236 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/17 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Women up against the wall
broken arms and broken hearts
Walls up against the ladies
painted, of dreams bitter-sweet.
Image last millennium late and writing oct 2018
235 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/16 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the chill of a damp dismal day i set out to conquer fear. I headed straight into the cold frozen swamp of the forest and fell to my knees in prayer. With my forehead on the ice and truth in the wind i felt answers swarming unclear and delicate until i cried forgiveness for the people i’ve been, the things i’ve done with my arrogance and slippery deceit. i surrendered to the maker until my tears froze to the earth. A cold chill crawled up my spine and landed deep within my brain. With my mind belonging to no one to nothing but the cold dark truth within, I cried till all tears warmed up inside of me with a peace that can only come from humility. I left the forest with the strength of ice as the softness of water.
Image circa 2010 writing Oct 2018
234 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/15 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Somedays you’re just in too much of a hurry to stop and smell the roses.
This is one of those days….
image created 2003 or so
233 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/14 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
untitled barren trees inside the brain
like dreams inside the rain
image circa 2010
232 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/13 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘And but for the sky there are no fences facin’ Mr Tamborine Man by Bob Dylan
If John Lennons ‘Imagine’ is the Natural Anthem then surely ‘Mr Tamborine Man’ is the Psychedelic Anthem.
We traveled from one town to the next, there was nothing to stop us, we had love on our side, ‘And the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming’.
With our freedom set into the night we traveled into the dark with the unknown as our strength and the roadless way as our guide.
‘And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time
It’s just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn’t pay it any mind
It’s just a shadow you’re seein’ that he’s chasing’
With our boot heals hittin the desert dust and our eyes wide across the city tar we went where no man had, into the fury of change, the very core of our brains straight thru the tunnel beyond reason, beyond thought into the mystery of mystery itself. Lsd, weed, tools to excavate the mind, the depth of sin eliminated the gates of heaven revealed.
‘And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees
Out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach
Of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today
Until tomorrow’
I grabbed my thumb from my pocket and headed out into the road. I hitched up and down the coast across desert sands and felt that place inside that soft easy space where nothing matters much, truth riding in the wind.
In the mid sixties you could stumble across a laid away town in the middle of the west with a few long hairs hanging around some street corner and you could sense immediately if the vibe was cool and if their home was your home. There was a code, free for no reason, bound to end.
Fences had come down, walls disintegrated, eyes like a morning flower opened to the sunlit truth but there was a harsh wind awaiting and about to blow hard across the nation.
I remember those days when the division was simple, long hair / short, straight / cool, drop out or established fool. The world was falling all around, dreams circling the circus sands and we wanted off, wanted out, wanted more.
‘Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you’
The way turned bent whirled curved but a few remember, a few still sit alone in the cafes of heaven, ponder back over the terrains that never die.
Fences fading drifting into eternity
love named burning into flaming skies.
Image coloured-jel created in the late 60’s sandwiched to a fence image of the 90’s, writing oct. 2018 along with Dylans Mr. Tamborine Man 1964https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeP4FFr88SQ
231 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/12 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Dreams of the Southwest
crawl up over my fedora and lie there for awhile
like a coyote eyeing the lowlands from a desert ridge
then escaping down the other side
images circa 90’s highlighted in photoshop
230 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/11 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Patrick Wey is a famous hockey player whom retired because of head injuries.
Patrick Wey is an infamous photographer/writer whom would love to retire with the hockey players money.
They compete with each other on the front pages of google images. Of course the hockey player is winning but gradually his hockey will disappear and art once again will score the winning goal.
Image of patrick wey stolen from the internet and manipulated by patrickwey the artist….just for fun.
229 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/10 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The shimmering factories are fading, mothers and fathers dead or dying, cancers injected into their skin into their bones into their brains. The years of building trinkets and guns the days of sweat and fun, those days are goin and done. The ghost of mechanics still rings in the suburbs of industrial dust with digitized robots of heartless endeavours for post modern toys of comfort and joy. The world is changing, the new breath of dream of america is here and the dying of tradition is rusting away in the alleyways. We are moving on so it seems tho we act like we’re still catching our breath at the edge of the cave. The new interconnected silicon and cell will fulfil the ideals of the few and the new wars to survive are already being fought close by if you open up your eyes far enough from the dope of entertainment and nourishment of unnaturally created compounds to soothe our plastic souls. The days ahead are bleak for many, the work is never done, jesus with the good guys on one side and the devil from the dark on the other. Call it what you will; they say, ‘confusion is the best division’, but down here everything is silent and smooth and there ain’t nothing to fear cept your imagination running………..
image circa 80’s writing oct 2018
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
227 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/08 of-by patrick weyhttps://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
….a ruffled-up-crow dreams out a prayer for our thanksgiving….
