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.

360 … Unfinished sketch of an Irish man

360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Unfinished sketch of an Irish man whom lost his hat on a movie set……
He crossed the scene from some other time zone but it didn’t make any sense neither here nor there. The same issues were laid out across the streets, now and then. The world and all its dreams were going to go along in its own way no matter what. The stage was set the take was shot, reality edited, exposed, a medium where innocence dies. You could attempt to fly high with transcendental airlines and meditate yourself numb or just soar low with the rest and get your fare share of the mess. It didn’t matter in the long run to the gossip from the avenues, it had not altered for centuries and wasn’t about to shift drastically now. A better time, a better place awaited, the romance envisioned would recover from the turmoil behind closed doors, or so thought thought. They want it all clear as day but it ain’t that way in reality. There are no words that will set them free, it’s a trap, it’s a condition in the mind, everything will talk itself out across concrete tables and end clearly unclear as it always does when prime temptations are evoked. That is just the way it is, so get used to it, spend your time wisely or not; not everybody can win. He walked across the set again and again tryin to get it right but he never did; there was no right, just the remnants of a hat lying half dead on the walk-side in a scene for more lost lovers to dream upon.
That was a day grey that ended short on a vacant timeless road in some forsaken town in Ireland mid century with his name concealed and the story split like time shatters in the middle of things unclear and ends with no end, no script left to the story line, no dream to dream upon. Cut, end.
Image circa early 90’s Ireland, writing last night.


355 … It doesn’t take a surgeon to see the mind…

355 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/13 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Been here a long time watching. I see the art deteriorate, depth mad with glitter, i hear your music noice. It doesn’t take a surgeon to see the mind, snow lays heavy here on the mountains, time won’t come easy, truth will stay hidden still. I’ve been hanging around dead bodies of the graveyards, eyeing the war zones, helping poor souls find a home but still you sit there planning the next escape into more of the same.
Things are not all bad as it seems, it is peaceful for moments in the valley ….. but there is always that edge surrounding that cripples the silence. You know what i mean, the air waves are filled with deceit from Prince Rupert to Chiang Mai. You can’t ignore the turmoil all day, the night times coming whether you believe it or not. The sun is dark and cold, you’ve been fooled into thinking that the stars are hot and bright, but it’s our mothers atmosphere that transforms this living energy into the beauty of radiant life. We’ve got it all wrong, levity is master, gravity is just a concept to bend the mind, thought is not where love is and love is much more than a four letter word. I don’t fly, i’m flown….most of the time.
Image circa late 80’s

Patrick Wey

320 … a pigeon dancing through times experiences

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


317 … down by the waters edge

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


314 … down some endless stretch of high way

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

313 … the struggle of women, the struggle of life

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


312 … the city rolls down the avenue

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

Image circa Thailand 2016 – writing last night


309 … Writing words you will never see

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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


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

“i’ was much, much too young to die”

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

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

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

there is no easy way
to heal a wounded heart

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick Wey

307 … time death light and night

307 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/27 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

time death light and night
don’t mean a damn when nothings right
the storm the calm the ways the path
torn and twisted in my eyes grasp

as well as i be and useless at heart
the dream is dead the road is at an end
any thing once worth while here
and i thought you were my friend

sure there’ll be another day
and i might even be around
but things said today i’m afraid
won’t easily be buried under ground

i’m goin out again to places i’ve never been
i feel so lost and weak i don’t wanna win
but get up i will and be what’s natural within
to never let this arrogance dig deep under my skin again

Image circa Ireland 1990’s – writing Dec 6, 2016 3:40am

Patrick Wey

303 … Today change has come

303 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/23 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

Today change has come, the weather has shifted, the roads have opened, the way is clear. It always seems so obvious when the light comes shining thru, when clarity settles in the brain, when the universe makes sense again. It is these moments of understanding that lay the foundations of uncertainty in pillars of time that move thru the mystery so perfectly inrhythm and endless rhyme. An acceptance of the wavering truth that enters the mind one way and exits into a completely new universe. Today change has come.
Waves of a conscious mystery are rolling along the open shores. Tangerine skies are skimming melodies on the waters and dreams are scattering themselves about like autumn leaves blowing across a forests floor. Change is changing today into yesterday like bent light surrounding the wind in an open mind of dreaming dreams.

