B100 … illusions of love and heroes..

Levon Helm, once a hero, now gone

If you have read any of my more profound writings you may realize that some, if not all of your favourite heroes, leaders, gurus, artists, writers, are mostly, no more than someone like myself that really doesn’t know as much as you would like to believe they do. We’d like to believe that these unknowns, heroes are all so much more intelligent, spiritual, profound than they really are. It makes us feel safe. Media includes and excludes which enhances the trance, and that’s what we get, a facade wrapped in awkward realities. It is hard enough to know yourself (who ever that may be?) let alone another mind, but opinions keep on rolling on down the line, that’s the nature of the beast. When all is said and done, ‘we’re on our own’.

Teddy, fifteen in his backyard

To my friends that pretend to gag when they see my Blog pop up, if anything, you may realize that your heroes are nothing more than a more talented, well spoken, articulate version of just another mind wandering thru these streets of deep strange times and corrupted space trying to make sense in their own ways of this odd and beautiful world/universe…..just like me, but you may think you know me and think to yourself, no fucking way does that guy know this shit…and that’s right he probably doesn’t, (not in your terms) or does he?

Dylan is just one of my favourite artists and i am in awe often with his creations…….but he’s just an ordinary guy, at heart, with non-ordinary talents and a lot of hard work..he knows that, i know that….he says it in so many ways, if you listen carefully; just like me, cept i don’t have the fame, the money, the draw of the cards, the turn of the dice, the fate of the late, nights destiny and his talent, but i have mine and that is the way it is, what i got, and at my age, the game is almost thru, here………i’m fine with that, most of the time.

Iggy Pop, the 80’s

The art and the artist are like two completely separate strangers strangely connected, possibly, as earth and sky. The earth looks up at the sky and wonders when in the hell is it gonna fall and show it’s true colours and the sky gazes down with its wavering winds and wishes it could sleep, just for awhile, hidden along those soft and silent curves upon those mysterious plains. They, the two of them join as a kind-of ‘one’ in collaboration along with the turbulent seas and the rushing streams, silver lakes, clouds of water with a thirst for creation that unites them. The art or the artist, whom to trust, whom to believe……….’trust in no one’, the rain speaks, ‘let deep unspoken faith be the process, be the known, that is your best bet’…..’pick the queen of hearts’.

I want to thank the ones that have had the guts to acknowledge my posts, even when it was not socially acceptable. When many in this world seem to see nothing but black and white, wrong and right, while reality often weaves its truth thru gray, multicoloured endless questions. Thanks to the ones that exposed their shallow scared safe distance, also, tho you may not know who you are.

These are the times for all of us peasants to come together, rich and poor, bright and dull, to unite under the human heart of love, as trite and simple as that may seem, it is the only way. Jealousy and conceit is rusting our souls, this is the time to surrender to the hands of our maker, beyond the terms of the earth, great mystery, god; die to whence you came, we are of one purpose, somehow, someway, written deep within the heart, deep within within. When you listen carefully, honestly, sometimes the silence will speak in light, within the trees, the wind, ‘all creation is connected to one heart and you will know’.

Patrick, friends and enemies…

 An ancient saying i stumbled upon along the way….’Some of your friends may become your greatest enemies and your enemies may become your friends, so treat them all alike’. That really does say chapters, volumes and with a simple, ‘love all’……as best you can, when you can and if you fall off the horse into the realms of darkness, and as soon as it be known, don’t question a thing, just get back in the saddle and keep riding.

Thanks again friends, enemies, life and this new energy of death ever slipping in so closer and closer; makes me aware that i do really care of what you think about me but not so much as to hide and die in the closets of my mind, as so many tend to do.

My enemies will hate me even more after this, possibly, probably, and my real friends will caress me even tighter….what a strange planet….the earth will grow stronger as the world continues to die…….that’s just the way it is.

Love in the streets…

down in the calle people are struggling
for a few strips of bread some are begging
some are taking pics and posting smiles
others are eating fancy meals with too much money

words too lazy to walk and thoughts too tired to think
the struggle has worn itself thin as an ancient taboo
faded down streets of glory like an old tattoo
and it’s closing time for us with whom knows who

the rolling hills used to roll right past my door
now they don’t do that anymore
the age of reality has sunk deep
low, down here, where everything is asleep

the heart ate my truth and bit into my soul
if it weren’t for my love i’d be nowhere at all
the masked men and the demons disaster
this world’s on it’s last leg, a last layer of plaster

too bad your mind loves the grooves where you suffer so
that you can’t rise above to step into the dance
and while you hesitate things are fading fast
often in life, you get but one chance

The WaterTower on Duke St across the plains of the Mount Hope Cemetery – Kitchener On Can

I love you Christine….