Thanks for the food and the door way to the other side
thanks for the rock and roll and the cafes and social media
thanks for the summer evenings and the crucifictions
thanks for spelling errors and correction apps and toilet paper
thanks for the troubled minds and the addicted
thanks for my freedom to say what i want
for the turkeys real and symbolic and the privileged airplane rides
thanks for the love hidden and over done
thanks for your sweet thoughts right in the nitch of time
and for all the tattoos and sacred symbols
thanks for all the people that try so hard
and the flowers in bloom and the animals
Thanks for everything for this moment for this high
thanks for you, them and the earth and sky
thanks for the time wasted on facebook
and friends that have reappeared and disappeared
thanks for thanks and life and death
and thanks for everything i regret
for all the things i’ve missed for all the things i’ve had
thanks again and again for this day this night
for everything wrong and everything right
for all the smiles and all the tears
for the bravery and all the fears
thanks for today and tomorrow and our concept of time
thanks thanks thanks and thanks over and over again thanks
thanks for second thoughts and peculiar conclusions
thanks for trumped-up-like people, the jesus saved ones and the entertainment
for those whom see what’s right and for those lost in a dream
for the future for the critics for the politicians and the saints
thanks for this life, this time to be, this circus and christmas celebrations
thanks for all the holidays and the hard days at work
for the children the women the men the beliefs and illusions
thanks for the brave the stupid and the discreet
for karma the mystery the universe the unknown
thanks for the chance to feel at a glance
the real the unreal the surreal and beyond
and thanks for thanksgiving happy or not, and to be thankful
for our consciousness and for all we’ve got……..
and oh yea, thank god for crows
image circa late 70’s writing oct 2018
226 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/07 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Here i stand lookin straight out at the world, my bag, my journal, a camera or two. Time had twisted down a few roads since this shot slid into view. One could be what ever one wanted to be, looking back. Outside a southwest mansion with adventures weary-dust upon my face i rambled around there for awhile. There were good times bad times but mostly times with a sense of freedom tangled up in the wind. I miss those days when life was just what it was, a purpose driven by the walk, the way one would roll a cigarette and puff a little tobacco, the way you could go that way or this way, didn’t matter all that much as long as freedoms illusion wrapped its arms loose around your coat…..yesterday, all my
photo circa 90’s writing oct 2018
225 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/06 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
A pretty face on a porcelain brain, autumn rain slippin down the street, the whole race on the track of city air surrounding. He walked by never noticed a thing, she looked down. The world was rough, damp, cold and the mood was swinging low. The city takes you places you knew you’d never go but there you were right in the midst of it. The turbulence was everywhere the purpose was lost, meaning fell like a tomb. I walked into the scene, fell in love, then left for the coast.
photo circa 80’s writing oct. 2018
Irena Berlinska in the background i noticed….
224 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/05 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
There is no beauty like beauty. Water painting its way down stream. The heavens falling all around. A man in his old armour rushing about and a woman with a butterfly net walks by. A heavenly drizzle slants itself across the view and sun shimmers thru each and every drop in its wake. Water is everywhere, it’s in your brain, it’s in the rain, it’s in the dreams that flow down your drain. Beauty is in everything – if it’s in your eye, it’s reflected from trees across the streams, it’s the web of love and consciousness it seems.
photo circa 2018 writing October 2018
223 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/04 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
thru the swamp of forests
circa 2000
222 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/03 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
i don’t wanna beg, i did’t plan it this way, i don’t like being here any more than you would. i see your fancy stuff hangin off your back, your future rapped up in a velvet cloth, your whole universe summed up and placed rather straight on down the line. i’m no idiot, just a chick with some hard turns, a woman in this world displayed like an antique in a second hand store. the day passes slow here, some days are real tough, some days fall off the edge, some are full of pity and sadness. i didn’t plan it this way but i’m caught, no way to get out of this mess. I’ve got kids dead half dead and some never lived at all. It’s not easy watchin you with your things. It’s not right, you know it and i know it. i got no dreams left, nothin left here but death watchin. this has not been a good day and i can’t find it in my heart to apologize, leave what you will, look the other way.