Image 1980’s puddle shot slide sandwiched with hand painted colour gelatin acetate – writing yesterday

Patrick Wey

302 … hurricanes blowing across the sands

302 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/22 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

hurricanes blowing across the sands
turmoil on every corner, every street, deceit
you got your love secure and camouflaged 
waiting for a little breeze
for some relief from the heat

Words trampled and crushed into little packets of self contained messages colonialized like small islands off the coast. How did it ever get to this, warped boats over treacherous waters carrying the cargo of ‘boxed-up-meanings’ leaking into the vast unknown seas. It is here we attempt to understand each other with a soul full of emptiness and a heart forsaken across discontented distant waters and a sincerity to reach into each others arms, sabotaged.
The drifter walks ahead already looking back at the silent coast and the ones so dearly loved. With the scrap heap of the west on our heals and the parade of saints playing in pools of nymphs and pirates and such, who could have ever guessed we were end-bound. What used to survive desolate in the alley ways of the metropolis we now find in remote villages across the globe. Like an unstoppable disease of the heart spreading like thought waves doomed by its own desires, humanity crawls along alone. There is no way out for it, only more illusions to soothe its fateful appetite, and as the drifter always says from his cool twisted damp lips, “choose careful, beware, everything fades towards the end of time”. And with that said the ships unload, the docks disperse, the constant pounding of the drums continue along the avenues and into the endless winds of dream, things come and go.
Image circa 80’s two slides sandwiched into one…writing yesterday


299 … somedays are just like that

299 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/19 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
somedays are just like that
a man behind your back in a hat
people looking in you, through
refined filtered lenses
Image circa 70’s….with a few words today.

297 … The open road:

297 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/17 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The open road: where in the hell is that? Nowadays you can travel half way around the world, carry a cell phone and send selfies live back home, but where in gods mind is that open road? Where is that place where real freedom is hanging in the air, where there is no direction home, no place left to be, no one to aspire to; where is that road? There was always some place to get away from, some place to feel your way thru. A few thousand miles down Route 66 seemed an eternity, no one could track your step, you were on your own, maybe a phone booth a couple hundred miles down some dirt road could get you a scratchy voice to some past you left behind; if you needed to be lucky.
Leaves of Grass found falling in the air long ago, now nothing but splashes of dull colour from eight miles high. The open road is a myth like Robert Johnson and answers blowin in some wind fallin in some time zone that can’t be reached no more; so far outa touch from this space only ancient text can attempt to reveal.
The open road closed for some museums reconstruction, fake images bracing imaginary brains, modern students with science degrees in hard-luck while the true old road is left dying alone in some ditch. The road warriors are not what they used to be, whatever that was. That’s the way it is, nothin stays the same but if you’re really careful and time is on your side there is still a way to get a glimpse of that road that is barely open yet for but a few that just might make the right moves. But beware, it holds nothing but raw freedom and that has left most lonely, weary and desperately miserable in the end. But, for but a very few of the few, the drifter does escape.
Image Infra-red B/W 35mm circa 80’s – some 60’s look-a-like of Highway Route #66, 61 or whatever, down some lonely New Mexico highway…Writing; years in the making, squashed into yesterday for no tomorrow.


296 … The morning has arrived

296 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/16 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
The morning has arrived just like it said it would. Mist moving almost still and hanging off the mountain like a veil. The valley flooded with white geese dotted about, the air is tender, i’m not sure i should be here. My heart can breathe high and it can sore low but it just stares and wonders if there are other valleys though. The green lush blanket winding in the distance to unknown land and the mountain tops sharp and hazy edge against the grey grey sky. I could have been so many things, i could have learned the dance; i questioned i till there was nothing left and still it demands to belong where there is no valley towards a mountain top left to go. I sit here in the morning light and watch the wood stove blue smoke fall down into the valley and disappear where no dreams flow. Like stopping by a woods on a snowy evening i have my horses too, some are tired in the sun, some just wanna run, how can i possibly get it done, said the valley to the road.
Woke up fell outa bed, rubbed some horses across my head, and right in the middle of a dream this is what i heard i said, ‘wow’……..and that was that, moved right into another day, nothing more to say; the rain kept gleaming down and here i am, where the forest is my home.
Image circa – rain forest of 2001 – writing in this morning light

Patrick Wey

295 … it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill

295 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/15 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill
the world is goin to sleep
the night light is flashing red
and even shallow is too deep

the heart that loved you
the one you thru away
the last kiss on the wet tracks
when there was nothing left to say

like a love that was pure as fire
and a caress as simple as the wind
i fell for you and you wouldn’t let go
i wonder sometimes, what could have been

now time has found its way once more
down this weary road of life
but if i could do it all over again
would i take you for my wife

it doesn’t really matter all that much
what would or could have been
we were just two lovers as such
along a breath of restless wind

the tree sways in the night light
looking for a place that will
shelter the bitter damp air a little
it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill

