GRAVITY

The shadow speaks with an ability to defeat a layer of silence. Killing the search for an answer to memory provides a needed outlet. The groove placed on that No Mans Land, which is the unexplained future now moves with India on the High. To try and remove the cloak of mystery from a lifeless tree that continues to assist these lungs would bring about an unfortified strategy. The essence of Gravity shifts the space between motion and a long meditation taken beneath the horizons cliff. This feverish night will soon become unplugged and thrown to those vultures of broken stars, which seem to be trying to guide a sightless path towards a familiar salvation.

REACTION TO A PACKERS-VIKINGS MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL GAME IN 2009

On Monday night in Minneapolis a classic bout of football with the Green Bay Packers pitted against the Minnesota Vikings erupted across the field. Though this particular rivalry in sports has lasted for decades, the game that was held on October 5 ignited a new style of energy back into the fold.

Monday night was the first game played between the two teams with Brett Favre appearing as quarterback for the Vikings, an image Packers fans thought to be impossible only a short time ago. Brett Favre played for the Green Bay Packers from 1992 until 2007, leading the team to a Super Bowl win in 1997. Favre retired in 2007 only to emerge shortly after playing for the New York Jets. Favre has since then been a top story in the sports world for both fan and reporter alike and his recent position in Minnesota has only heightened the talk.

For four hours both teams battered the other down the field as thousands of fans roared with determined passion. Millions more looked on as the Vikings, with their impressive passing game and walled out defense, stopped the Packer’s offense from gaining a win on their territory. The final score was 30-23 with the Packers coming up short; despite an impressive show at the end by Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers trying to rally his team together for a victory.

The story on the field and on the television was Favre, who at 39 years of age performed flawlessly. Throwing touchdowns, making plays and seeming to have as much fun that an athlete could have, Favre lived up to his mystic. After gaining the win over his former team, Brett Favre became the first quarterback in the history of the game to defeat all 32-franchise teams in the league. “One game is not going to define my career, good or bad,” Favre said when asked how he viewed the win. Favre reacted to reporter’s questions with a great sense of humility and through the emotion seen on his face millions of people could see a man walk off that field with his legend secured in that moment.

REACTION TO ARTICLE WRITTEN ABOUT RICHARD DAWKINS

The article Faith and Belief, written by Susan Salter Reynolds for the LA Times, features scientist/author Richard Dawkins and centers around his new book “The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution”. Written using an indirect lead, the article discusses Dawkins’ current activities, focusing on his recent appearance at the Atheist Alliance International Convention that’s held in Burbank, California. Reynolds has a great use of transitions, writing of Dawkins’ current and previous endeavors and then leading into the work he is setting up for the foreseeable future. That work is a book meant for children with the purpose of inspiring them to learn science and question our cemented knowledge of the universe. This transitional use of feature writing lent a positive element to the piece’s overall atmosphere and movement. This was a profile piece that concentrated on the person’s work and how that work impacts society. The article was intended mainly for those acquainted with either Dawkins personally or his particular field of interest. However, the style of the piece allows any reader, whether knowing Dawkins or not, to read and course through the article with ease and enjoyment. Dawkins, who has been hitting the circuit promoting his new book, continues to try and introduce the art of science and scientific theory concerning evolution to the mass public. Dawkins, a very persuasive individual when read and seen on television, wants to reach an audience who is unfamiliar with evolution and how it pertains to the process of humanity. That unfamiliarity is what Dawkins is working to reverse with his words and his theoretic messages. The article sheds light on Dawkins’ previous works “The Selfish Gene” and “The God Delusion”, two works that support his theories on human evolution. The writer reveals Dawkins’ back-story; where he grew up, family connections, his personal view of God, his reaction to fame as an author, along with how he came to be in his particular field of science. Reynolds was able to obtain quotes that allow the reader to become familiarized with Dawkins and what he holds to be true and eminent in his life. The quote that speaks to my mind is "Biological evolution is a slow process," he says, "much slower than cultural evolution. The vast majority of species go extinct, but we are a remarkable species. Given our advances in technology, we have good reason to think we might survive extinction. It's possible that in 10 million years our descendants will still be here." Powerful words that are meant to inspire faith in human evolution through science, a faith that I adhere to and believe in.

