Table of Contents
Now, you might be asking why did I have a human brain in the first place and where did I get it?
Luckily, I’m not an ethical man. I’m a lawyer.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintLhouceine, tell us a little bit about how your interest in photography developed?
For a long time photography was not something celebrated in Morocco. Photography, until the coming of digital photography and cameras on cell phones, was something out of reach for most people, because there were not that many cameras around and furthermore, even if you had a camera you had to develop the film.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintOpaque
It’s opaque, secretive
to no purpose, circular
rather than linear,
a road that comes back
to itself as if that
were enough to keep our
attention, the first person
subjective, story of you
as told by you who can’t
stop free-associating
words that stand for emotions
you can’t bear to lay bare,
cop-out extraordinaire.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintWhat Blocks Out the Sun
If you realize that all things change, there is nothing you will try to hold on to. If you are not afraid of dying, there is nothing you cannot achieve. –– Lao Tzu
Look, the tongue is not mapped, does not pair well
with the drapes.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintBlue Ridge Mountain Runaway
High cries broke
from that salt-beaded neck
above splintered hands
dangling on strings.
Now rest hushed in moonshine
between bar lines
as lead begins to drip.
We escaped on the trail of rhapsody
to the crossroads of flattened steps
until the air had a bite
facing an Aeolian hall.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintRock
How foolish
we were to make
promises when we
are designed to break
apart, to find our simplest
form, to return to the thinnest
vibrating string. We begin as one
then the cord is cut. All we are are clues,
molecules glued, atoms aching to be small,
smaller, smallest. All the decades, all the pages
of calendars ripped & forgotten.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintIt is what it is
It is what it is.
It’s not what it might have been.
It’s not what it had been.
It isn’t what it could be.
It’s not what it ought to be.
It won’t be what it might have been.
It was what it ought not to have been.
Share:FacebookTwitterLinkedinTumblrPrintDeath of a Romantic
for Kurt Brown
Soul is the first to go,
followed by Love, Longing, Desire.
The moon is untethered,
sunset mashed under a boot heel,
all rainbows bled, constellations crushed.
Forget the firefly, dragonfly, butterfly, moth.
Singe the ladybug’s wings, pluck the bluebird clean.
Uproot twining roses, jasmine, willows that weep.
Into such an India I am born.
It’s jealousy that drives ex-wives’ rage.
...which she blamed on the bone-liquefying, falsetto shrieks I emitted...
...they had to go and make good and evil obvious.
Red lights were flashing and “Back That Ass Up” was playing five years too late...
A solo show
Her former husband was a good man, and she had screwed up the marriage.
... yellow blossoms strewn along a lonely path, a banana leaf flat and still on a green pool...
... a sharp frightened gleam in her eyes.
Excerpt from "Excursion to Jennings Creek"