I fell in love last night in a dream with Christina. She lived two doors down for a couple of years when i was thirteen or so. I’m not sure if i had ever spoken to her but i noticed her every move when she entered a scene in and around the streets. I knew her brother Terry or maybe they were cousins, yes, she lived upstairs and he down but both shared the front door. Terry played baseball in the water tower field sometimes, i didn’t know him well, never asked about Christine.

I went to Mrs Heinbucks one day, down at the end of Stall Ave, possibly that was the day i went to apologize to her for whom knows what, we, our gang were the rowdy ones in the neighbourhood. We played lacrosse endlessly and the water-tower field was just beyond her back yard. Teddy lived a few houses back towards Duke St, which is where i lived down on the other side of the entrance to the water-tower and its huge field, or so it seemed at the time. Our lacrosse indian rubber or a sponge ball would often bounce into Mrs Heinbucks back yard. Her yard was over grown with shrubs and wild foliage of all kinds. We loved it but difficult to find a lost ball. Looking thru her front window one day, her hall way was strewn with stacks of old newspapers the ceiling high. Some called her a witch. We didn’t even know what a witch was, some scary person, is what we thought. Old decrepit, unusual, ugly, mean, something like that.

Chrisitne came to the door, i was surprised and totally lost control of my voice and my posture went flopping around like a rag doll. What was she doing here? I quickly maintained some composure and asked for Mrs Heinbuck. She hummed and hawed and said “sure, but she’s busy”, and i quickly interrupted and said, “ok, no problem, i’ll return later”…and i might have said, “thanks” and left nervously, awkward…..the beginnings of love?

I remember Christine being the sweetest thing that had grown in and around that neighbourhood and i talked to her, but once in my life, until last night. Last night we were in love, she was cuddled up beside me and i was telling her about the creation of the gelatine slides i produced that the producer of the CBC documentary on myself so much loved. Her father was curious and asked me numerous questions as Christine and i cuddled and laughed, hugged, joked and just loved one another. We were in tune, one love, immersed in a ‘now’ of sweet sweet young and tender romance.

That carried on until i awoke, sixty yeas later. Here in Mexico in some apartment over looking the pre dawn skyline of San Miguel de Allende. I instantly realized, deep, how i terribly miss that feeling of being in love. There is nothing in this life that can compare. Possibly that is why i have gone from one love to the next. When it faded, i faded and things fell apart. Apparently, there is a so called deeper ancient love that caresses the changes as they appear, possibly, but i believe most hang on out of fear, loss, loneliness and the horror, as one gets older, to die without any love at all.

Is it all about love, simple love, innocent love, deep torn worn love, love of every nature and how it weaves itself thru the strands of the mind and time, always ready to invite you in. Is mature love simple love made simple again? Possibly, but i desired that innocent, pure and fresh sweet spirit of new young love.

I loved you Christine, last night and possibly all my life was just waiting for this moment for you to appear. Now you’re gone and I’m back in the vacant neighbourhoods of my mind.

Every one is gone, returned to their ancient lives. Ted, my adopted little brother, Edjew and his pigeons and his beautiful sister Theresa, Helmut, my best friend from four houses down the road on Bismark Ave, Les, down the rail tracks across from the feared Hillers, the big gang of 13 kids up on that high hill over looking the territory. I never got to know them until i was a young man of 15 and entered high school with Mark Hiller in my class and now Joe, his older brother has been in and out of my life ever since. Just talked to him the other day. Reestablished our bond and now the last bend is sucking us around the last views. It won’t be long now.

Possibly Christine felt for me as i did for her, also, way back then. We were so in love last night. A few years later i met someone similar, Carolyn and she took me in for 6 years thru the storms and fantasies of the sixties and our youth. We had a love, as they say, you don’t find every day, karma possibly. The early moments of pure love, there is nothing worth more in this most weary world.

Carolyn in the seventies…which is after the sixties.