As someone who wants to enter the field of journalism I look for unique personal styles of writing and use of language from journalists and Susan Reynolds has a style that I can follow. Though this is a feature article, there are signs of a news story throughout the piece. There are facts about Dawkins, his work, and those affiliated with that work, which are placed and used in just the right areas of the piece to stimulate a continued interest. There is a high use of quotes from Dawkins and hearing the man’s words in the article gives it a creative energy. Writing of Dawkins’ personal history and importance within academia and scientific study, Reynolds presents a clear and concise portrait of the man she covered. This article is a perfect example of a feature piece, one that has encouraged my mind to seek out further articles written by Reynolds, including learning more of Dawkins’ work and theory on human evolution. From that I’d say this article met its goal of reaching the reader on both a personal and an intellectual level.

HAWAII PACIFIC UNIVERSITY SOCIOLOGY PAPER WRITTEN IN 2008

AFGHANISTAN: A CIVILIAN’S NIGHTMARE COMES TRUE

The nation of Afghanistan is one that has been ravaged by unrelenting violence and poverty since its very formation. Tribal warfare and continued invasions by foreign powers have brought the foundation of that mountainous country to its knees. The people of Afghanistan, a community of civilians linked together in the failure and possible rebirth of their land, have endured many years of death and destruction that cripple their attempts at living long and peaceful lives. Disputes over land and religion have plagued the Afghan population and there appears to be a continued sense of political isolation, despite the United States’ newfound determination to rid Afghanistan of terrorism. The Afghan people are born into a world of overwhelming violence caused by outsiders as well as their own, all in the name of political power and progress. The U.N and the United States is trying to reverse this cycle of death surrounding Afghanistan, which is a tough mission that requires all the commitment and energy the world community is able to give.

The current war in Afghanistan started in the fall of 2001, following the September 11th attacks on New York City and the Pentagon in the continental U.S by Osama Bin Laden and his terrorist organization Al Qaeda. Bin Laden was being protected and sheltered by the Afghan government, which at that time was the Taliban, a religious sect of the population that took over the country amid the chaos that was taking place there in the 1990s. The chaos in the 1990s began immediately after the Soviet Unions withdrawal of troops, which had been in the process of occupying the country since its invasion over a decade before in December of 1979. “In April 1978 a military coup brought to power in Kabul a pro-Soviet Marxist party bitterly divided internally by factions. The Khalq (or People) faction, which came out on top, tried to carry out major social transformations very rapidly, regardless of opposition. By implementing land reform without proper preparation they unleashed bitter village disputes and undermined traditional elites in the countryside. Their attempt to reform the marriage laws by abolishing the Kalym upset the generally accepted basis of family contracts and hence the relationships between families. Campaigns for primary education and universal literacy on Soviet Marxist lines affronted Islamic believers. Symbolically most objectionable of all, the new rulers replaced the Islamic green flag with a red one”(Geoffrey Hosking). The civilian population was forced to endure what seemed to be an endless arrangement of fighting between foreign and Afghan rebels against the communist regime in charge of Kabul and the Soviet might moving through Asia from the center of communism, Moscow. Over a decade after the Soviet war in Afghanistan ended, in the early years of the 21st century, the last remaining super power in the world would take on a similar path of bombing and invading that Central Asian country, attaining retribution for the deaths of American civilians by seeking out known terrorist organizations and attempting to bring the ideals of democracy and freedom to a struggling land.

Throughout its history, as a nation in the modern world, Afghanistan has experienced many political changes and has repeatedly been placed in the center of conflicts between powers larger than itself. In the 19th century Afghanistan was considered to be the frontline between the competing nations of imperial Russia and imperial England, two world powers that held sway over vast empires. The British fought two wars inside the frontiers of Afghanistan, receiving a bloody welcome each time from the people in the form of disastrous defeats and deadly massacres. “The Afghans had annihilated one of the greatest armies of the British Empire on this very stretch of road, and high above me were villages where old men still remembered the stories of great-grandfathers who had seen the English die in their thousands. The stones of Gandamak, they claim, were made black by the blood of the English dead. The year 1842 marked one of the greatest defeats in British arms. No wonder we preferred to forget the First Afghan War. But Afghans don’t forget”(Robert Fisk). That ancient and mysterious land, which is Afghanistan, has witnessed the passing of time through spears, bullets and blood, and still the Afghan people survive. Though they suffer greatly from the destruction seen in fruition in that war zone of a country, the civilian population surpasses all logic by continuing to live their lives the way they always have and proving the theory of defeat completely wrong.

