A journey through old material.

When I write a poem, I might not know how to cull the thirty roughly written lines into the corporeal feeling of a throb beneath my writs, the sensation of twisted muscles, a permeating sense of peace as I ease my back against the trunk of a tree.

When I sing a song, I don’t always hear the beautiful melody beneath my bending voice.

When I take a set of photos, I can not always see the 5 out of 50 that keep me turning back to them over and over.

It’s so easy to lose sight of developing skills and let them fall into the gutter as the army of destruction commands you to breathe in the tear gas, send up the white flag, and lie unmoving, belly down in the mud.

Then the reinforcements come: Photos get sorted, poems get edited, performance gets practiced.

The photos below are from April of 2010 @ The Procession of the Species in Olympia, WA. I was in a rotten mood that day, after having been left behind by the group that I was going to go with. When I cooled off enough to head down and join the crowd I remember feeling disenfranchised the entire time. I felt that I was in a poor position to take photos and I couldn’t get the perspective I wanted. The whole world was blocking me from getting the photos I wanted. Even after getting home and comparing my photos with a friend I was upset. None of my photos were personal or clear.

But wait…as I look at the photos today, what is this?

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