photo circa 70’s writing yesterday
221 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/02 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
walking around town with my head in the clouds, lookin to see what i can see, lookin to be what ever i be. no worries, in a dream, livin free. i got no place to go, nobody to be, i got nothin but my feelin free…..this is the way i remember some of my youth but sometimes things change and sharp realities slide in. you can see them if you look quick to the left, catch a glimpse as they float by but if you’re really swift and in tune to the day you can brush it all aside and get right back to that good old young to be, forever free……..it’s a dream, lasts awhile then fades then reappears then again….
image circa 80’s, writing yesterday
220 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/01 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Looking out this window here in BC across a valley to a mist hidden mountain of beauty and pondering over times in Mexico 40 years ago. I remember taking this photo in some city along the way, Oxoaco in the south, i believe. I was fascinated with poverty and the poor so obvious and many, unhidden from view, in contrast to in the prosperous streets of the north.
Farmers and peasants forced into cities for a better life that became impossible to find for most. Many ended up in the streets begging for an existence difficult and absurd. There was little choice for most but to keep walking. They were once young with dreams that slowly eroded into a ditch of hard times. They remain; more and more generations have worn out shoes stumbling along these same streets. All across the globe poor souls exist in conditions most people refuse to see. A billion excuses come to mind to alleviate any quilt that may arise. We have more than enough pretty pictures to cover our walls and conclusions and veils to keep us safe, secure and motivated to enlighten our surroundings with a sprinkle of love straight from our wounded hearts.
What is one to do? So much wealth in the hands of a few and so much struggle for the many and a complete hell for far far too many….this is our world of incredible beauty, difficult decisions, denial, false assumptions, insanity, deep sadness, wonder, laughter and what we call love.
A great man once said (Wes Jackson), “if you can’t find any humour in all this you are just not taking it serious enough”.
circa 70’s image, writing yesterday….
219 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/30 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The walls we left behind, the barren scape of time
the roads the home the very scope of love, once mine….
into the sky, way down me head swaying like a willow across fields of memory and straight into a long and narrow day. i love it the way she tells me things that only she can tell, the way she sees into things like they were alive and well. This cloudy stream of sky sun-lit and soft held us for awhile, a long dear while. We were in love like beauty is when two is one. The scene was set the noon came in soft and our time melted around the gentle air like a warm sweater like lips across her cheek.
We walked on for years, time held us like luck does before a change that breaks things apart. And just like an old man i can remember things that never were, things that really never moved so smooth, days of love like rain of light drizzling soft upon our hearts. Time, it has its way of twisting in and out of life…..like love does.
….So sail on thru the storm
Let time see of itself
Be the heart that beats true
Hold nothing old
into the new…..
circa – Image created 90’s, writing yesterday/today
218 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/29 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
i swore there was some way out of here. i could see you desperately hanging on. the world had you. you crawled along the floor like a magnet. your friends sneered. your time was lame but yet you managed to survive, to etch your life line upon the earth. no one said a word as they looked the other way. the bells were ringing. aliens took over the town hall. the seas were wild, the sky in turmoil and only a few could see. i held you there in my arms like i did and you smiled for just awhile before they came and dragged you down. the end came fast then slow in the end. i justabout reached there to catch a glimpse, just before love arose from the insides and destroyed this dream.
the making of an image of the end from a mixture of minds sent on a mission with meaning that meant nothing as everything does when things come down to it. disheartening to find out you’re alone just when you think someone really found you. but there is nothing to fear, there is always something to see something to be somewhere to go. i know there is nothing to say and i say it just like that.
….mental illness is on the top of the world, this is a mixture from the inside out, thoughts from the streets, loved ones, family and friends and others……who would have known that the mis-understanding of ‘water’ is at the core of all of this, the life blood of a living earth has been crippled and all life forms that depend on it, are it, are affected by it’s dying. no matter how complex man becomes with its nature its science its ways it can not live without water and dying water gives dying breath and decaying minds.
image circa 90’s creation from ‘Crow Space’ a multi-image show of the life and times of a Crow in the ends of time as we knew it….writing from yesterday today
Living Water……..http://waternature.org/
217 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/28 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
She said she didn’t want me anymore, walked away, headed for the deck, threw specs of bread into the air. Seagulls surrounded her, swept their wings so close she dreamed
of flying.
The sun set, the day gave up shuffled about the deck, squandered a few memories begging for one more sweet caress against the world; her love with warm hands in hand, just awhile longer, just one more moment, sea breeze swimming around our minds but then, wind came swift shifted things.
