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Sunday 31 December 2017

Amish woman and daughter on train from el paso texas to san diego california Street photography


This is a candid shot of a mother and daughter on an Amtrak train going from El Paso Texas to San Diego California.  It is not the perfect technical camera setting, but I'm inclined to believe (know) that the technical imperfections of street photography gives it a kind of natural beauty that would appear more clinical and dispassionate in a staged shot.   The woman here is clearly aware of my camera and (passively) aggressively trying to discourage me by engaging a side look  Whilst I respect the right of some privacy, the photograph comes first in a public area.  Interesting sidenote:  it was snowing quite alot in el paso, texas, somewhat unusual!

Sunday 10 December 2017

#Beach #storm #caribbean #red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


#red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


Saturday 25 November 2017

#red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


#red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


#red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


#red #primarycolors #minimalism #minimal #colors #composition #capture #blue #yellow #instagram #instagrammers #igers #TagsForLikes #instalove #instamood #instagood #followme #follow #comment #shoutout #photography #iphoneography #androidography #filter #filters #hipster #contests #photo #ig #igaddict #TFLers #photooftheday #insta #picoftheday #bestoftheday #instadaily #instafamous #popularpage #popular Street Art Instagram Hashtags #streetphotography #buildinggraffiti #graffitiart #art #streetart #handmade #instagraffiti #street #graff #animation #urban #wallart #spraypaint #aerosol #spray #wall #mural #murals #painting #arte @sarahzarstudio #color #streetartistry #artist #grafiti #urbano #rue #guerillaart Portrait Hashtags #portrait #portraits #portraiture #feelgoodphoto #selfportrait #face #eyes #mouth #lips #hair #me #myself #cute #selfshot #pose #moi #closeup #love #instalovers #instafamous #life #model #selfie #nightclub #race #black #white #vivianmaier #robertfrank


writing






                                           

                                      At a Loss

       A man with not much to lose,
       searching purpose, island hopping in his sailboat to
                              somewhere,
       ran into a storm and safely docked at a small Caribbean island
       about 2 miles in length populated by about
       a thousand islanders - mostly fishermen. It had clean streets,
       tidy New England style clapboard houses, cozy pubs and a
       blue-green lagoon with fishing boats sleepily nodding in the
       water. He docked the sailboat and wandered into the
       pub close by, ordered beer and grilled fish and watched the
       rain falling through the porthole window
       The grilled fish was fresh and light and the beer cold
       The fishermen in the pub seemed unhurried, with quiet eyes
       They bantered with the bartender in a cool pleasant way that
       seemed familiar to the man - it echoed a
       simpler time and place. The waitress was ethereal and attractive
       with a clean laugh - and talking with her stirred feelings of 
        nostalgia within him.

       He finished the meal and drank another beer while
       listening to the rain pattering on the tin roof - cocooned by
       blue seas and thought:
       I should stay here and not go back home.  A man could reinvent himself
       in a place like this.  I will make some inquiries

       But the storm passed and the fishermen got
       back on their boats.
       And as if by nature: The man returned to his sailboat,
       undid the lines and sailed away slowly, listening to
       gentle waves washing against the boat.
       As the island became smaller behind him
       he did not look back.










         2 01 PM on Saturday Afternoon
         in the Caribbean

        Just 200 meters from the shore
        I am shirtless
        a flopped fish on the boat deck
        gazing at cloud patterns above

        the great sea yawns
        through another 2 o'clock day
        as tourists lay at
        the water edge like cuts of cane
        waiting for transport

        the sun moves through the hours
        I close my eyes
        and listen to the sea babbling to itself

        a butterfly, with a delicate hurried look
        slapping the pages of its wings
        lands next to me and I begin to talk:

        I talk of the pleasure
        of the days
        about the sweet cup
        of the thing called life
        and how good the sun feels
        warming my shoulders

        who would have thought things would be so easy?

        suddenly the boat lurches
        and then, far off, on the shore
        the plaintive scream of a child
        an undecipherable refrain



            11 months in London

     As I turn left off Oxford Street
     cloaked in a low sky and shuffling
     along with the other furrowed brows

     I search for the accents of my youth
     "Tomato" or "Tomahto" or "Tomata."
     "Aunt" or "Ant" or "Auntie"

     Punching my cold fists into a
     Harrods jacket I enter the tube, 

     shortly reaching a grey gray
     station and see the pub with an
     old fashioned clock against the
     familiar liquored mirror, 

     damn, it's way past our meeting time, 
     and
     am I at the right place? 