Currently the United States is the global power dominating the political arena centered on Afghanistan, a position acquired after the invasion of the country in 2001 and the defeat of the Taliban government, which had ruled the Afghan people with an iron and religious fist since the mid 1990s. “ The Taliban, composed mostly of ethnic Pushtuns from around Kandahar, launched a war against the hopelessly corrupt Tajik and Uzbek warlords of the “Northern Alliance.” War-weary Afghans often supported Taliban victories because its fundamentalist leaders did at least stamp out corruption, restore law and order (even if the law was an extreme version of medieval Islamic practice), and allow some semblance of normality to return to parts of the country”(Chalmers Johnson). This war, carried out by the Taliban against the warlord’s, preceded after the defeat of soviet forces and the vacuum of power that had been left in the wake of their withdrawal. The warlords, who had been a consistent sight of power in Afghanistan over the centuries moved in to fill that political void in the early 1990s, fighting amongst themselves and setting off a devastating civil war, which triggered a violent response from the Taliban. The population was once again forced to endure another conflict, this time between internal parties that waged across villages, towns and cities that had already seen great loss in the recent years.

The year 1996 saw the capture of Kabul, the capitol of Afghanistan by the Taliban forces and the restructuring of power within the country that would have lasting affects on Afghanistan, the United States and the world. “If there was a single inspiration and hope for peace amongst ordinary Afghans after the Taliban emerged, it was the fact that they governed through a collective political leadership, which was consultative and consensus-building, rather than dominated by one individual”(Ahmed Rashid). Kings, dictators, warlords and “strong men”, a cycle of corruption following each new shift into political control, had continuously ruled Afghanistan up until that time when the Taliban appeared on the stage with the Koran and a heightened sense of religious determination. The Afghan people desired stability and a solution for ending the relentless violence that had on a whole consumed every family and individual in that impoverished nation.

Throughout the 1980s Afghanistan was a staging ground for Islamic militancy, which was strengthened and nurtured by religious fundamentalism and CIA dollars. Afghan rebels were at odd against the corrupt communist regime in Kabul and the occupying forces of the Soviet Union. During this chaotic time fighters from around the Muslim world flocked to the battle grounds of Afghanistan in hopes of engaging Soviet forces and striking a blow against what were perceived to be foreign “infidels”. These fighters seemed to be more interested in killing Soviet troops than liberating the Afghan people. The Afghan rebels and the Arab fighters had a common enemy, the Soviet Union, though their intentions and aspirations for the end result of the fighting differed. The Afghans wanted an opportunity at freeing their country from oppression and destruction, while the Arab fighters wanted their chance at conducting an Islamic Jihad against the Soviets. It was at this time that the United States first entered the scene in an attempt at disrupting the abilities and policies of its main Cold War rival the USSR. The U.S was only concerned about seeing Soviet casualties and so they turned a blind eye to the realities of the Islamic fanatics they were supporting with economic aid and training with highly advanced weaponry. “During the late 1980s and early 1990s, as allies battling Soviet occupation forces and their Afghan communist proxies, the CIA had pumped cash stipends as high as $200,000 a month to Massoud and his Islamic guerrilla organization, along with weapons and other supplies. But aid stopped in 1991 when the Soviet Union dissolved. The United States government decided it had no further interests in Afghanistan”(Steve Coll).

When the fighting ended against the Soviets the U.S pulled out its economic support from Afghanistan and sat back, watching as the beaten down country spilled out of control and entered into a horrific civil war. “The U.S Agency for International Development had shut down its Afghan humanitarian assistance program in 1994. The Pentagon had no relationships there. The National Security Council at the White House had no Afghan policy beyond a vague wish for peace and prosperity”(Steve Coll). The United States had no more reason to be involved in Afghanistan according to their own thoughts and felt that what happened there after the withdrawal was on the Afghan people and that they should be the ones to deal with their own conflicts. This lack of concern for the Afghan civilians and their fate in some sense paved the way for the Taliban to rise up, take advantage of the complete confusion from the civil war between the warlords and engage on their own path towards conquest. Islamic fundamentalism was a different and radical way of viewing the world and the Taliban gained a lot of support as they positioned themselves to try and rid the land of corrupted warlords that were causing their own chaos by trying to win the greatest political prize that country had to offer, the right to rule.

