is the time to cripple the pipe line and its system. We would hope for a peaceful conclusion but we know there is no peace in violence and violence has been the way of change in this world of man since man began. Do what you must do and let it be done but do it as one fight for one love. This is my conclusion for the time being; things change. Everyone has to figure it out for themselves, quit the group the system the institution the race the people, it’s culture and let the mystery be your guide, there is where it is at, understand, comprehend and copy nature.
An Introduction to…… Viktor Schauberger…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhwhmqM2oFE
On Thought….check out U. G. Krishnamurti: Mind as a Myth … https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9olyqhwf2y4
Ultimately nothing really matters….tho we walk on…. and simply, so we do.
Image circa 1980’s Infrared B/W….Douglas Point Nuclear Generating Station

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Patrick Wey

320 … a pigeon dancing through times experiences

320 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/09 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
a pigeon dancing through times experiences
while colours retreat and grey surfaces
then disintegrates across the floor of distances
things disappear this way into darknesses
and the cycle repeats for new appearances
Image circa 1980’s from a dead factory floor

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Miscellany | DSC_0106-2.jpg
Patrick Wey

319 … Rosetta Crow

319 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/08 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Tension across the plains. Rosetta Crow keeping a close eye on black death.
We were visiting a friends farm in rural Ontario, out for a walk when the barn captain came strolling about curious as hell at this self assured bird in his terrain. She squawked a little for him to keep his distance and out of respect he did. They acknowledged a peaceful transformation across the barn yard and all was well.
Image circa 90’s

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Patrick Wey

317 … down by the waters edge

317 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/06 of-by patrick weyhttps://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I went down by the waters edge. I sat there quietly for sometime before the air became alive and entered me to places i’ve never touched. The sound of the way whispered to my heart things i had never known. The beauty caressed me, entangled me in its web, light and uneven i followed the view to beyond and it was there i was told things i could not and would never tell.
The day was gray and no one noticed when the wind had stopped; right in the middle of a melody trampling across the wavering sky the vision appeared and left me stranded there alone like an island.
The way it was was not the way it is. The war inside ended in the light of darkness and the beginning of the end ended in very uncertain terms. ‘Dreams move about free of form with reality tainted by imagination. Observe, there is no answer, there are many questions.’
The water lies mellow over the rocks, the tree line silhouettes the near horizon and the gray sky takes it in to the limits and that swings you back to the grass weaving itself into the wind like a snake across a deserts sand.
Everything is complete. In times like these a silent gaze into the scene is the perfect answer.
Image circa late in the century / writing this morning

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Patrick Wey

316 … My good friend Bruce Thornton

316 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/05 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
My good friend Bruce Thornton husband of Marlene Thornton and father of Adam Thornton.
We have a long history, some of it best not to be mentioned here, lol. Those were the days and what remain are a ton of memories floating around and anyone of them i ponder upon when i get the chance. Life moves so quick thru the times no matter how hard you attempt to try to pin it down. Things change, we all know that, but when you’re there, you just never question how long you got and then it’s gone, slips down the tube from the present fast into the past. We had some great times and i wish there were more but life doesn’t stall for nothin. Distance makes a difference no matter what one thinks, i here and you there and three thousand miles between. Wish all is well………visit the west someday while i’m still here.
Image circa 80’s

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Patrick Wey

314 … down some endless stretch of high way

314 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/03 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
i don’t know how many years i have left but i do know i’m lucky to have made it this far down the line. It is getting to the point where i have more friends in the underground than struggling on the surface. It gets to that point if you live long. I can’t say it is just genes, i’ve been watching my health since the sixties when i first stumbled upon Jetro Kloss, author of the book ‘Back to Eden’. A bible on herbs, their use and the sacredness of nature and everything natural. Of course a little lsd didn’t hurt. I found a place along a stream that i would go to and take a psychedelic alone and stay up all night with a small fire and watch the horror and beauty of it all. That was my first and last real teacher, so i thought, then. Since then i’ve not learned much more, just variations on the theme.
I hear the gentle rain, still, in the background of my mind, making rhythm out of rhyme, space out of time. I have long gone from looking for anything in anybody’s eyes, searching for truth in vacant lots, busy street corners; the search itself was the biggest mistake. Some think there are no mistakes, just accidents. I used to think that, i used to think a lot of things, but that was yesterday. Some think they’ve got it figured out, know what it is all about; i just turn away and listen to the gentle polyrhythmic drumming of the rain, it soothes the weary soul, makes me feel just perfect. I can say i don’t fear death any longer, but we will see. I have seen too much, questioned everything, surrendered my self to the mystery. I am truly nothing, made up of pencils and words. I have no need to be and yet somehow i am and that is perfectly fine with me. I am the illusion maya talks about, as you are. I hear the soft rain take my soul or whatever it is it takes and i leave as sleep becomes my home, down some endless stretch of high way, i’m gone.
Image circa 90’s down Arizona way i believe….out off the high way, the stretch between here and nowhere…….writing – yesterday.