     I really could go for
     comfort food now, we need this

     Connection

     "Buffalo Wings? " Or is it "Fish and Chips? "
     Maybe "Saltfish? "

     Which of these do I want? 
     Eh, it's too late for such a search.

      A sudden hiss of wind
     angrily flaps my jacket, and
     a raindrop

     taps my shoulder—
     as a stranger does when they have
     wandered too far and need
     direction.

     The rain falls.
     The sun falls.
     The fog falls.
     The days fall from the harboring arms of mothers.

     I walk alongside the parceled flats, 
     pausing at a low bridge and look out at
     the bruised dusk of the Old World
     as the wind swings my bag like a beacon
     against the cold.
     Oh, come now - and dance with me 

     Caribbean.
       

         New Orleans Sunday Morning

      The morning sun peeks
       into this hotel room above bourbon street
       our silent breaths take shape
       hers, and mine

       Radiant silver glowing on her thighs
       it is a fleeting bond, fragile and drying

       a fog as sweet as farm milk
       floats above the cigarette butts
       on the sidewaks below

        and the janitors come in trucks
        and wash the liquored streets
        with latte steam

        her blonde mane falls across my chest
        and if I stepped out of my body right now
        I would break into a blossom. 




          The end of a day

     This day is ashamed of itself
     and wishes to be done

     in its defense it never asked to be born
     anymore than the rest of us

     who are lost within it -
     drained and dazed in its haste

     staggering across concrete
     staring into flickering screens

     and the eventual falling apart of things
     is the only payment that arrived on time

     there is nothing left to save of it
     so I have another beer at the Kings Head

     and watch a woman slumped over a gin and tonic
     her gaze blank into her phone

     I walk towards the bartender for one more
     as the air fills the spaces that my body has been

     There is a quiet violence in life
     I rather like it




                Driving Away

      I am writing this behind your back, 
      actually in the passenger seat
      beside you, 

      and we are driving towards
      the horizon for days
      floating to the southern parts
      of the country
      out of soft dawns 

      At night we disappear in a haze of
      random rooms of liquored mirrors 
      Two shirttails in the wind
      Waking in the mornings 
      to maddened birds and sunlight

      adrift, moorings cut
      sweeping out to unpaved places
      barely discernible from a distance
      a mirage, soon disappearing now

      driving to a place where we 
      invent our own ending
      that comes out right. 


          Happiness 


       Oh, my friend
       you have got to
       create it
       invent it
       reinvent it
       choose it
       work it
       revise it
       hatch it up
       hunt it down
       then you have to lose it
       and then
       find it all over again

       the gods make plenty of happiness,
       hell, they give it away in bundles,
       but
       few people have it
       so be on the watch
       when they offer it to you.

       It is a beautiful struggle

       and the only one there is.



         Bolivian hotel after a confidential word
         with the concierge

       As I step down from the chicken fluttered bus
       I'm hit with a blast of popcorn bag heat
       opened directly into my face and I glide through
       the cheek and jowl streets with
       tangled knots of aromas from street market stalls
       I feel life flow back into me(!) as I
       grow nearer and remove my aviator shades
       perching them on my head with my left hand while
       my right hand confirms a lump of faded colonial pointed nose men
       aiming towards the bar recommended by the fuzzy diced
       1995 caprice classic taxi driver with a broken air conditioner and
       I see fleshy tropical shirted gringos appearing uncommonly popular
       at Las Diablo Bar.