This current war in Afghanistan, which has been in a continued motion for the past seven years, has produced many victories and defeats for both enemies and allies alike. The Taliban has been toppled, replaced with a more democratic and pro Western regime under the leadership of one Hamid Karzai. The War on Terror and the war being conducted in Afghanistan go hand in hand and the need for overall victory and the possibility of a disastrous collapse of the United States’ effort are fatefully linked. The process of rebuilding that country, after decades of internal fighting is a humanitarian and political mission of staggering proportions. “Building a country virtually from scratch, containing the Taliban and developing a national army in a land that’s riven by ethnic rivalries and feuding warlords is probably a challenge too far”(huffingtonpost.com). The Taliban and Al Qaeda have for the last seven years been using guerilla tactics to attack U.S, Nato and Afghan government troops in the same ways that they perfected the art of war against the Soviet Union. The Taliban use the land and the people to their advantage by hiding in Afghan villages and surrounding themselves with innocent civilians, and by doing so they force U.S troops to become the foreign aggressor in the eyes of the Afghan people. Though not all the people hiding the Taliban are under a fear from their bullets but rather they have willingly chosen to help the Taliban, viewing the West’s attempt at bringing democracy to their villages as a failed design of political policy. The Afghan people seem divided in the sense that some are ecstatic to see the fall of the Taliban and the now common sight of American troops trying to secure their ancient land. On the other hand there is a side of the people that chose to conspire with Osama Bin Laden and his highly trained terrorists along with the Taliban, hoping to aid in the fight for Islamic fundamentalism to regain control of Afghanistan and bring to life the painful defeat of the West for the entire world to see.

The United States is facing a resilient enemy in Afghanistan, and it appears that at certain times the local population is slipping through the grip of democracy in a speeding course to simply secure the reassurance of peace. “Last week a 50-man tribal council of Pakistani and Afghan leaders in Islamabad called for “negotiations with opposition groups” to end the insurgencies mauling their countries. Asked whether this included the Taliban, Owais Ghani, a governor of Pakistan’s North West Frontier Province and head of the Pakistani delegation, was trenchant. “Of course,” he said”(weekly.ahram.org). A new wave of thinking is moving through the mountains of Afghanistan and entering the minds of the local leaders there. They feel that the solution for peace is ending the hostilities with their former enemies and engaging in pure cut diplomacy rather than continued military violence. “In September, at the request of Afghan President Hamid Karzai, Saudi Arabia hosted a meeting between Afghan government officials and “former members” of Taliban, including ministers deposed by the U.S-led invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. Taliban leader Mullah Omar reportedly accepted the Saudi mediation. Karzai says the contacts are “preparations for negotiations”(weekly.ahram.org).

Through many upheavals and drastic changes the fate of Afghanistan has shifted in sight over these long and violent years. The future for Afghanistan is not yet known and only by the actions of strong and determined individuals will that country survive these turbulent times in the early stages of the 21st century. The war rages on and there appears to be no end in sight to the fighting and dying of civilians and soldiers alike. Though there have been some efforts made to organize a peaceful solution, my firm belief is that these Islamic fanatics will not cease in their bloody struggle until, in their eyes and minds, they have achieved complete victory over their enemies. A dangerous present, a deadly past and a mysterious future cloud the activities of the Afghan people as they continue to live and breathe their way of life despite the never-ending hardships. The Afghan people are strong willed and they seem to have that keen ability of adapting to their environment, even if terrorist and allied bombings continuously compound that environment. Afghanistan is a nation consumed by a militaristic history and the people must begin to learn a new method of living, hopefully without tribal warfare and constant killing from the many factions of Afghan life. I have faith that Afghanistan and its people will survive this current war and emerge to form a better system of living and in that same process adapt to the world community, offering that community more than just guns, drugs and senseless death.

