276 Your elusive walls and delicate lies.

276 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/26 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Your elusive walls and delicate lies. The beauty beneath your skin and the avenues so in tune to you. How could anyone misplace you? The door keeper with his facade entered like he owned you but you didn’t let on, you kept your dignity and caressed his heart with your magnitude and sunset eyes. The times they had changed, by the day end the war was over and no-one cared about your degrees and folded up knowledge, the world was focused on intricate entertainment, the type that slowly squeezes you inside and bends you out of shape. The way you handled the saints and all their prodigies as if you cared with your sensitive love and the dreamy touch you gave just when they thought they could own you. How did you escape with so few scars, what did you have to sell to get here, what did you tell the commissioner, how did you convince the judge.
There are so few that understand the things that must be understood to touch the other side. There is no sense in trying to explain the visions to the blind. In this world of sound there isn’t a single chord out of place and when you’re playing hard with your soft heart it can ease the most weary from that sharp death. You were seen by a few as you disappeared inside the photographs on the wall. That was me there behind the camera long before this night. This is a setup, a scene from some burned out city street and i was sent by who knows who to document you. This is it, there were jokers and thieves down by the docks just waiting for the ship to come in. They waited hundreds of years for this night without hardly a sense of what was about to happen.
But things changed again, you never showed up and the ship died at sea. It just goes to show you flat out that you can’t depend on prophecies any more than the night. This portrait of you by your windows reflection with your truth so well concealed.The tainted glass-wall of the window is behind you now.
I always wanted to tell you just how much this moment meant but time twisted me out of your life and all that i have left now is this grey image of you looking out your open window to the dark tar valley below.
Image circa 80’s – writing yesterday

Patrick Wey

275 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/25

275 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/25 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I am a pig and i love this rugged landscape. They call me Jose when they want my attention. I have the freedom to wander wherever i want. Somedays i just sit and look over into the mountains. I watch the lizards roam around in the desert sand, well, i imagine them. Sometimes i feel like another entity, like i shape shifted or something like that, became a coyote for awhile and meandered around the hot sands from one shady nook to the next.
This area used to be more populated a couple hundred years ago, you can still see the old walls melted into the mountain slopes. They named this place Real De Catorce. To this day Huichol medicine people come here to the lowlands at different times of the year to harvest the sacred Peyote cactus. They do ceremonies in the desert evening air and connect with the spirits of their ancestors from here and off into distant lands, even other planets stars and stars away. Occasionally i’ve felt their presence slipping thru my mind but they mostly swim-shift thru to the more wild ones, crows, snakes, eagles, coyotes and such.
I’m totally at home here. It’s less stress, i get fed often enough. Yes my life is cut short but my little ones carry on. It’s all the same to me, i don’t remember much and it’s just the way it is.
Image 1977, writing yesterday


274 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/24

274 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/24 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Some say I’m negative, my words depressing. So what. Those are usually the ones that want it all sweet and certain. I use to care but that was yesterday. I don’t attempt to find the negative in this world it just presents itself, there’s plenty of it to go around but that doesn’t depress me and if it does you, well what can i say, put another pretty picture on your wall, i’ve got thousands of um for the right price. You see, i need um too.
I didn’t travel down these roads to get anything in particular, and if i found some good fortune along the trail it was because i stuck to the path, stayed focused on the mission at hand, but most of the time i didn’t evaluate life in those terms. I just wiped any past off as best i could and kept walking. No, it never disappeared completely, death’ll do that but it did allow for a new breeze to blow against this mind while i rambled on.
I don’t have much use for the superficial shit that floats around but i accept it the best i can and no doubt, i have contributed my own fare share. I ain’t no saint and i never said i was and if you think i implied a ‘holier than thou’ attitude, well you’ve been mistaken, i’m just a guy that was looking for something that it appears no one has ever found and i see now, no one ever will. Most lie and want you to believe what they believe, but it’s all made up, a fantasy, a dream. So when i see most people wandering down a similar terrain expecting it all for nothing, no hardship, no desert nights alone with nothing but you and you and you. Well sometimes it makes me laugh and others times it just makes me sick. A lack of compassion some do say, a lack of this or a little of that, whatever, hit the road jack and that does it for me, i’m gone. As i said, i don’t care, shove your face-look social praise where the sun don’t shine. There ain’t anyone i have to please but if a few find my words resemble some thoughts roaming around in their own questioning brains, well then that’s great, reassuring of sorts, but it doesn’t change a thing, just feels a little less lonely in here, i suppose.
The curtain falls and i can feel the next scene supposing itself just beyond some dream on another slippery edge of time. So i better move on, so as to catch the next glimpse of light, when it shows up.
Image circa 1977 but it could have been tomorrow.


