Tag Archives: being

#B4 … I just returned from numerous years travelling

I just returned from a cluster of years travelling down and up avenues, across highways of success and despair, thru patrickwey.complains of serenity, stupidity, galmour, inner power,  crippled minds and all for what? some formulations embedded into my head about what it’s all about….i suppose.

Dreams broken floating in pieces along canals of my brain and definite ideals standing tall rusted in silhouettes against my mind and a heart being pumped with emotions from some distant scene fading into a future that will never exist. That’s the life dying every moment living full like an empty glass.

I love this place and all its peculiar shapes, plastic boats and time ships made of pure imagination travelling thru space from one certainty to another in obvious conflict along a desperate way. I #patrickweylove the way things melt into one another leaving hardly a trace of the reasons for being here. I love this investigation and all its strange conclusions about things that can never be known, like who invented me and why would it and what does it matter anyhow. I love it all and i love love and the way it hates to be fooled and then hugs me again in the end.

 

Streets are filling with celebrities, clowns, sailors, virtual warriors, tattoo queens, shamanists, sacred chocolate patrickwey.comgurus, image experts, musical authorities and velvet dreamers; avenues are taking turns winding bending heading direct towards highways of perfect thought, pure serenity, dangerous times and happy afternoons.

And just one more thing…..whoopse, it’s nothing much, forget it.

#B2 … Being Placed

Being placed in a world that is difficult, demanding. Grew up somewhere else and ended up here this grey day downtown Chicago numerous years ago. Her story is private, complicated, untold….sad with flights of spring.

When i was a young girl i often had an empty stomach and now i have an empty dream. I knew i would get there, the avenues of america, the streets of heaven, the walls of gold. I was well on my way, rising when he left, money gone, alone, attempting to walk with no sun in my soul, night time all day, clouds grey i walked on, i never gave in, for long. You wouldn’t know it this day but i strived beyond and found some tender times here and there till that invisible darkness slipped in beside me and back in the streets i was lookin at nothin for awhile once again.

The light was even and the air thin, buildings growing up all around, a melancholy breeze squeezed up against the glass and brick while i held my camera low….. waiting, waiting for someone just like her; lost, woman lost in america.