I went on to others, love has always been my deepest love, everything else is secondary, trite really. In my mind, woman are the flowers of paradise, their beauty is incomparable, their love is perfect, magnificent, tender and whole. Us men boys know this and they feel it.

Goodnite Christine, thanks for your love, our love, so close, pure and so long ago, I’m such a silly man.

Images and writing by patrick wey

PS: i don’t know anything for certain, cept, that no one else does neither, probably, fortunately………my heroes died long ago; the way is no way at all, so do what you will, but if you will……..be kind with love, that’s everything. 


Instant Revisit of this Article, a critique of sorts…

As in ‘Instant Karma’ a song written and performed by John Lennon, i felt this piece needed to be revisited instantly, even before i publish the original ‘writing’. There have been numerous ideas/concepts swarming around my skull in times of self doubt in the last month since i had began writing this ‘writing’. I felt the need to do an, ‘Instant-Revisit’ to ‘illusions of love and heroes..’

To begin with, i feel at times that this article paints me arrogant, full of shit, manipulative and a number of other negative characteristics that haunts my inner stability, so much so, that i thought that it would be a great exercise to point these issues out and do some in-article self therapy, analysis, transparency, as is often called in our modern times.

I do find it difficult to know whether my writing is any good at all, worth the while for anyone to spend the time to travel along these thoughts as they lay themselves out upon this dessert of nouns and coyotes on the run. I have had some positive encouragement by some of my friends that are respected in various fields from medicine, poetry, out-of-the-box thinkers, writers, artists and house wives to factory workers, a wide variety of our society…….but still, i just don’t know. CBC bought and played past work of mine including a multi-image show of Vern Harper some 25 years ago and did a documentary on myself entitled ‘A Path of His Own’. They highlighted my photography and a song i wrote, a ballad of Vern Harper explaining parts of his life. That is all so long ago, vague, irrelevant it feels. Possibly i am fooling myself again, in ways i can’t comprehend. How much of all this matters? Time passing by, so many roads, so many.

I live in a rather peculiar universe in my head and yes i suppose everyone does. But it is obvious that the majority of people have a variety of relatively common, traditional, trendy sets of heroes floating around their brains, like a carrot dangling in front of a mule, they believe, i don’t. I left all that behind years ago, i trust no one and question everything. It doesn’t take a genius to manoeuvre thru that suburb. And there are those in their high-rise cells that are terrified of flying any higher, sinking too low, so they attempt almost nothing out of the ordinary, follow the flow, live and criticize every attempt to release themselves and free themselves from their shackles and then curse them that are free.

That is the way i see it sometimes, often. It is difficult to understand realities and not fall into lecturing and yet teach somehow, someway. This has the danger of appearing arrogant and more so than that, being arrogant, preaching and not walking ones talk. That is the battle. I weave in and out of these terrains. 

I am not always strong, i am not always weak. I fear the unknown, i throw myself into it. I know much about uncertainty which is a mystery to me. I attempt to be honest and end foolish at times. I am not a liar, though i have lied, unintentionally. I mean well and have strived to be a good man and many times have failed miserably. 

Possibly these writings may have some meaning and can help another wanderer along his or her path. This life is extremely short when you round the last bends. It is important to make amends with others but more so to yourself. This self that is constantly on the move, rearranging itself, deteriorating, re-inventing its nature.
It is a mystery that i can feel love somehow everywhere for everyone and everything. Thoughts of jealousy, envy, conceit, deceit do swim in and out of my perception but ultimately love, caring, honesty, kindness is the truth that lifts my heart aware.
So with that i say i write and create artistic images purely for the world thru myself. May you get something from my endeavours. All my friends, enemies, acquaintances, for in the end, we all fall thru darkness into the light. That is what i tend to think……at the moment.
patrick wey

Covid Control Observations:
Since back in BC i realize more and more that this plan moving forward will need numerous individuals willing to control others and expose their behaviour for social credit scores. This procedure was much more dominant through-out the chain stores in Mexico as it has been here since day one. The giant Corporations are the first to implement new procedures for their One Governing agendas and smaller suffering stores follow suit and or die. An army of bullies world wide to execute the mandates. These mental types come from all classes; and social media to social credit is the path. We the passive will ultimately win thru eons of suffering. Hello new world coming, i’ll be out in the garden for now, for awhile, if you’re looking for me.
& ps: to klaus, billy, all the wives behind successful men, all your coconspirators, cronies……you’re all going down, there are many more of us than you may think, waking, seeing, preparing.