WORK CITED PAGE

1. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/stephen-c-rose/the-war-in-afghanistan-is_b_144144.html

2. http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2008/921/in2.htm

3. Coll, Steve GHOST WARS: The Secret History Of The CIA, Afghanistan, And Bin Laden, From The Soviet Invasion To September 10, 2001 Penguin Books 2004

4. Rashid, Ahmed TALIBAN: Militant Islam, Oil & Fundamentalism In Central Asia Yale Nota Bene, Yale University Press 2001

5. Johnson, Chalmers THE SORROWS OF EMPIRE: Militarism, Secrecy, And The End Of The Republic A Metropolitan/Owl Book Henry Holt And Company 2004

6. Hosking, Geoffrey A HISTORY OF THE SOVIET UNION: Revised Edition Fontana Press 1985, 1990

7. Fisk, Robert THE GREAT WAR FOR CIVILIZATION: The Conquest of the Middle East Vintage Books 2005

HISTORY OF DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY PAPER FROM SLOVENIA

ROBERT FRANK- AN OLD MAN FROM BLED IN HIS GARDEN

Robert Frank, a Swiss immigrant that came to the United States in the early 1950s, became a photographer who delved into and reported on the very pulse of Post- World War Two America and in so doing revealed how the political/cultural issues of the decade immediately following the Second Great War truly affected American daily lives. In 1955 Robert Frank, along with his family, got into a car and with his camera traveled across America in order to see first hand how the new Superpower state was reacting to and entering a post-war society and in the end took around 28,000 photos. Unlike most photographers of his day, Frank decided to capture the isolation and desolation of human identity in the various people he encountered, allowing darker sides to human emotion come across his lens. Frank is known for having used low light in his images and even using photos that had a blurred quality, which in the end attributed, in my eyes, to those photos displaying that more isolating feeling that resonated on the photographed people. Frank would get right into people’s faces and capture the inner and outer look they had, a look that on many faces spoke of hardship and dissolution and the need to escape from the racing society all around them. Frank had many photos of cowboys and small-town Americans and these photos took me in for the truth of discomfort and struggle they showed on the reactions given by the individuals, especially that shot of a cowboy on a street in New York City. Franks’ most famous works derived from his photos that caught the racial tensions and chaos that was raging throughout America in the 1950s and 1960s, revealing to many the true hypocrisy of the United States at that time when it spoke to the world and claiming itself as a land where people can be free and enjoy the gift of equality and rights. Many prominent people from that time that too saw the hypocrisy of their own society were men such as Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg, both writers and poets of the Beat Generation that through literary and artistic circles flourished in the 1950s and early 60s in America and regarded Frank as a man who could speak for millions of Americans and depict their struggle and lives just as they did through their own words and stories. Kerouac, who became the preeminent Beat and is regarded as the voice for his generation due to his definitive book about drifting around America and Mexico during the late 1940s titled On The Road, was drawn to Frank and ended up writing the introduction for his classic photo book titled The Americans, which came out in 1958 and is regarded today as a classic of the photo genre. Franks book, coming out at the same time as Kerouac’s On The Road and Ginsberg’s poem Howl, was to me the photographer’s answer to the Beat Generation, allowing them and those surrounding them a glimpse into the reality of America during the Eisenhower era and a telling on how that challenging era defined a nation and its scattered/divided people.

The image that I used from my Slovenian collection that reflects a piece of Robert Frank’s work is a photo I took of a man working in his garden while I was visiting Bled. I discussed Frank’s work as a look into the isolation and alienation of people as they went about their lives and I felt that this photo connected with Frank from the viewpoint that I was able to glimpse a part of this old mans life. He was being caught in a moment of pure human joy that he appeared to be experiencing alone despite the woman in the background window. I was searching for an image of a Slovenian individual that appeared oblivious of the outside world though at the same time still being apart of it and contributing to it by their daily actions. The man’s face is clear with acceptable lighting that is showing his pleasure in picking those flowers, secure in a personal bliss so to speak. There is an inviting smile to the camera on his face and his focus seems clear and only for his garden, a garden that appears to hold a high place for this man and has I gathered for many years. The background of my shot has a small bit of blurriness that distorts the woman from clear view, though at a glance one can see a distraught face staring out onto the lake. Though she appears to be staring onto the lake I also suspect that she is taking some notice of the old man toiling in his garden and the reason for her angered face remains an intriguing mystery for me. Through this photo I have managed to capture two individuals secure in their isolation and yet open to the outside public for view, one entrenched in gardening and the other looking upon a lake with an image of longing and anger. These two people are separated and at the same time connected through that isolation and my effort was to try and relate that personal alienation being acted out in a garden as well as being portrayed in a blurred window. Who knows if in the next moment after taking this image that feeling of isolation passed out of being for these two individuals? All I know is that I clicked the camera at the right time and was able to portray a man who was experiencing both isolation and personal happiness and that moment will remain.