313 … the struggle of women, the struggle of life

313 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/02 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Occasionally yesterday visits today…..New Realities
Shot taken depicting the struggle of women, the struggle of life. So many stories weave themselves in between the vendors, the brick, the alleyways, the tainted food, the farm land lost. Stories of hard times, of survival, laughter, celebrations, loss. Many new years turn old quick in the cold, turn sour over forged sweet truth. Happy is often not much more than a word travelling down the corridors of conditioning, the repetition of denial but there is always hope so one can cope with the new frontiers, the news in the network, the blues in the streets. Nothing anyone can say, wish for, pray for can alleviate the struggle in the mind but it may soothe the broken heart, sweeten the sour veins. Balance, anybody can claim to be happy, whatever that means. I don’t think it means a damn to wish everybody a happy anything but i do it anyways just incase and so i don’t feel so all alone………i wish what i say could really make a difference….would be nice if somehow we could all awaken with wordless love in our hearts forever; well we try i suppose – may it be loving years for all, along this lonesome road.
Image circa 80″s – writing today

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Miscellany | DSC_0302-2.jpg
Patrick Wey

312 … the city rolls down the avenue

312 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/01 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
i get the feeling that things aren’t quite right here and nobody gives much of a damn. at least that’s what i’m thinkin sometimes. the people on the streets got their worlds and their dreams that they’re trying to untangle. they don’t have time for stepping out, attempting anything less secure. so the city rolls down the avenue, the life lives as it does, with its face hidden and its walls painted, dreams floating about like blurred leaves on a pond. i happened to hear your voice echo in the background and your future advertised in the signs hidden across the streets. the sense of direction moves about like a kite from one breeze to the next, wind rushing thru your skull and freedom riding high in the clouds. yea that was me watching you sit on the side lines with your green shirt and all, your broken-machine working overtime and your buddy learning the tricks. yea that’s the city life, it may not be the best life, but it’s your life and as i said, nobody really cares.
the image caught the beauty just right don’t ya think, your square heads floatin down the worlds way like you belong. life in the stream of things, coming from nowhere heading nowhere but with lots of plans, thats the way to do it, just like you know what’s happening and you do……kool

Image circa Thailand 2016 – writing last night

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PuddleArt Thailand ChiangMai | P1020303.jpg
Patrick Wey

311 … Kopka ceremonies

311 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/31 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Myrtle T Poile at the feast a few years back after the ten days of Kopka ceremonies.
There are a lot of magical mystical very real moments that swim around the air there. Some of the most sacred memorable moments of my life are embedded in its earth.
Happy New Years Gull Bay people.
Image circa early 2000’s

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Black&White35mm | DSC_0023.jpg
Patrick Wey

310 … Sierra Kachina

310 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/30 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
It is a long story but this Kachina doll was made specifically for Sierra Kachina on the Hopi Reserve in Arizona on a visit in the early 90’s. A few years later just as mysterious i obtained the Owl Kachina shown in the background……https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kachina
We went to a show last night in Nanaimo. When we got there it was sold out so we bought a ticket for another theatre and after quickly searching one after the other for a sensible movie (there are so many popular terrible movies) we landed in ‘Ben Is Back’ with Julia Roberts. We had no idea we would be watching a movie depicting parts of Sierra’s life or at least elements of the issues in our society concerning hard-street-drug use. The titles at the end showed, ‘A Sierra Affinity Production’. It confirmed i really need to finish this documentary i began while we spend numerous times together in her last six months. I did video of her talking about her life never suspecting it would end. Life throws numerous curve balls as one winds around the bends towards the end, never knowing the exact timing of the situations about to occur. In another day a New Year will begin but really we must realize it is merely symbolic, every day is the beginning of a new year, a new life………if you want it.
Image circa 1993, taken in my studio for a film i was working on called ‘Crow Space’

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PhotoArt
Patrick Wey

309 … Writing words you will never see

309 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/29 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sierra Kachina left at 24, would have been 28 today…born into a world almost to the minutes of 100 years after the last massacre of the NA Indian at Wounded Knee ……here is wiki-info of that event…….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wounded_Knee_Massacre

Words about Sierra since she had gone: no one can feel the pain of loss of another, it can tear one to the depths of the soul and lift one higher than life, death.