       She holds eye contact for 5 glorious seconds
       and slides through perfumed air towards me
       and I rewind to a time of
       cars and lakes and
       cascading hair
       and beery mirth and
       soft touches and the freshly packaged
       newness of youth that the counsel of
       my years will not surrender
       and I become intoxicated by the whole
       damn thing and soon we are   

       stumbling into the sharp edge of the city
       through dying light
       past corrugated iron and angry graffiti.
      We are sniped by well aimed stares of
       lost possibilities from women whose
       arms are thick from lifting children.
       Their eyes have no flicker.
       These things cause
       our buzz to fade a little
       and we become less tactile as
 
       we reach a concrete squared house with a
       sleepy hammock and mongrels and dusty children kicking a ball
       and a grandmother slowly and silently lifts her face
       towards my mumbled greeting
       but her hands continue their soapy toil.

       I find myself in a bare bulb room with a
       picture of Jesus that I remember from childhood Catechism
       on the wall and an old iron post bed with thin sheets and soon
       I see this:

       The symmetry of her face, close up, is melting.
       Her lip curves slightly up on the left side as
       does the right.  Matching almond eyes
       with a brow of gentle waves and laughter that
       occasionally breaks into flashes of
       sadness.
  
       A child is conversing in the
      next room in animated tones playing with
      a (formerly) blonde one armed doll who is
      competing with a tube tv
      broadcasting a Brazilian soap opera.
      A rooster crows, a reggaeton
      car thumps by and the
      street noises converge
      into a disquieting hum.  

       We shift from grip to grip to grip as
       a tired oscillating fan moves slowly
       left and right and left, as if

       in disapproval.



                          Pete

       My friend Pete  is a good man,
       been with the Company for 9 years,
       married to his wife for 7 years.

       He quit drinking 2 years ago and is quitting
       caffeine this year. 
       He  wants to eliminate
       gluten from his diet next year.

       Never had an accident (caused a few, though),
       cuts his grass every Saturday at 9 a.m. sharp.

        He's always on time,
        and his shirts are neatly pressed

        At conferences, I see him grinning over the
        top of a cup of white chocolate mocha with soy,
        and I always wave my vodka in his direction.

        He is what women call "solid,"  and then
        they  say, "well,  it was time to settle down, and
        he was there"

        and I can understand that.

        He will likely pass quietly in the night,
       with that "peaceful look" spread across his face.

       I often hear his loud clean laugh at parties,
       happy and content,

        as I  fuck his wife in the pool room.



                     5: 07 Pm At Coconut Joes Bar



          Perched on the stool with my feet
hooked into the rounded footstep
am
Preened
eyes scanning quest
who suddenly appear
and I lock onto them in the cool Revo
shade of the liquored watering hole
displaying bleached fangs
at striking distance as
skweeking noisy groups
of twos and fours engage
in skittish gossip

I am base and knuckled and
primal – no affectation of
enlightenment, evolution, religion
or Gloria Steinem
technology ancient in
gelled hunt of perfect
savagery with a
denim cloaked tool
seeking prey
before closing time.

                 A Blink


       It can take years to get things sorted out, 
       whatever it is or was that keeps you static. 
       Sitting there waiting with only your self doubt, 
       while all around you life moves on and you're stuck 
       in a slow motion scream.

       We are all moving towards a conclusion, 
       it's something that our dance with destiny cannot
       escape. Sure, there you go trying to reconfigure
       life's illusions.
       All I'm trying to do is advise you-
       a problem shared is a problem solved. So look in the mirror
       and tell me what you see - and be honest.

       These Questions we have and
       Answers we want, 
       they are like an Ocean. And we just float on the surface, 
       fearing that we get drowned. Can I tell you my friend - this life, 
       it's flying by in perpetual motion. And what could be - 
       can pass you by
       in a blink. 



                   A couple on a Sunday Drive

       There are no disagreements as we drive along, 
       encased safely in the car, a road
       split by the center line.
       Practiced vowels, consonants and syllables
       roll predictably with the hum of tires. Each topic
       measured as the roadside poles, 
       the conversation's selected tone
       mirrors the
       ca-thump ca-thump ca-thump
       of the the paved highway joints.

