A melding of two designs in London
My eyes mostly see creatures from nature naked: Sometimes I might hear the entire whale roar: Sometimes the alligator bits will squeal: Sometimes the pink elephant will urinate like a blue rhinoceros: My memory will always be lost before it is gained. My moments are meant to be before I can no longer see:
Everyday I see my imagination: The beautiful and the broken awaken: Fantasies and fewer truths arise: Everyday I make a capture: Everyday I see the architecture I might photograph.
The idea of pockmarked boulevards upon my eyes: The idea of vanishing highways alone upon my eyes: The idea of my eyes alone among the black blackened chiaroscuro alleys: I will be allowed to see: The idea of a vacated invisible intersection: I will be allowed to see: The imaginary loss is real: The real is all I might one day see:
Artist Jaume Plensa: Madison Square Park NYC
The lost but never intended intersections are before my eyes: I land before I take off: I was never flying but I arrive at the unintended destination: A misguided step reveals what direction I head towards: Lost Horizon’s Shangri-La, if you allow, is real. The Man Who Would be King, if you allow, is real. Wherever I choose to imagine captures become real.
The history after me begins in 1904: I burst: I exclaimed: I imagined: Jack Kerouac almost five decades following roared across Route 66 in directions to be: He lived across roads destinations: He collected the imaginations to dream:
I glimpsed by chance before and after, Canyon De Chelly, (Edward Curtis’s Monument Valley) became: The day I imagined how my past would amount a takeover of my future: My original dream: Collecting the entire human history in a single thirty-five mm frame: Francis-Ford-Coppola recognized his seventy-mm influences days and years before mine: Like me, he saw words and stories that made his dreams a bit possible:
Edward Curtis’ portrait awakened my eyes to the unintended dreams: Beyond the vantage point: Beyond what might be ahead there is a history that was: We marched:
I know Twain’s Huckleberry Finn: I know Coppola’s Apocalypse Now: I know John Huston’s Sierra Madre: I know Hemingway’s Farewell to Arms: Calvino’s Italy to Kublai Khan’s China…Dali’s Costa Brava to Miro’s Costa Sol…Tsarist Russia to what now may be…
Los Angeles Train Station
Before it comes to an end, Utagawa Hiroshige’s wave waivers as it stands before me: My destinations are paramount towards my end: The destinations are mere steps to where I might need to be: If I don’t get to the intended was: The peripheral journey is:
I gather stories: Stories are told to me: I arrive: I might see J.M.W. Turner’s ethereal likeness of an ancient kingdom, ancient city on his Approach to Venice canvas: I may instead see brick and mortar of Anselm Kiefer’s Athanor: I dream of destinations as one might imagine art: Newly dreamed destinations may arrive like captures on the universe’s playground of stories to be told:
Ahead as I dream are captures of imaginary possibilities: A witches brew may be best:
I approach the new with trepidation and gusto: I am always concerned what may continue: Rudyard Kipling comes to mind: His dreams and fantasy’s are mine: He writes true stories that are fiction: Films are made from his memories: His The Light that Failed could be true: My adrenalin drives: My eyes can no longer dream side by side: My dreams: The future/past that follows each capture.
Ruby Tuesday:
“When you change with every new day
Still, I’m gonna miss you”.
Mick Jagger and Keith Richards
Architect: Group A: “Blaak 8” Rotterdam