Writing words you will never see
editing pictures you never saw
killing dreams we never met
living around lies tangled up around us yet
crying alone into fading memories
a busy numbness surrounding often
and you and me ending again
this time forever ending within
i see this thru vague scenes
that crumble into one another
drenched in pain and love
as they move along the trail
with a crippled weakness into the day
and words to you i will never say
i write to no one but the stream
of endless dreams across the purple sky
the universe that comes in clear
the universe that closes when the dream ends

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Without You Sierra
sometimes it tears tenderly to my heart
sadness where it has never gone, goes.
years passing without you
your little heart and mine
twisted into each other like time
i gaze across the highway to the grassy fields beyond
the silent wind bends around invisible canyons
straight into my mind
your essence emanates soft and deep into me
with dry tears i caress the moments slipping by
there will never be anyone so true to me as you
our bond was woven by the mystery of love
no one can alter what was so clear
that alone gives a graceful comfort
this pure sadness against my path
your delicate sense breathes life into death
i need no promises, commitments, no proof
we knew we were special
a love so rare so true so threatening
we lived thru this with the most fragile of hearts
now thru this fading silence
with nothing but the humble caring of the wind
i love you with your tears upon me
nothing can harm you now
you are safe from this world
and all its misery
i am seeing this with my hidden pain
as i walk on without you….

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There are few words left to say
i know in my heart there are no ears of yours to hear
what can never be said to you ever
you’re gone and love feels so empty without you
i have learned that this world is even more cruel than imagined
fake everything lures everybody into so much of little worth
they have little room for real tears
no time for true sadness
only shallow laughter and smiles against the rain
ultimately they are afraid to face their own mortality
they need to blanked it with tender wit, swift gestures
hidden desires leading secure beliefs to selfish love
They are the lost children of the american dream
stretching across every continent
desperately hanging onto every note from the popular song
caressing comfort with their broken bodies
falling alone down into cancerous heavens
to worlds they could never be
They are my brothers, my sisters, my friends and my foe
they are the celebrities cared for more than neighbours
more than the blood across the land
more than the mother in the land
the father of the other hand
the truth scattered into words
blasted against the walls of your brains
and in this context everyone is to blame
the dilemma of the human insane

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In this beauty one must weep. The overwhelming understanding of pain from loss is so sad it is beyond comprehension. It goes so deep one can only cry tears from memories dying and the letting go of its truth, its reality. Admitting that it is hard to live life one must let go of the dearest feelings; all the tangled ones and all the gentle and soft ones. It is hard to see this in the air, all the clusters of memories contained in one soul and spread out across the minds of the people. The close ones the distant ones the collective ones, all of different quantities and depth, moving in and around as a dream does.
When one dies and the entanglement of thought-energy floats thru the atmosphere as a spirit would, the visions of these holographic scenes may be more real than a normal reality appears. This is pure vision with no interpretation from a past, a future, just the endless flow from one scene to the next. The magnitude of this impression is life altering.
You can feel the waves of peoples thoughts and dreams, with their spirits creating intricate delicate holographs of varied scenes floating thru the forests along creeks veins like an epiphany from ‘nature’, the creator of all known. I cried, knowing i had to let go to live. It will come in small doses, not as to destroy me, little by little till i carry on alone. This may never happen. This is the dream, the dream will change, the observer will be altered, vast death is the nature of all this. It will come regardless of what one does. It is this movement in life that sees this death and the illusions of dreams as necessary branches to this tree, as life is a dilemma.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————
the days go by and you fade beyond my will
every step another distance without you
memories slip in and out of the air surrounding here
some are peaceful and serene and others are dark and deep
when the pains you felt, lived through and died with
punctures my heart like a knife with tears
the road curves up ahead and your presence is near
there in the pale afternoon where your love lies
and the sunset full of your colour
there are the photographs and your remnants scattered about
there are memories hanging on the walls without you
you meant everything to a few left behind
and they struggle down the path alone
and there is no answer fit
to why you left the way you did
no conclusions can soothe this heart
it is what it is and love and you are one
there is nothing along the cove
to replace this shore on eternity
memories will continue their journey across the universe
and fade into the void beyond
but for now there is nothing left
just you caressing this heart
and a spirit feeling this

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

my heart aches for you
your simple smile your delicate wit
your ways and your life living
i miss you terribly so
i am so sorry i did not do enough to save you
to help you in any way i could
to share everything i have with you
i never expected it would end so quick
what a fool i was in moments i could have done more
could have poured my heart unto you
given my every touch of love
i am so sorry, forgive me
nothing i can do now for you
i am lost at moments crushed with pain
devastated to my very being
like a boat without water
and a soul with out life
i am alone lost and numb

i see the road the way and the things to be done
i walk with one foot in the desert and the other on unknown land
i am a man stranded with no home no future no dream
i remember your breath searching for air and your heart for warmth
i walk i walk i keep walking
there are moments joy slips by and noise ceases
there are those that say too much and those that can’t listen
the ones with ideals overloaded and the ones crawling down the avenue
i miss your presence, the weight in your eyes
the truth your lips concealed
i miss you, your simple love
i miss you

i can never be free from you
you are a part of me
some of you is inside of me
and i shall die like that
you and me are a memory
that will be as long as forever is

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little angel up-against the tomb
on a road red as heart
spirit fallen from the sky
with no clear answer why
and with tombstone tears
a wounded kachina cries
“for simple love i live and die”.