Image circa Slave County Alabama 1992 – writing yesterday

Patrick Wey

294 … kiss the wind

294 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/14 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Flying high with blended hues against an eternal sky of a sun dipping below the line between existence and imagination. On the long trip north with restless children on board and a longing in my heart for things that never quite were, i followed the intense skyline until i was too tired to keep my eyes awake and faded into the dawn of another time. There i was on the beginning without a hope on earth and i saw you there like i was attached to your soul somehow but i wasn’t. You began to hesitate right from the start and i began to lie to myself to make things happen that weren’t there. We settled on an imaginary life and caressed each others wounds until death do us part. Somehow love did enter the realm that was as real as any other love, it was love what could you expect, love doesn’t choose what’s real or not it just is or isn’t. That was good, life continued in a way that was expected tho surprising at the same time. The sun fell and that was that the night the night hit like a tomb.
You might think that you understand the game and conclude to yourself to fulfill your own imaginary life but i assure you that you’r fooling yourself just like everyone else to get by in a world too dangerous to be aware of its truths. But that’s alright no need to get upset push me under your rugs i’m just your night light to get you thru when times get too weary, too absurd to realize, a wake up call just so you don’t take it all that serious. There ain’t no guru gonna get you or some devil waiting for your sleepy soul or nitemares you can’t get thru…….you’ll be fine, just follow the line till the end of time and you’ll get exactly where you outa be. Take a flower and put it into your hair, smell the essence of life, kiss the wind, be true and you’ll get thru right to the end of the bend and you’ll see.
Image circa 80’s – writing last night


289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09

289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Just before i took this shot we stood there not knowing what to say. The end was dripping from our lips, the last kiss was done and in your mind, you were already walking. That’s the way it goes sometimes, quick, just like the way some things fly into your life. I recall the beauty of the day when i saw you by the bench, the one that faces the long and narrow park, the one we sat at for the next two weeks before this night. It appeared we were falling in love until our differences emerged and spread out on the avenue like a night can do. You had your dreams laid out like a text, mine just surfaced out of impulse and they saw each other in the light of the day and freaked out. Our love was never meant to build a family around, it was not tough enough to stand alone, not true enough to create. So there we were feeling miserable for a short sweet past that was ending and a future with no spirit to be.
You shuffled in there sandwiched against the masses and wham the door squeezed shut and that was it, the last train left the station and left me stranded in the twilight just as you had found me there in a Mexico City night at some forgotten stop long ago and that was that, done, gone forever cept this last image from my crazy shutter sped finger tips.
Image circa 77 Mexico City – writing yesterday


288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08

288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early part of the century i made my living as a photographer on a tour boat in Xochimilco just on the south side of Mexico City. People called me Jose but my name was really Fernandez and i lived the life of a photo-specialist. Having the eye of an artist was just the beginning. In those days you had to know the science of lenses, the chemistry of film and developers and the physics of light. You had to be a mechanic of sorts to deal with all the apparatus and a carpenter and painter for sets, let alone a marketing genius and promotion manager just to stay in the business. I loved my work and photographed some of the many celebrities that visited the City from all over the globe. Up and down the canals of one of the most scenic places near the city. Flowers and vegetation showered the days with beauty and my life was in love with me. Things changed when 35mm cameras came into vogue and more and more people took their own images and the competition made the game much more challenging. I managed, i had a talent for staying in the game, i survived, lived a long life and have images in a few of the museums spread across the city. I died decades of years ago now and with the advent of digital modernism in all forms of media in the hands of the many, i survive only in the minds of a few surrealists and history buffs. This wandering 35mm gringo caught me doing my thing way before his time and he’s probably close to the final curtain himself if not already gone.
We shared a smile before our boats parted up and down the canal and that was that.
Image circa early 70’s – writing yesterday


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

287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07 of-by patrick wey  https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Strange the way waking-dreams weave in an out of mind. Troubled in the doorway of change, the delicate undertaker slips in to mind.
I swung in from the other side, just in time to see him leave for the top. They saw you trapped within your love but making it big on the social stage and that was good enough for you and you had already lost your honour towards the hard path, anyways. Meantime big business was buying up every green field of passion from here to the edge of the do-gooder horizon and you got sucked right in. When you thought you saw me there struggling in the forefront of humanity, you were mistaken, i wasn’t
struggling, i was breathing deep just before the night hit. I didn’t expect to turn in your heart or your expression on your delicate face when you saw me bend down to wash the feet of an unknown soul. What else could i do, the waves were pouring in, the crash was close and the immense pressure to surrender was overwhelming, i had no choice really and i’m glad the road turned and twisted into the dead end it is. How else could it have turned into this soft shadow slipping down the tears of your face? You, it seems were meant to be a star, it’s all over the media now, without much of a message, and without so much as a credit or a byline for the mysterious undertaker.
I stood there just on the verge when things changed and headed back from whence it came, the other side, leaving but with a few thoughts to get you through too.
Image circa late 70’s – writing yesterday

Patrick Wey

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

225 Image-Content of the Day 2018/10/06

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….



219 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/30

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

Patrick Wey

204 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/15

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
circa dundas st. toronto, china town 80’s


202 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/13

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