A good week.

There's so much to think about and talk about when you're getting to know a person.
Or when you're re-getting to know a person.
What do you tell them first?
When I try to do these things, I find that my philosophies are more precisely defined. I'm forced to think about them. I want to portray not only the best part of myself, but also what I want to eventually attain.

I sat in church. I was thinking. Just thinking. It's hard to want what I want to want.
Confused?

Cole: stop trying to justify the things you know are wrong.



List:
Read
Learn
Be attentive.

I took many pictures with my new waist-level viewfinder for the Mamiya. I'll be posting them as soon as processing happens.

don't

I hate that I question why people like things.
I hate that I'm late to things that aren't events.
All of my fears and the things I don't enjoy bring about so much uncertainty.
I feel like I can't define anything right about now.

Tim and I sang a little bit of Incubus today. Some Warmth. I just want to experience the warmth. I really do. Whether that's with one person, with many people, completely alone, I want it to happen...frequently.

Quiet now, your voice seems miles away.
But somehow I hear your song resound a little bit softer each day.

Why do I get angrier here than anywhere else? Maybe it's just frustration, but the definitions don't vary too much. I don't want to fix everything, I just want to be able to.

I wish I could draw on here. I might scan drawings. I haven't shot in a bit. Or processed, rather. An integral part of my photographic process. I want some consistency. But only in some areas.

Can anyone relate?

hey:

women and men,
synonyms for time his come,
pack all the things you think you own,
you now live with the ones
amongst the ones
as the ones you
killed with your direct glance
your half-opened eyes.
pursed lips and mind full of sorrow.
BACK OFF the space between you screamed
it's not your job to create a screen.
and still haven't finished half the book.
each time my eyes grow tired
as worn and weary as the ears of corn still being grown
and the kids whose feet ache and groan.
said, redemption, and jumped on in,
folks with kids and men with sin.
there's no contracts
a lack of seeming rules
but in it's place harsh suggestions made
to make grown-ups shiver with what they think they know
with what you think you own
with all the sparrow's songs
shirts on piano benches
following cars to outer locations
spitting on ladders to higher places
crawling under said ladders
just to disprove superstition
super dishing out the dinner
mother made for everyone
yet you refuse your bowl of soup
too good for it
to low to stoop.




bleh.

winter.

Oh, well I knew you shook the set-up baby, of all the leaves up in the ground
And I know our song is over and heavy as I see dry leaves fallin' down, oh
With all this fever in my mind, I could drown in your kerosene eyes
Oh, you're just a riddle in the sky
Oh, where do my bluebirds fly?

And as the early sign of dawn of thunder I see you stir the fog around
And when you find the boys and gears of sunset we'll hear that high and lonesome sound, oh
And I will question every wind if they gone through the glow of your eyes
Oh, you're just a riddle in the sky
Oh, where do my bluebirds fly?
I say where do my bluebirds fly?

Oh, well I know you soak your feathers baby upon the ghosts along my trail
And I know well I was sole and buried before I knew it was for sale, oh
With all this fever in my mind I could aim for your kerosene eyes
Oh, you're just a target in the sky
I say where do my bluebirds fly?
I say where do my bluebirds fly?