“i’ was much, much too young to die”
————————————————————————————————————

I wish i could say what can’t be said
and do what can’t be done
i wish i could do magic
and bring back what’s gone

i am loosing the words to say much or anything at all
now is not the time to

we all want to know what can’t be known
it is the nature of thought
we all want things we can’t get
we all want teachings that can’t be taught

there is no easy way
to heal a wounded heart

you can fly high and dig low
you can tell yourself sweet little lies
you can tear yourself apart
with things you wish you’d done
but there is only one thing that can really help
hidden deep within the heart

—————————————————————————————————

A wave of pain struck on edges of dreams formed long ago

I know i have to write this experience out sometime soon. It is too bizarre and hideous in areas that must be written in detail to fully understand the depth and shallowness of the situation. I venture to say that Sierra died at the hands of relatives and friends and doctors that made decisions to act or not act with self imposed desires emanating from their conditioned minds without much depth to see the outcome of this simple and sincere life of Sierra Kachina. No one is to blame and yet we all are. I don’t know where to start. The beginning they say but there is no beginning.

Raw reality stripped from all its glory
naked truth condemned to hide beneath the rugs
the way it was the way it is
the way it is going to be
silence against the noise of mind
love hidden in the shadows
nothing is as nothing was
everything comes everything goes
imaginary waves upon the shores
where something ends something begins

Sierra Kachina
i think of you often in so many ways
i wish i wish i wish but to no avail
if only this and if only that
you would be alive and i know it’s true

you questioned so many times
of what you would be like if only
we had not been separated at your little girls age of seven
if only we could have continued to be as father and daughter
what confused decisions tore us apart
what guilt hidden in minds separated us
why did that have to be so
what did we do to deserve such fate
is the truth worth anything now

will the prosecutors suffer as i
can anyone hurt so much
so deep for so long, my little mind
never really mature, stuck in your arms
safe and warm from the dangers of life forever
i missed you so much my father and friend
and no one could understand
and now i am gone forever
cept the memories in the minds of who’s left
twisted and torn and true and soft
some will feel the pain of abandonment as i
some will continue to ignore the facts
and continue to lie with their crafted smiles
and embrace the illusions they’ve made
for me i have gone and now you my friend write my legacy
i forgave everyone, it was in my nature
but i felt the pains of their decisions that tore my brain apart
from street and legal abuse i walked thru hell alone
tormented people are made of this
this guilt and anger hidden beneath
in minds not willing to see
i loved you all regardless; my mother, my husband, my aunts
my dear sister, my fathers and uncles
all my friends that couldn’t really understand
what i myself could only feel but not comprehend
why, why, why were you taken from me
it doesn’t make sense…..
how simple is love
this love severed but never dead
i am grateful it had found it’s way home
after so many years and for such a short time
and now i leave once again to let you walk on alone again
to face every breath without me
cept for what little is left in memory
but i am gone
gone forever with dreams
never shone

Driving home along the highway
yellow moon hanging in the sky
sounds so romantic but it’s true
everywhere i look i find you

I walk along the beach and see you in the sand
i pick up a purple stone and find you in my hand
high in the sky you fly within the clouds
trees are made of your likeness all across the land
such a sacred child in the body of a woman
you were just like me, a melancholy man

For hidden guilt and shame of things they couldn’t face
And unaware to me i’d been accused and convicted of things i never did
It was simple and easy to hide the evidence, me, and live a lie into eternity
but to their surprise and your demise, little sierra died
and now they have this tragic reality hanging from their neck
they can’t escape the truth of what’s been done
and only an apology might shine some healing light
but until then they will feel that deep darkness in their skull
how long will it take, time can’t even tell
i am not counting the days, i hardly care anymore
my little girl is gone and i don’t give a damn what people say
nothing is going to change anything anyway
people can hide but they still have to pay
that’s the nature of this way
you can fill your brain with whatever you want
fool yourself and fool the world
but in the end karma will knock you down
where ever you hide
where ever you lay
get your self a good alibi
a judgement day is on its way

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we would have had such a lovely birthday time today…..always thinking about you.
Image circa 1996……writing, last 3 1/2 years

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SierraKachina
Patrick Wey