HISTORY OF DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY PAPER FROM SLOVENIA

CONNECTING WALKER EVANS WITH AN IMAGE IN GREECE

Walker Evans was a man who could take a picture of a human face and turn that image into a political message for the masses of his country, the United States of America. When the US Government hired Evans to document what was happening throughout the States during the era of the Great Depression, Evans and his camera came upon people who had become consumed by the tragedy of poverty and were in need of a voice. Evans helped provide those people with that voice by capturing their hardening moments and conflicted emotions with his photos, allowing the rest of the country and those individuals in political power to see what had become of their fellow citizens. Evans’ photos sent a surge of humanitarian outcry through the halls and offices of Washington D.C and played a major role in correcting policy concerned with reversing the plight of farmers and rural Americans and for that the United States is forever in Evans debt.

During this past July I traveled throughout Greece, across its various islands and deep into the mainland. Greece has been, for the last few years, going through an economic depression that has hit the country hard, affecting from one degree to another the daily lives of all Greek citizens. There were many images displaying this depression that I was able to zone in on with my camera, setting off many contrasts for me between Greece’s history and its present. When thinking about which photo best represented a work of Evans’, I thought of the picture I took while staying in the city of Thessalonica in northern Greece and how a painting on a wall captured and represented to me the decaying situation of Greece’s state of affairs. I was walking along the ancient Byzantine walls of the city, in a run-down district by the water and a few political offices, when I saw the painting of an upscale woman on the side of a building. I immediately noticed how faded the painting had become and my mind went right to connecting that with the current economic disaster. The painting appeared to be from either the 1940s, 1950s or 1960s from the way the woman is dressed in the styled hat and fur coat. To my eyes the very placement of this woman in that area of the city, seemingly forgotten by others and neglected by city officials, revealed to me how Greece’s society was becoming even more polarized between those gaining from the depression and those suffering heavily. This woman encompassed past elegance, staring down onto the streets below with a face of upscale prominence that seemed out of place. Partially hidden by the tree I felt the people in that part of the city were purposely allowing nature to cover this elegant reminder, attempting to replace her with a blank wall, even if it was only for their minds.

The level of poverty I witnessed during my time in Greece effortlessly poured across the city streets and island towns into my eyes and camera. This particular photo resides in the mind as a clear connection with Evans due to what I gathered as a meaning behind the fading woman. State depression was on the lips of everyone I encountered and though their plight did not completely remind me of 1930s America, I did see how that depression was able to affect an entire nation. The Woman In A Fur Coat was able to silently shout that effect onto Greece from her place behind a tree and an ancient wall and though the people may try to hide her from their eyes, they still know she is there and never wavering from her unsettling pose and direct gaze.

HISTORY OF DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY PAPER FROM SLOVENIA

A LAMPPOST IN LJUBLJANA REFLECTING AUGUST SANDERS’ PARIS

The time that I have spent in Ljubljana has been one of seeing the mixture and fusion of both nature and Human architecture, a photogenic union that brings new life to the specific objects I see and this has been the key interest of my eyes for many years. These various images, combining a city’s history and its progress into the 21st century, are what I seek with my camera as I travel from country to country throughout Europe. August Sander during his career took many urban shots in prominent cities such as Paris and Cologne in his native Germany. Sander was known for his portrait photos that revealed what life was like in a time of transition for his country and how the people that surrounded him were affected by that life. I do not take many portrait shots and so I turned instead to the urban landscape photographer that was August Sander. Like Sander, when taking a landscape photo, I don’t like to reveal the true source and aim of the photo right away. Rather I allow the viewer to find the core and center of my focus by really using their eyes, search for the true union of human ingenuity and natural landscape and even when they think they have found it, allow themselves to question my eyes’ intention.