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


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


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
Image circa the 80’s KW.


266 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/16

266 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/16 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The main zocalo square in Mexico City. You can see the historic cathedral in the background where Pope John visited and in fact i managed to photograph him as he passed by in his open vehicle carriage along with shots of the event itself, the people, the frenzy, in that following year. There was always a crazy number of volks-wagon bugs on the smog scented tar of the city streets. I felt quite comfortable in the excitement of the noice and architecture, painted in sounds of spanish floating about. I was young, full of adventure and inquisitive about everything. I carried camera gear wherever i went and felt obligated to document anything i could. I am not sure why, some passion rising up from the heart into the brain and once the mind caught a glimpse of what it could do, i was hooked, had to capture every move this world made. Nothing stood in my way, i would have gone anywhere. I tried to get work for Vogue, Time, National Geographic and would have gotten work for Vogue if i had stayed in Mexico, even National Geographic liked my portfolio especially shots i got of a staging of the crucifixion of Jesus in some little out of the way mountain town later on that year. Definitely there were opportunities in Mexico that i would never have gotten in NYC and believe me, because i tried. The competition was staggering and it is even worse today, i am sure.
I traveled in and out of the neighbourhoods of the city, across the land, the desert, the coast and fell in love with that spanish tainted country. I got a job teaching english downtown in a large institution and smelt the aroma of the cities air for a year.
I married a señorita, not for marriage but to get her into canada, though i thought we’d make a good couple i never conformed to the institution for any confirmation for anything. I don’t need some institution to determine whether i am married or not. I adopted the anti-establishment with a firm understanding of its hypocrisy years before and i wasn’t about to change my stance then or now, for the most part. Rosa is still a close friend and lives in canada but we dismantled the bed years ago.
It takes a certain talent to be a good street photographer, these were my early years, testing the tension of the people on the streets, seeing what i could do, building my love for the many faceted aspects of becoming a photographer, a label, an artist possibly, a writer maybe. That was then.
Image circa 76 or 77

Patrick Wey

247 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/28

247 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/28 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Annette Bernier back in the day when we lived in NYC for some time.
When time hit the city streets with vigour and life emerged solid, we were young, we were free and we did it just like that. Time turns in on itself and wrinkles and warps from those middle ages when darkness was bright. You could stand in the lower east side where times were tough and not feel fear from anywhere or walk mid town and live love like we did. Those were some days my friends now embedded deep within my brain but the road keeps going on down around this merry-go-round with but a few whispers from the other side till you’re so close you can smell it. Life, youth, age and the slow walk into the lit darkness. She was so young there, real and free.
Mother of Sierra Kachina and Baylee Nguyen
Circa late 80’s


228 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/09

228 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/09 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
we walked thru city streets down, together, past melting buildings and sleet across our face but we never stopped, always kept one foot in front of the other. we dreamt this, we kept our promise, we held on, we loved, we slept in soft surreal beds, crept along thru neon clubs and scenes dim and rough. we managed to make it thru to the other side with few scars and we left the dreams calm and lost them along the ditch for others. i remember the new york city streets and the flavour of the cold. i left the night along the canal like anyone else weary of the damp illusion of views that are impossible to make exist, had to be destroyed, set aside. she said, “wish we could stay here forever” and i wanted it too, but things change and there ain’t nothin one can do. the many years have passed, slid across my brain but still the memory lights up my heart when i fall back there.
image circa 80’s writing oct 2018


200 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/11

200 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/11 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Wall Shadow’s Self Portrait, some call it a selfie
The image on the wall looks like Authur Rimbau, a poet of the Symbolist Movement, late 1800’s… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Rimbaud
The first poet to create prose verse and more or less shit on the traditional hypocrisy of rhyme; some would like to believe Bob Dylan reincarnated from him.
Back in 1970 or so i met a bohemian poet on the main drag of Little Berlin (kitchener)….i put him up for a few nights, he was eastern european with a hand full of english. When we departed he gave a copy of the book (Les Illuminations) of Rimbau’s poems , i gave him a book of poems by Dylan Thomas.
I left almost all my books in the farm house when we left for the west coast a couple of years ago now, time doesn’t fly, it melts in an out of space like a daydream. Here i sit cafed in a rain struck afternoon in the duncan garage cafe writing words to people i hardly know, will probably never see again and if time twists right i may even receive a few head crumb compliments while i slip down upon their walls into the archives of digital humanity. I don’t mind at all, it passes the time and reminds me of the things i left behind. The rain let up, time to move.
circa poland, turn of the millenium