We met against the dark side, held on for life, gave our hearts complete….times moved about and clouded the sun for days, landing us in a drought of our souls. The desert landscape couldn’t have been more beautiful but the deep thirst killed us.
Time blew in again and forgiveness settled in our breath. Love, no more than a word, scrambled about looking for something to hang onto and that was the day with bread crumbs, she left for good.
Here lies the remains of the memory of our love and like a worn out painting this photograph holds the key to my heart, the sea, the wind.
image circa 25 years ago or so, writing yesterday
216 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/27 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
There’s probably a story or two hidden in the backyards of a few minds from the night light hit the negatives of my nikon way back when, but not from me. I don’t recall who she is or where i was. There’s a good chance it’s toronto and a semi famous band and that Coral Andrews would know. At any rate, she’s pretty and she plays base and i was there and i wish i was again.
Why do i do this, what’s the point, makes me question my sanity….old photographs lost in the archives of a one-time photographer with some strange commitment to a few more posts or so. The time is coming to an end, i feel it in my blood, i’m gettin to the ledge, the end of the line, an era dead. These photos will find there way here and there i suppose but for someone who cares little about the past they mean less and less. The age of image gluttony, sound bit specs in every dash of wind is here while the past is drowning in a future dangerously uncertain.
My thoughts move about the page for nothing better to do. I sit in a small cafe in a small town with small dreams waiting for the winds to shift.
215 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/26 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
colour is a beautiful illusion
and beauty is in the eye….
blues singer from a Toronto band years ago, 70’s
214 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/25 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
A young Jane Siberry in her home downtown Toronto years ago.
circa 1980’s maybe even the 70’s
213 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/24 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Peyote heading north….
Huichol Yarn Painting by Christobal, nephew of Don Hose Masura, floating in a northern pond photographed circa 1990
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huichol
212 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/23 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Autumn Ottawa
maple leaves floating by
in and out around the rock
long before the white mans clock
image circa 1990ish …. puddle photo-art
211 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/22 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The old ones have turned gray. I want to be able to say what i can’t comprehend, so what is there left but determinism, the endeavour to create. What else is there when there is no room left on the walls, images competing for space. No room for a future, the past has cluttered the hallways with debris, rubbish demanding attention endlessly, noice with silence on death row. What kind of a life has developed here, where has the love gone, what dreams are smothering the road? I want you because of habit, circumstance, security; out of the frame and into the blue.
Image created 2016, content today and yesterday…
210 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/21 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I see you walk down your city streets glance out across the plains dream of things into form for nothing better to do. You cage us up like we’re your little toys, things to amuse you with. We watch you drink from streams and eat from the earth and force us to act out our nature confined. I love it the way you squeeze our brains into the likeness of your worlds of religious domination beliefs and others. We get on the best we can living our nature unnaturally. We don’t have the hells you’ve created the karma you’ve devised or the walls your thoughts praise. We live by the second free no matter what you think. I suppose if we thought about it we’d feel immense pity for you but we don’t. We have a different sort of love, a love that kills and lives and dies free within a code of mystery. I speak for all but you. I am a crow, my big brother the raven is the being whom brought light into this world. That’s what we know, believe it or not it means nothing to us, our mission is unknown to us, that’s the way it outa be, that’s the way it is.
signed..rosetta
image circa 90’s content yesterday
209 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/20 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
it’s coming….
208 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/19 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Brothers come and go
some fast some slow
but they always stay brothers, happy birthday Allyn
photo circa 80’s
207 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/18 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sierra Kachina 1992…the weight, the beauty, the intensity; words stumble crippled…
206 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/17 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
One of my cars way back when….62 rambler, front seats folded back into a bed…
I have put up an image/content for 206 days now, facebook is messin with us…they are all on my blog archived for as long as time rolls on down this social media path.
circa photo early 70’s
205 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/16 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
dreaming from the shore of a sea
love falling off leaves of trees
all the worlds worries floating by
under this clear blue sky….
when troubles reform to projects of interest to investigate and friends in view become tender and family exposes warm concerns and the world turns into something one can touch, it’s then you will know you have been walking hard along the trail.
Some say there is magic in the air
when things go light and breath is easy and true
that god is beside you always and the devil is just a concept in you
but it seems no doubt that when the process of thought stops in the mind
only magic and mystery remain without a trace of a word in time….
This is possible and goes to prove that he/she without a home is free in a universe that mystery and magic are merely words as a costume for a clown.