273 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/23

273 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/23 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Is there anybody listening asked the traveler? Is there any room left on the walls for a little piece of me? You see i’m just like you, i need a name to capture my thoughts upon too. Something to die for, something to hang on to, something to let go of. The hills in the distance are too far, the beach is too hot, the streets too slow for dreaming. A simple breeze skims thru the palms, some birds fly by inside a blue sky. There is so much more somewhere, so many things i could have done, could have been. Here i am mellow and belonging to no-one. A few dreams float by and i catch a glimpse. I let them go, there are others they can catch, still in need of purpose. I am content to hold nothing. I am a simple vessel, one that lives for nothing, cares when i care and one whom holds no ideal to dear.
They appear out of nowhere just in the nick of time, the little ones, the bright ones. When you least expect it, love covers you. Love so free and yet it costs so much. All your dreams, all your conclusions crash away when the waters of mystery sails upon your soul.
Image circa 1976 – writing yesterday

Patrick Wey

272 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/22

272 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/22 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early morning mist stuffing newspapers for a few bucks on the way to the top. You got your dreams and i got mine we’re just different fantasies caught in time. This day is long gone and the news faded into the streets like dying dreams do, into peoples lives, into their souls, into the cracks of their bedroom walls.
It’s hard to imagine just what happened here. Where were they goin when the ads got sandwiched into the rag, when their job was done, where did they end up from the heat and the heart of the metropolis?
The city was barely awake, the all night people were crawling home, traffic polite and sparse, the silent folk were scraping their thoughts together and the avenues rolled into the dawn with a grateful smile while the steady hum of machine slowly wound its routine louder and further along the tar. Alive again, another day with the news headed for the masses, little written words jammed into packets of meaning to get them through the day.
The daily news so yesterday and so over done. The love of life for a few cents and a glass of time. This is life in the city; clean, straight, forward, entertaining on a good day.
Image circa 1977 Mexico City

Patrick Wey

271 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/21

271 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/21 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Nice to be back in a land where people greet you in the streets. Where there isn’t the typical western paranoia. They are hesitant sometimes unsure of what type of a gringo you might be. Many gringos don’t even look at you so it is obvious why many Mexicans are hesitant to give you their tradition. They feel the vibes, the arrogance, the useless conclusions swimming around northern brains. The age old ‘better than thou’ attitude lingers on like a fool in a sinking trade.
In this town you can still go to the zacalo (town square) on most evenings especially Saturdays and see families, neighbours, young and old intermingle. The whole cross section of the town connects in this square. This is their life, their way, a slow pace long forgotten in the north of the americas.
It is all not so romantic. There is the noice, a different attitude here concerning music everywhere. At least most of it is Mexican style country rather than the pounding drums of rap, bad rock, hip hop and what have you. Accordion, stand up base, acoustic guitar and that’s it, simple and softer.
For the most part you can usually escape the traditional chatter once you find a few hideaways along well worn cobble stone roads with small tiendas and local restaurants of real foods and mothers and daughters holding hands as they stroll thru the evening air. Old men sitting in old broken structures that resemble chairs and kids playing with amigos and genuine waves of love floating around their poverty.
It’s a soft life here….most of the time.
These quaint places are diminishing as more and more western traits capture the youth with the frills of a more modern life. It is a western trend to travel the world these days or you’re a nobody which is another aspect destroying the simple life.
In the end it is mostly your own choice if you want the glamour, the gold, a simple love or the complexities of the modern man.
I can’t do justice to the beauty and the destruction here so i best leave this gentle night to the roosters in the distance and dogs singing their bark.
Image circa 1977