The photo that I believed best reflected Sander’s vision of landscape shots in an urban setting is one that I took while walking along the Ljubljanica River in my neighborhood of the old city. What immediately caught my eye was the top of the church in the background and how the branches on both trees in the foreground seemed to be impeding on that distant structure. Although the lamppost in the foreground is the most apparent structure in the photo and is where my eyes would seem to drift to, my focus was instead the cross on top of the church. The lamppost remains solidified in a shadowy style and by commanding the foreground it takes in a past elegance with how it naturally fuses together with the reaching branches on either side of it. Most urban shots that I take have an element of nature impeding on certain structures and using a tree or a branch to hide or shade a building from clear view is what I strive to do, in the end giving the shot that key fusion of nature and urban life. Sander was a master at seeing urban life, both in people and in landscape, and was able to mold his vision into a work of art that at the same time documented human development. Though my photo may not document human development in the same way as someone like Walker Evans would, it does show a scene of urban development and how a human hand was at work to craft those structures that were necessary to express my own take on urban life and in that I found a true connection with August Sander and his critical work.

EARTH AND THE MOON

Static within the Universal Radio reveals the true pearl of existence. Laotian cigarettes create undecided smoke, bringing on a sense of release to lost lungs. Shadow rain commits an act of cruel beauty by delivering its cold form. There is no longer any fear for the storm, allowing judgment to chase the wild whisper. Sharing in the core of survival permits an outlaw mind to seek a wandering trail. A spiritual detox unknowingly speeds up the minds time. Hearing the cool surface torment from that residing horizon will somehow in the future kill that thought of reaching a strange balance between our Earth and the Moon.

VANILLA SKY PARALLEL

Light enters the room and that Vanilla Sky moves into a vision currently waiting for a sign. Clinging to a fading ability to express thought is the action of the day. Columbian coffee slips within the tomb of energy attempting to stir the senses. The absence of a muse, who could bring rebirth to the mind, has an impact similar to that silence resembling creative asassination. The hunt has begun. Where are the depths of youthful affection and temptation? The once ruling Kingdom of Nature is now dying under those hungry steps in humanity's progress to fulfill its greed of the soul. Ripped up images of distant lands, which are isolated from view, cure the desire and fear of entering that realm of the unknown again. What is the purpose of it all? What are the reasons for taking one direction and not being persuaded by the other in this maze of a confusing life?

TRAIN FROM SEGOVIA

Train from Segovia, curving along strained tracks, rushes across a national park outside Madrid, a park free to allow the lives of deer to expand and approach the tracks in a herd of natural curiosity. Drifting from city to city and town to beach I had been separated from the wild elements that doesn't walk on two feet. The wonder of seeing those deer suddenly scatter from the tracks and roam that sacred ground in the style of motion that pre-dates Human Conquest revealed a bond with nature I had thought dissolved.

HOUDINI REMAINS TRAPPED

Day One! Zero hour and the mind races into a void of contemplation. Inspiration is fleeting and days roll into a puzzle of choices. Bottles of medicine line the desk, empty of relief. Broken clock resides atop a black screen reflecting a host of wisdom. Greece and Spain are separated, yet both remain apart of a trip that defined My Life. Too quiet in this town. Where are the chaotic sounds of the Road? No entry into this room that overlooks a Suburban settlement. No time for Religion and faith in this sky. Rain will begin to consume these wandering feet, placing its cold element into my caged existence. When the music stops the wind howls to a whisper in a clear contradiction of perceived truth. Lonely Planet. Screaming souls who desire a chance to survive the tide of globalization are searching for words on a design that carries a smokeless clarity placed inside an open palm. Houdini remains trapped within the past, a lock unbroken and secure from theft. Leaves are constantly falling, blanketing the ground, scattering colors that collide on fresh dirt. Grey and decaying Skyline, golden and rose trees caught within an intended breeze. Ash in the pipe and diplomacy continues to fail at the rusted desks of a U.N. reaching for a safe answer. Italy and Greece release their corrupted guides, attempting to revive their fortunes in a system plagued by lost wealth and trust. Writers of the Beat Generation hold a revelation of intricate beauty for this drifter, delivering profound movements of the Word into each new day.

MAD HORSES

The photograph holds down the memories of that deceased day. Mad horses of industry and warfare drag their teeth into the common sight of wisdom. Collected money slips into the pocket of some strange fabric, staying there, deep inside. The race begins as holy hours burn up in the sky of perfected deliverance. A carnival night allows itself to appear, tearing apart that expected truth. Flesh remains pure, sacrificed to the guillotine of eternity. No more words. No more lyrics set against the shadows presence. Abraham releases his virtue as Allah saves the voice from silent purgatory.