       We stare at the windshield and 
       think of things that must be said - instead, 
       the words shift, twist, and turn
       in our mouths
       like worms, then sit angrily, 
       before we
       brood them out of separate windows in 
       silence and

       continue down the road 
       somewhere, 
       the receding light of the sun 
       searching through glass then
       fading
       in the rear window, 
       frame by frame
       until the light is
       gone. 






                   Dear Lady

       I brought you everywhere
       heart racing beauty and 
       your razor wit, ravaging you in 
       dark places seen only by mirrors

       But
       Now we go nowhere
       goldfish in an unquenchable bowl
       looking at the spinning clock
       through a furtive window and

       raging until the angry shafts of light
       cut through blinds scorching
       regrets and sworn goodbye
       too deep, too fast 
       a damn mistake for

       you are shallow as dust
       on a table railing against reason
       taking gold with your straw man soul

       What pressure you put my blood under! 
       But my heart has charged and
       I have cut your credit cards

   

                             Leave

         In Brighton, a suburb of Denver,
         at  6:03 pm on a Tuesday, a woman
          in dark shades is seen careening through
         a yellow traffic light turning red,
         grinning straight into the windshield
         days rerunning behind her:

         41 Christmases, 3 mortgages, 4 cars, 5 dogs
         7  expired drivers licenses
         2 slippers under the bed

         Days fill
         Nights fill
         Glasses fill
         Calendars fill
         Beds fill

          She never fills

         But what life did she expect?

         An ant is crawling across the
         knuckles of her driving hand
         He knows the answer but
         he's not telling her

         Radio rising, orange tip of a
         cigarette sparks the dark
         out the window
         a light beer in the cupholder

         she eases down on the pedal
         humming rubber on white concrete
         going somewhere:

         factories without smoke drowse soundless
         ships sail from distant harbors
         cars run silently at highway rests
         numbered seats fly across time zones

          the world continues to
          be the same

         without her.




The Girl In A Yellow Dress 




I saw you yesterday in a yellow summer dress,
the color of high dosage diazepam, through the
rain streaked window of a familiar bar, as I walked by,
somewhere in the city,
and I could swear you saw me, then turned away -
like that moment when a bird decides
not to eat from your hand. I had not seen you since
graduation, but I thought you should know this:

I hit harder in schoolyard fights when
you were watching (and you did watch!) .
I tackled harder in rugby matches when you
were watching.
I ran faster in races when you
were watching.

There is an August beach photograph of you and me,
in our 19th year, tumbling hair, greedy as seagulls.
Maybe you've just been all the wild in me.
Some pictures don't come down easy from the wall.

It's been years of small victories and large defeats and
drinks poured,3 cars,2 dogs, expired drivers licenses,
landlords, mortgages, and 15 Christmases.
Are you happy as you thought you would be?

I'm just lying here, writing you this email on
these hard springs. So let's meet at that bar, tomorrow. Yes?
Don't worry. All is well here,
but
there is Something Coming towards me
across the floor. Oh, it just a rolling bottle of wine,
this
time.

There is a place in me that is never filled.
And this is where I am likely to be found.
If you can find this place - Do Come In. 


                                             Punching the Moon

                  There are delving days when the ink blue sea whispers to me
                  in a sexy voice, “Come over here boy, and give me a kiss.”
                  “Hell no girl! I am not easy like that! Anyway, I have
                   too much to do.”

                  I want to get cashy and swagger with America,
                  drunk with England on cool draft lager,
                  dine with France on her clean white linens with shining silver,
                  then turn to Italy, her eyes of tawny pools, and say,
                  “You and I are going dancing with Brazil.
                  We’ll splash across the Atlantic and
                  samba all night!”

                  Some days I feel like punching the moon out of sight,
                  swatting down the stars,
                  pouring the oceans down the drain,
                  and switching off the sun.

                   There are nights when the skies thunder with revelry and streak
                   with disco lightning and the rain drinks champagne
                   and mother nature, with her thousand Arabic pleasures,
                   sways over to me slow thighed….
                  But I’ve got to finish the laundry now – I’ve got a ton of it to do.