I wonder when people will bore of contemporary tintypes?
when the newness has worn away, and creativity is recognized,
or better yet the lack thereof…
I went to challenge my personhood
To remind myself what it is to be human
To lack breath and move with uncertainty
To fear falling and taste the sweat
I went to be human…
just for a day
Why are we here?
To what end do amass,
For each other?
Does the rattlesnake walk around like the badass?
Or does he defend himself in fear?
Do we not fear then,
the rattlesnakes fear?
I feel more ALIVE!
I ran 8 miles today,
to keep my muscles strong
When I was done, I came back
and I bathed the little guy,
My muscles were still sore
What does it mean,
to be a man?
I sleep with a sheet only,
I wake at night easily,
I eat the most
So that they may feel warmth with the blanket,
So no one can sneak up on them,
So I may have my strength all the time for when it is needed
What is wrong with being a man?
I feel like I’m leaving myself,
To tread water with no hands,
It’s a young man’s game you know
I can see gray hairs,
many, many gray hairs
As a point of fact, I hate photography. It’s made up.
“What’s more important, what the photo is, or the photo itself?”
I don’t know. I don’t care. Photography is a means to an end for me.
But sculpture, ah, now THERE is a true art! Made completely from imagination and the material world. It flexes with internal and external influences. The artist is a victim to it.
I never make too many sculptures. They are sacred to me.
And when i am asked, “so where are your sculptures? I’ve never seen them”
I slyly reply, “oh they’re around”
And never show them.
Why do we breathe,
each breath as if there were a guaranteed next
Why is the air heavy,
with proud and entitlement
I ponder this,
as my son wrestles in the ocean of his bath
I am a soldier
Advertisements and sweeping stocks
of a shadow of myself
As I march on,