Patrick Wey

270 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/20

270 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/20 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I don’t know what it all could possibly mean. What reasons are there for the way things are? What matters in the end? What matters in the beginning? What matters in-between? Does anything have to matter or do we just want it that way?
How long do i have to carry this burden? How did it ever get to be this way? How long do i have to be persecuted?
Will they ever learn? Who staged this scenario? Whom is to blame? What certainty do i have to offer? How long will they honour these dreams? It can’t go on forever. I came in and i’m bound to go out. Thought can not get back in behind the gates of eden, it can’t even crawl there. They are doomed to want what they can’t get; to be certain of the uncertain, to dream their lives away.
Reality is just something to be proud about but it doesn’t exist for long.
I suppose i’ll carry this mess for awhile longer, but even illusions become unbearable and have to die.
Image circa 1977

Patrick Wey

269 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/19

269 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/19 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
She looked straight at me. She knew. She didn’t look thru me. She was calm with what she saw. Her world was understood in a mysterious way. She didn’t need to know what would happen next. She could deal with change like it was a natural thing to do. She didn’t think about all this. Her thoughts were simple and moved along without the burden of a tough dream. She was too young to have been conditioned too strong but the youth in her mind was also of her. A strong young child with a woman in her eyes.
You would think she was looking away, a reflection set on going in a different direction, a parallel dream captured by accident.
This is the way it was, one lens, one frame.
She was moving to the other side with her mind. Her eyes saw something out of view. It’s anybodies guess where things were going or ended up. She could be a fifty year old doctor in Venezuela or a wife with three children on the outskirts of the City, or a drug addict in Pensilvania. She could be a lot of things. We don’t know.
Images can do that to your soul. Take you places that don’t exist. Give you a reason to live, an understanding that makes sense. Old photographs have a way of traveling thru your mind like a movie mostly fiction with just enough reality to make it real.
Image circa 1977

Patrick Wey

268 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/18

268 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/18 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Man loaded down with bags of hope, buckets of paint for colouring his walls and worn out shoes from long walks through-out the lowlands. Man carries his struggle with a bent back and weary eyes. He knows there’s light at the end of the tunnel, he’s been told so for so many years, it’s written in the scriptures, prophesies have inscribed truth in visions upon his brain. Man has a purpose upon the stairway to heaven, songs have been written in gold, guitar licks have been immortalized.
The sun is sailing west, the crimson flames are wavering in the breeze across the horizons of the seas. I’m a man here from the archives stretching along the avenues, bent around the bends towards a promised paradise. I’m here free chained to the genetics of the future, strolling along the beach in a holiday.
Mexico, the ancient land of remote civilizations sprouting out of the sands along this prehistoric shore. I love this place, it’s magic for the stranded man inside.
Image circa 1977

Patrick Wey

267 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/17

267 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/17 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
When you’re a street photographer you have to take some chances. Not everyone wants their photograph taken and you don’t always know that until the shutter has clicked. I have been in a few situations where i was lucky to get out unbeaten. That’s the nature of the career. Today is totally different with so many snapping images from their phones or their larger cameras which makes it easier on the one hand and less unique on the other. This man was not happy about my decision to capture him for some of his own reasons. He’d be gone by now. His story is not known. A broken wrist, an injured arm. Someone knows about him somewhere. We fade into the dust, no matter who we are. Some believe in various shades of afterworlds but those are all theories no matter how much evidence you want to state as proof. Me, it doesn’t really matter what i believe about all that. There is only one thing i could say that might be absolutely certain and that is that it is all ultimately a mystery and there ain’t anything for certain. But as far as certainty goes there are numerous conclusions necessary to get us by for our daily bread. I’m certain i took this picture, i remember that moment and the eerie feeling i got with this look that pierced my soul. Somehow this moment is encoded, somehow but no doubt it is shifting, rearranging the moment, moving into the dust of time also. Life is a paradox, or is it?
Image circa 1977