197 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/08

197 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/08 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

His name isn’t Carl, that’s another character in my archives but he claimed to have written Elvis’s first hit whatever that was. He sang it while i continued to sip on my draft beer in the mens room of the Station, a famous drinking hole in my home town a few years ago, a lot of a few years ago. He dressed up in various outfits for the saturday night outing probably hoping to meet a woman or two, even old guys get lonely and want to cuddle up once in awhile. Pete sat across from us and waved back and forth off the stool ready to collapse any moment while the bang of rocks against the shuffle board walls slammed up against our ears and you could almost hear Elvis with his memphis blues singing thru the cracks of the walls. Jeese what ever happened to him with his pipe and stern gaze, you could see him around town once in a while slippin in from the cold in winter nights or dressed all up in summer baby blue for the grand union hotel another local bar down amongst the locals, the ones wasted and the ones getting wasted and all of um waitin for somethin to happin tryin to get it right for the night. I felt at home with these guys the games were easy to understand the thought was simple you could be an existentialist or a nihilist and nobody gave a damn you could walk easy thru the fog get as stoned as you’d like and still keep your feet firm on the ground, there was hardly a soul to shuffle you about. Nothin lasts, you had to move from that, a few nights of that and you had to do something with your life, i mean what the hell we here for, can’t write from down there forever, can’t find god in a bottle, can’t find him anyways but he kept singin like he was gonna get found soon real soon. And holy shit elvis came walking thru the walls and that was it never entered there again.


141 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/14

141 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/14 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
An example of one of my Virtual Graffiti pieces.Yes, i added John to the image and made it look a part of the existing doorway graffiti.
John says, “i don’t believe in”, just about anything, and “imagine no religion too, i wonder if you can”, he also said, “it’s a love that last forever, it’s a love that has no past”, he once said, “you’re all just fucking peasants as far as i can see, if you wanna be a hero, well just follow me’ and “all you need is love, love is all you need” john said a lot of things, he is remembered by so many in so many ways; “There ain’t no guru who can see through your eyes”, “But then again, you’re not to blame.
You’re just a human, a victim of the insane.”, “Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall. I’d love to turn you on”, “Come together right now over me”………..Thanks John, you helped to verify conclusions i also stumbled upon; and your melodies and your voice; wow.


140 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/13

140 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/13 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘behind the walls lie the answers
on the surface the dream
you must pick one or the other
but neither are as they seem’
I have a large collection of graffiti which i have yet to post on my site. I also produced numerous virtual graffiti pieces which are part reality and part my composition created with the help of photoshop with my own images and others to enhance and create a new concept. There is a fascination with graffiti for many reasons. The history spans thousands of years and it has had many applications. Wikipedia elaborates – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Graffiti


139 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/12

139 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/12 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
A train of thought, soft in the mind
All those things left behind
Things built with tender time
Things rolling on down the line
Some trains are lame, some sane, some from the heart and some from the brain.
The mellow moods one gets pondering over life and its changes when one lets ones thoughts just curve around the bend just like that train does when it rolls past and diminishes into the invisible horizon. Life is so many things, so many judgements, conclusions, so many trains of thought pulling into the station, letting people on, letting people off, befriending, making enemies, holding on, letting go; trains of thought of every hue come and go into the space of the station. Some change stations, some never leave, some move on continuously down the line. A train is a train is a train…some are full, some are empty, some crash, some are at peace but they all leave the station and fade into the long horizon of the great divide someday.
Circa 80’s, model – someone Lindsay Stewart knew, i believe or wanted to know, can’t recall correctly……my train pulled outa that station centuries ago.

Patrick Wey

137 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/10

137 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/10 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Madness on the corner, uncertainty in the street
turmoil in the dream world
where umbrellas try to sleep.
and with all there is, joey’s on the move
classified time left behind in litter bins
truth splattered in the streets.
…..words hardly begun untitled sifted like a scene
can’t determine what’s going on
where you’re going
or where you’ve been…..
circa: america facing forward dragging along phantoms

Patrick Wey