My costume is my images and my words, a gift for the few as i drag them across the floor.
Circa Thailand Chiang Mai canal around the old city…2017
204 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/15 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
You got your troubles and i got mine
some can’t hear, most are blind
some can speak, most won’t talk
makes you want to get off the train
go for a walk
street photography…obviously
symbolism…probably
circa dundas st. toronto, china town 80’s
203 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/14 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sunday afternoon with rain lying across fields
and roads wet of autumn
while time had moved in slow
with nothing left to show
the sermon short and swift
and the end just ahead
where the mind shall lift
across the divine to home
Makes you wonder just what was on their minds as they traveled home from their Sunday afternoon church gathering. Strong christian beliefs sheltering their hearts from the cold and damp world surrounding. Perhaps they have it right denying the spark of electrical energy into their homes and the combustion engine into their ways. Perhaps the curse of modern science really has gone against the natural way. Perhaps their visions lie aside the natives earth and man has gone too wrong too far. Perhaps man has not gone far enough. Perhaps you need not know to live right.
circa mennonite country just north west of waterloo on. can. 1990’s
202 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/13 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
….in that cool breeze of the night when things were different and you were on the wall wavering from one side towards another knowing this then knowing that but unable to squeeze a self out. The train flew by with a bunch of heavens in search of more, headless sculptures walked to and fro, drowning men kept screaming unclear, new mediums filled the air waves,dying frogs leap against the glass to death and you were simple, knitting scarfs for the crippled and playing chess with a screen. What ever happened to the dreams of poets kissing love, the painters throwing roads of colour against a canvas, songs waiting patiently for a throat or two.
The day breaks open like a poem falling off a page, the political mice snarl inside their holes, the whole damn mess gets scraped off sides of streets with news of saints flying thru heading for the ditch. The peanut factory increasing sales, doing well in the capital and bees busy digitizing facts as fast as they can manufacture-um. The critics are all over the social medium with heads dispersed into fragments for the benefit of a few.
Life is coming to an end the way we see it, we have out-thought ourselves, we have held out too long, we are being replaced by crystal, copper and gold. The new ‘on or off’ technology will rule the wise men and the fool. There is no necessity to fear, keep your ears glued to the visions of glamour and your gods of deceit, the end will not kill you, you will not disappear, turn the page, scribble out the text, delete the posts, call your faceless friends and love your self into the end………..
photo circa 90’s kitchener city wall, self stand-in
201 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/12 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
walls alive down troubled streets
circa kw iron trail 2014
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
199 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/10 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Walls of Beauty Series #1
circa poland 2005 or there abouts
198 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/09 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Something i did in the 90’s…….
Crow Space is a Surreal Documentary of the Life and Times of a Crow(Rosetta) in the late and early part of this millenium…shot with stills and manipulated, sandwiched all with 35mm film slides.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g088qlHn1-g
Crow Space
Silently the crow spoke
on a shore of babbling tongue
Silver black against a weary sky
sound beyond the ear
still upon the soul
“there is a way into this
just along this crooked trail
ask the snake
at the end, the gate
she’ll tell you what you need to know
be patient
don’t be late”
The door folded
across a broken lake the sky dead
in a ditch
nothing was the way it was
everything in a twist
my spirit searched, it soared
upon this jagged trail
There were cars, boats, planes
dreams out of control
synthetic sex, tv internet
crippling side effects
a whole universe, a mess
inside this show
Down under, the red sand
eyes wide
ready across the dunes
something from the shadow
stretched across the sky
like a blanket, hovering another side
four long truths circled
to the centre i
was crow blue
as the blackest night
There is so much to say so little time
i quenched, i hopped
i could see there was no point
no telling
what the trickster
hides inside
i could see clear as if
for the first time
it is all a test
Now flying
my wings tough
against the wind
like a frozen lake
smashed against the sky
far below i could see myself
like a past upon a path
yelling up, watch
that fake glass
a barrier to the other side
All those dreams
on a long slow train
this steady hum of track and steel
rollin headin south
The vision, the focus
all those lives
all those hills
all my future squashed
all past pushed along this rail
My eyes closed
wings stretched to distance
claws clenched upon the edge
time come space
leave
fly
for evermore
evermore
crow
The crow
hidden like a shadow
in a misty night
hush of windy woods
darkness in the silence
a dream a vision
from long long ago
the world
before the test of time
an old crow lived
and is living still.
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.