Patrick Wey

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

265 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/15

265 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/15 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
On my way to Mexico at the moment. A place called San Patricio. I believe i was named after it minus the Saint. It’s on the Pacific side and like everyone i am looking forward to the sun, the sand, the water, the salty air and the interaction with the locals. We’re there for a month. Possibly i’ll have more time to upload more images from the archives and also my recent past. A few friends commented that they enjoy my posts with both my comments and images together. I am sure there are many not interested at all and others with mixed thoughts of the thoughts i expose of the inner workings of this brain. I have no ultimate direction other than it is what i do. Writing is a love that sometimes comes easy and often not. Photography is second nature to me now and has been for years but with the advent of half the world as photographers these days, the edge is gone, the uniqueness is common, the science is not necessary and the art is often forgot. Life moves on.
This image was taken on the Gulf of Mexico side around 1977.

Patrick Wey

263 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/13

263 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/13 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Impression of Old Montreal – the flavour of colour set against the heavens of a sunny afternoon down thru the air of St Pauls Street Old Montreal back twenty years ago in the infancy of the digital era. Small puddles the size of a saucer lent their reflections towards the sensor of my new compact digital panasonic lumix and wham, light struck, twirled, reshaped, bent and swam ashore into this impression.
Image circa turn of the millennium….

Patrick Wey

262 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/12

262 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/12 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Somedays are just sad. I lost a close friend a few days ago. One that i never got to know until i was an adult and set in my unsettled ways. Phil Ogison Aegidiussen travelled down a similar path so we had a lot in common.
Neighbourhood Hoodlums:
These four hoodlums on the other hand, are different. Stan on the left i’ve known since i was 16 or so. His home feels like home to me. Ted in the middle i’ve known the longest. I started hanging out with Ted when i was less than 14 and he was almost 10. That’s a big difference when you’re that age. He was like my little brother and i treaded him so. I took care of him. I didn’t keep him out of trouble, i just made sure he didn’t lag behind and get caught. Since i was the youngest out of 8 kids i suppose, looking back now, i really wanted a little brother. Tony on the right i’ve know since i was 16 and still, the most dependable. All three are still close to me and will be to the end. There are a few others that didn’t show up for the morning coffee. Allyn, Les, Joe Hiller, Don, Mike Klein and i’ve probably missed a few, Carolyn, Brigitte KrynickiMaria Hiller-OtvosApril Bezpaly,….the list moves in and out of time then fades into the age of the night…
I have to say i don’t share the same sentiments as most of my childhood friends when it comes to the arts and philosophy but they are solid, indisputably there for me as i am for them, most of the time.
I am feeling somewhat sad, melancholy today. Knowing once again that it all passes. All the good times, hard times, all come to pass. We age, wrinkles carve their way into our skin, conclusions lie squirming in the avenues of our minds, troubled souls look out thru worn eyes; while compassion over takes the space, still, life is desolate at times.
I am perched high and out of reach with my Cuban star hat against the far wall as if on a morning news screen but it was me who snapped the shot. My photoshop expertise slipped me into the scene. The Hoodlums is really a Starbucks in disguise.
Image 2015-ish


261 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/11

261 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/11 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Phil Ogison Aegidiussen – I was just informed that my good friend Phil Ogison passed away yesterday afternoon. Phil was one of the few people i know that had the strength to do what his heart needed. He was diagnosed with cancer not long ago and he went quick. He didn’t want the world to know, as would be his humble way. Phil traveled down some roads that very few have the stamina to walk. His amazing in-depth heart felt knowledge of the pagan Norse ways, his buddhist eyes, his musical ears, his artistic hands, his love of life; everything about Phil was honest, soft and calm. I am among many whom will miss him dearly.
Phil and i talked and said our goodbye and we shared our mutual respect for one another. There are only a few people one may meet in life that can let you reach their very soul with the simple understanding that we are all alone attempting to connect. With tears, i know we felt that place within, that sacred place where only the spirit of love exists. He did have that way of inviting you into his heart and i know there are many that he touched with his soft ways.
There is so much more one could say, so many stories, so many real times, so many moments of truth passing thru his eyes. He will be missed dearly.
Phil had the love of his life Catherine Taomesre Tammaro with him as well as his two black cats, Mo and JET!
Image circa late 90’s

