It’s empty in the valley of your heart
The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you’ve left behind
The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see
But I have seen the same
I know the shame in your defeat
But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind
So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears
But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker’s land
So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say
Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be
And I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again
life:
Christophe Dessaigne photographs surreal scenes of lone figures wafering a post-apocalyptic landscape.
I am incapable of understanding your actions. You eat porridge one day and muesli the next. You tell me you love me, but your voice is hollow and I have trouble hearing it through the many scarves which muffle your voice. Warm, warm, keep warm. You try to keep me warm, but I refuse. I kick off the blankets in my sleep, dreaming of freedom-painted fabric, and liberty bells. What is war? – I ask, and the conversation turns urgent. We gesticulate wildly, but our voices never exceed four. They are hushed, but you tell me everything that is wrong with the world and I tell you the same thing, looking into a mirror on my left. All this is, is intrigue and wild gesticulations and sweeping statements, urgent conversations behind the lampshade, reaching for a conclusion but finding only thin air.Deborah Wu (via slekes)
“this notion of personifying is a very important part of the discovery process; the capacity to imagine yourself as something else, or to imagine something that other people would find rather unusual or unacceptable…people who are creative will usually make those discoveries when they are doing…some kind of an activity that’s not overly physically taxing, but some kind of an activity where the visual templates on which ideas and memories are engaged repeatedly. Some people can make good use of it; other people condition themselves to eliminate extraneous stimulation – that is, not to engage in the metaphorical constructs that enhance creative knowledge – but to reduce metaphors to ideational concepts, to semantic statements. Then it takes someone like Mark Johnson…to show that creative meaning is actually carried by the metaphor, not by the semantic content of the statement that we would verbally translate that into…one has to have faith that the metaphorical abstraction is actually where the meaning resides.”
How could it be that one day I will say goodbye to all of this and miss the lilac spring, the May times whistling on the wing, and the robin’s kiss? In the summertime, when days and evenings are in rhyme, you will not find me in the grove among the lilies in repose or weeding in the garden path where scented seedlings hold on fast. When autumn falls I’ll cast no shadow on the wall or hear the owl’s haunted hoot high above the rotting root. When all is orange russet red I will not be with you in bed
- d michals
They are deliberately impure on several accounts. He parades the weakness and mistakes of the medium, its blurs and double exposures, not to define a specfically photographic way of seeing but to picture what cannot be seen by eye or camera.
“How foolish of me to believe that it would be that easy. I had confused the appearances of trees and automobiles and people with reality itself, and believed that a photograph of these appearances to be a photograph of it. It is a melancholy truth that I will never be able to photograph it and can only fail. I am a reflection photographing other reflections within a reflection. To photograph reality is to photograph nothing.”
