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?
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.
...which she blamed on the bone-liquefying, falsetto shrieks I emitted...
Red lights were flashing and “Back That Ass Up” was playing five years too late...
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...