Patrick Wey
 A poem i wrote for/toPhil before passed:

it’s hard to know
what to say to a dying man
one that knows that we don’t know
one that was open to anything
but more than likely the mystery awaits
where this brain and mind can never go

we travel down a tube some say
light over takes us and we become serene
some think they know exactly
what can not be known
but you and i, i know we don’t
I know you know and i know it too
it has to happen somewhere along the line
all will go
so what to say to a dying man

i loved you
life could not have been so special
if it were not for the you you are
we would not have shared our creative ways
writing songs painting images
walking thru pagan forests
kissing dreams as they flew away
understanding and accepting realities
as surreal as they have been
being there anytime we needed to be
what can one say to a dying man
it has been an honour to feel your presence
to be with you to walk along the trail
to share the visions in our head
and as we say goodbye
one last time
the last dance across the earth
the last breath of the wind
this heart trembles with love
to the melodies of your last note

behold what little light is left on this world
for soon things will change

thoughts from a dying man


260 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/10

260 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/10 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Servando in silent thought. He has been gone for awhile now. I remember the many conversations on the phone about the medicine, the red road, the way in life, friendship, enemies, relationships, the past, the future, death and love. He was one of the most sincere honest and real human beings i have encountered thru this walk in life. He conducted a sweat lodge every Saturday night on his land near Sante Fe, New Mexico until his death. I hear the lodge is still going as far as i know from my friend Melinda Morrison whom i met on my first trip south with Vernon Harper and family.
Memories outside of time.
Image circa early 90’s.


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

259 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/09 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Just making the point that it is often difficult to find beauty in this world, but it is always hanging around close by and as they say, just open your eyes but it is more than that or rather less than that….it is often a matter of putting your thinking on hold and letting the presence of creation surround you. It’s easier in nature where the energy is more life-giving but beauty is in everything and occasionally the i disintegrates far enough to allow this phenomenon to take place. That’s one way of looking at it; there are many.
Image created 10 years ago or so….


258 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/08

258 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/08 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
One of the Pointer Sisters. The group had 13 US top 20 hits between 1973 and 1985.
I worked for a few promoters in the area so i got into these events for free otherwise i would not have seen so many live performances – they were a great act and beautiful in all ways – 80’s Centre in the Square – Kitchener


256 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/06

256 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/06 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The woman and i were travelling, moving west thru the northern states in the fall of 2016 listening to the Autobiography ‘Chronicles One’ by Bob Dylan when a man came on the radio telling me directly that My Dylan had won the Noble Prize for Literature….
i wrote this that night in a downtown hotel room off some highway in some Montana cowboy town, disguised as one of the gypsies.

Bob Dylan – Noble Prize for Literature…How does the Gypsy feel about that?
‘the Locusts sang and they were sangin for me’

The last few days i, the Gypsy, scrambled around my nature to find some denial for being lost. I am not lost because i don’t know where it’s at. I am lost because that is what we are and that is where it’s at. I don’t have one spec of truth tangled up inside or some myth hidden up my sleeve to soothe you from you or me. We are all lost whether we want to admit it or not. Anyone can believe they got the answer, got the right perspective on reality, anyone can do that, but we all know all serious endeavours into any discipline whatsoever is a small dot of the true nature of that subject whatever it is and we can feel that, feel it deep in our heart. The truth is, is that thought itself is limited like time and space, as if ‘every distance is not near’ and it is the creator of all the worlds it imagines, all the conclusions, all the beliefs in absolutes, the broken reasons, all the jokes are on us, ‘the Joker said to the Thief’, ‘there must be someway outa here’….and there is a way out, but it’s not here but then again, ’two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl’….well who from hell are those two riders, dualism itself? ‘And they’re breaking down the distance; Between right and wrong’ and ‘sometimes i think there are no words but these to say which are true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden’.

People say that you can’t live without a belief system, something to believe in, even though you know in your heart it is just a facade to keep you from scaring yourself to suicide, physically or mentally; you feel compelled to feel secure with thoughts wrapped around your skull in complicated systems that prove themselves into truth, but they’re not. So what does one do when you come to the realization that one cannot know anything at all for certain? The tool is flawed, self serving, an illusion full of itself where as all reason stumbles across the heavens on its knees begging for awareness, a law that can never bend, one beyond time, a false ’Time out of Mind’.

Maybe this is freedom, and that the road to freedom is no road at all. I am not playing with words to confuse or avoid the seriousness of the absolute question of all questions. No question can be answered fully, complete, it is as simple as that. Thought itself is not capable of completeness, it is always fragmented, out of the present of the past, memory and we can see that, feel that and we are always that, an entity out of time, all about time, surreal time. Thought itself will always believe in itself, it is perpetual-believing in motion. It is indefinite, shallow, a ‘judge that is badly built and walks on stilts, watch out he don’t fall on you’.

‘But it’s alright Ma, it’s life and life only’. I could go on and on quoting Dylan and write a book on Dylans observations of the world, but ‘I’d forever talk to you and soon my words they would turn into a meaningless ring, for deep in my heart, love, i know there is no help i can bring……’and

‘In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now’.

What is disturbing is that the world is awaking to the fact that this world is doomed. The validity of thought with all of our absolute beliefs are doomed, coming to an end, ‘God is Dead’. ‘It’s easy to see without looking too far that not much is really sacred’. Dylan addresses many issues, and at the end of every line it is still this, ‘we sit here stranded tho we all do our best to deny it’.

“So somehow it has been a sad understanding that the world is catching up to the facts that can only lead us to despair”, so the gypsy says. It is so obvious that we all are wanting desperately to know we got it right, but we constantly get rude awakenings to obscure that safe belief and we’re all alone again facing a death that ends the whole world that thought has put together. “Humpty Dumpty is Down and He ain’t gettin Back Up”, the joker says. The universe will continue without us, without thought, without god, without anything of us, “we are the illusion” so the Joker mumbled.

Bob has encouraged us to attempt to be ‘forever young’, and ‘I was so much older then, i’m younger than that now’, but ‘Life is Hard’ and ‘i used to care but times have changed’ and ‘this place don’t make sense to me no more’ so ‘disconnect the cables over turn the tables’ and ‘ the only thing i know how to do is to keep on keeping on’.

No matter how long you go on believing in where-ever thought has taken you, to, changing it, revising it, time comes to an end, ‘Time out of Mind’, you can hang on to it all right up to the last breath but eventually you’ll just have to let the great-mystery take you out and float into the space unknown, unthought about. Life can take you there in peace, to just melt into the silence without anything. “Freedom from the known”, some other gypsy said from the side, presumed this, and thought of that and who was right there ‘caught in the middle with you’, ‘jokers to the right of me, clowns to the left’.

I am glad i suppose that the world is catching up but it is also sad. Not much has changed, “the world is filled with beauty and grieve”, the Caretaker pursued.….”that is as certain as it gets”, but i don’t let these, ‘abstracts threat to noble to neglect’, i just let the ‘River Flow’ and keep walking.

Anyways, i know in your heart Bob that you don’t give a damn about any degree, prize or fortune, and once again for the Gypsy, for the Joker, for the Thief, the Hooligan, the Caretaker and all the identities, ‘the Locusts sang and they were sangin for me’.

and nobody could ever sing ‘Strike another match, go start anew’ with the menace of Dylan himself. ‘for it’s all over now baby blue’.
Image circa the 80’s, enhanced later, literature written autumn 2017


255 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/05

255 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/05 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘It was a calm night, the snow had sheltered the silence under its wing. The hydro had flashed out. He lied there in the darkness, stretched out upon the couch. The soft dark moments etched shadows across the air. The night slipped out of itself into the imagination of sight. Light danced upon the walls as the erie silence hummed in the great distance.

He thought about how obscure and fainted the memories erased themselves unaware leaving fragments dancing across the room free and true. Words forcing sounds upon the form almost in control.

Everything comes to an end he realized as the separation of the past melted into his eyes. His touch was meant for another realm as he handed himself a sigh and took a long breath that began hundreds of years before and ended stretching into a cloud of premonitions. “What will become of this useless beauty that my eyes behold, if for a million nights this sadness can’t escape the wonder of mystery deep within my bones”. His voice without sound and his dreams but a breeze against the wind, he stated once again, “love is love, and that is all it is made of”.

The darkness faded into the night, silence swam still………’

The man in the cafe walked here, thought this, then left.

Image circa the 80’s, literature May 2017


254 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/04

254 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/04 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘Wavering in the Wind’
She stood there wavering in the wind, pale rain washing away fading dreams and kissing the grey and lonely skies. A highway passes by the sea and all humanity. Faint waves of gentle light caressing her. All life’s purpose floating by unseen yet clear in the dampness of her eyes. The misty evening air surrounding lightly and giving simply like truth does. She looked directly into the soft sea and saw dreams weaving their nature. She held this vision tenderly then noticed the road again with all its turns and slippery ways towards the dark forest. The evening brushing up against the night, the day accepting its fate, the tale, its reflection, its intimacy left wavering in the wind.
Image circa 2017 west coast, writing Nov.2/2018


253 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/03

253 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/03 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I created this cover photo for a New Age Magazine on healing hands a number of years ago. This is Phil Ogison Aegidiussen with his son Davids hands. I often thought this image to be appropriate knowing that David would help to heal his fathers sorrow after he left this world abruptly doing what he most loved to do, skydiving. There is no other bond stronger than a child and a parent, a father and his son. When a child leaves first, an unbalance settles deep within the heart. It takes a great deal of grace to warm this disturbance with purity from the earth itself. These hands project these waves.
I feel inadequate in presenting this after the years between now and then. This image always makes me quiver in a calmness only present from the mystery of the other side.
Love knows so much that can never be understood, but with serenity and silence, we can feel it’s tender touch.
Image created in the 90’s
I remember the delicate lighting combination of light from below to illuminate the hands with just enough reflected off the hands unto the face with a back light on the back drop to separate and silhouette Phil from Davids hands.

Patrick Wey

252 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/02

252 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/02 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Phil Ogison Aegidiussen‘s son David. I didn’t know Dave well but well enough to know he was a young man sincere and full of adventure and change just like his father. Dave died in a sky diving accident down around San Diego a few years back. That’s the way he lived, that’s the way he was. Dave had left a son behind that i am sure misses him dearly and though nothing can replace a good dad, he does have a fantastic grandpa to help him on his way.
image circa around the early 90’s i believe

Patrick Wey

251 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/01

251 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/01 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Somedays makes you wanna just sail away into the breeze of the sea, leave it all behind, find a new life, fall off the earth, fly off the cliff, hit the road on the open sea and live all those dreams hiding, swimming around the water in your head. That shimmering insight born of the depth you dove, the breath you’ve held tight, the strength of your will to be something new, something totally different, an adventure that never sees behind.
Somedays you can just sit on the dock and watch the ripples of water warp reality into dreams, all yours, all magic for a few moments of eternity washing up upon the shore line like silence whispering tones of pure purity right to the core of your being.
Yes, sail boats wavering off the water and me in some strange form of reality.
Image west coast 2017, writing last night…

Patrick Wey

250 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/31

250 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/31 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Don moved into my neighbourhood when i was in grade eight. We became the best of friends until he died at 40. Don, as many in this world had a drinking problem that eventually let him to his death. I remember one autumn afternoon sitting under a huge weeping willow in a school yard near his home. We talked about life and death slipped into the air as it tends to do. He talked about suicide a few times but i paid it little as we had talked about so much so many times. I think it was the day after christmas that he chose that tree to dangle from, dead.
An addictive high can often take you much lower then one can possibly imagine.
I remember just beginning to do sweats down at Verns lodge in Guelph. I had only done a few and was having a terrible time when things got tough and super hot that i would get unbearably paralyzed in my hands and arms. I had asked to get out for a breather between rounds which was the custom for the weaker ones.
It was my first new years eve sweat that year and i vowed to stay in no matter how hard it became in honour of my true friend Don Tucker. Between the third and fourth round i couldn’t handle it any longer and i asked to get out. I crawled out paralyzed and on my elbows into the cold blizzard hot as hell. I sat by the fire for a few minutes feeling somewhat defeated when a message strong cleared my head with the understanding that i had absolutely no right to judge Don for what he had done, that nobody does. Vern called me back in knowing something was going on, as he often acknowledged, and i finished the rest of the sweat with a new strength embedded in my heart.
I have felt guilty at times knowing there was more that i could have done for Don in those last years when he was struggling, but life is that way.
That is about thirty years ago now and today halloween, is his birthday.
Don was the only one, ever, in my life that could have a twist in his eye when he could sense any bullshit i was throwing out to the world and with that same twist i would without any hesitation observe my fraudulent attitude and get right back into the scene, clear and honest. We learned that ‘trust’ on long nights with alternative medicines swimming in and around our brains as we travelled around the countryside between town to towns in the late sixties.
Don was a great artist, he had it in his soul. He didn’t fake anything.
Once, we were best friends.
Don loved me reciting a poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky, titled ‘Past One O’Clock.
I recited it at his funeral….
This poem was found among Mayakovsky’s papers after his suicide on April 14, 1930. He had used the middle section, with slight changes, as an epilogue to his suicide note found in his coat pocket.

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

Mayakovsky was about to be sent to Siberia, for ever, and his love was in Paris whom he would never see again.
We all have our limits, that was his and Don had his.
Some of us are much too sensitive and delicate to survive in this abrasive and often cruel world.
Image circa 80’s


248 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/29

248 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/29 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sasha in the forest of her life. This is what she loves the most.
Beaches are fine and city streets have their day but the smell of trees and leaves and fungi and earth is when she comes alive. The west coast and her are in love and sometimes i get some of that love too.
In the early morning mist she disappears, in the afternoon she is high on the trail, by evening her way weaves home, and in the night time she’s with me alone.
That’s the dream anyways….
Image circa west coast forest, lately.


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


246 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/27

246 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/27 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Lying on the beach on a pale afternoon attempting to crawl into existence. She came from a long line of mud people from the near underground. Her dreams were simple and true to live free to see clear to love and to be loved. She died kicked apart by hoodlums from the streets of hell. Her epitaph reads, ‘earth people one love’ engraved into the mystic sands along the silent shores and if you stick your head out far enough from the politics of the day and the velvet curtains of religious ruins you just might catch a glimpse of the eternal source reflected against the shadows of the mind.
Image circa the 90’s along Lake Huron…writing today


245 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/26

245 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/26 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
One of the burned out basements i lived in
with Abby on the left……
Neil Young – After The Gold Rush
‘I was lying in a burned out basement
With the full moon in my eyes.
I was hoping for replacement
When the sun burst thru the sky.
There was a band playing in my head
And I felt like getting high.
I was thinking about what a
Friend had said
I was hoping it was a lie.
Thinking about what a
Friend had said
I was hoping it was a lie.’….Neil Young
Image late 80’s


244 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/25

244 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/25 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Dancin in the Desert
Self Portrait…..when i was traveling alone i often switched on the timer and jumped into the scene for a little variety from the barren landscapes i was facing inside and out.
Circa late 80’s New Mexico or there abouts.