The sun becomes a dead star as the moon dictates its own cosmic laws to our many oceans. Remembrance is an act so ancient and human. Where does that weight from the dream decide to go after drowning the soul? Conflict erupts over the Gaza night as tank shells break flesh from bone. Rockets conquer the air over the Holy Land, pressing down corrupt mortality into Israeli and Arab eyes. Love fades. War resolves the conscience dispute over land and the illusion to live. Comfort is a crime when used to blind our eyes from the mind. Retreat back into that selfish choice of seeing night, being able to hear only distant and powerful screams.

ROMAN FESTIVAL

Affection, so gracious and pure, connects a vision of mysterious beauty to a face smiling with overwhelming temptation. The night was ending and yet a trip into the unknown will soon be made. All confidence in the style that this world turns by was shattered when an unexpected goddess whispered from across the garden. Why a western blonde who grips my pulse and not an eastern brunette? There is now an orgy of drink and conversation and so we surrender to the vortex! The wine is taking over and my veins are allowing the intoxication to flow. There is an unseen surround-sound of Eastern music that guides the slipping movement of these decadent strangers. The echo of a glass being crushed by ignorant feet reaches me in an instant. Slowly these distractions spawned by that orgy of sound fade and I am now handing her a firm glass of burgandy. Her eyes of jade rip into my own and all my sight focuses on those tiger claws that remain her piercing eyes. My wine slowly enters her throat, and for just a moment calms the wild child waiting within her unknowing soul.

ICE SOUND

The air is open and the sound is clear to the guaranteed ecstasy of listening. High endurance around the mind insures a grateful night for exploring the spirit of Truth. Ginseng counters the honey that is gaining speed in a test within the TEA. Toes are numb and the skin is calm from a dying breeze. The light is there and yet the eyes remain black. Echoing glimpses of a flowing Puget Sound are surfing these hawaiian waves that are settling inside these dark eyes. The day has ended and the heart is unsure of its continued beat. Every vision to that Planet of Ice freezes over in a room meant to be immune from remembering age.

Fallen pieces receive the blessing of current sight. The shackles of time fall silent and become chained to that quicksand returning to the heated core. Northwest exploration burns the mind with waiting and giving, and is now dripping past the Point Of No Return. The Ice and the Fear coincide to form a walking youth, who is mourning the future unknown and escaping to the past unsealed. Vibrations coming off Lake Washington consume the lungs with days of laughter and voices in search of sanctuary and food. The mind cannot control what is to become of that scattered wall, so break it down by using forgotten minutes as pure fire bullets.

Twice the silence has occurred before the blood could reach the brain. LETTING GO baby, letting go! Reaching for the next survival trip that is meant to disrupt the normality of building sand beneath the SUN. Fire dancers with faces of dead whores illuminate those jungles of unspoken english. Where is this rush of energy coming from? Some deep need for words to explain the riddle? Patrons of the Ice speak now of a decadent ride into that space meant for an illusion. Time elapses and a new face is seen in the mirror, which is holding a younger version of glass.

Drums pound the Earth to claim that sound which was thought to be dead. Every bit of the shadow amounts to a familiar shade of light. There is a difference between intoxication and sleep preparation. Or is that sleep prevention? The roaring streets allowing passage through Capitol Hill are now allowing passage into memory. Communication is defeated by a merciless economy that is gripping the Ice. Drifting poverty can see the offering of a Northwest mecca surrounded by raining waters. The coldness attracted reality and ruled those comical nights down by the port. LOSING THE VISION WITH A HELPLESS FEELING. What word is there to describe the poverty of a ruined soul that is still owned by a drifting past?

THE RHYTHM

The rhythm between the moon and the waves keeps a steady beat on the veins and blood that are now cooled by the night. Toes dig into the imported sand as shells crack from the oceanic pressure of endless movement. The eyes feast upon a Pacific beauty whose olive skin is seen above the surface on this moonlit scene of nature. Lights from strange and unknown rooms crowd the beach with their touristic intention. Hotels rip into the sky with their construction of easy living. Citizens of the world run in packs as hungry searchers for the materialistic side of the island, which is slowly being swallowed by the grip of modern time.

PATTERN OF DREAMS

Raise the volume and don't repeat. Secure that grip and let the anticipated energy flow. Colors are confused with words unwritten. Vague expectations surround this hollow structure of a lost home. Reaching for that enhanced meaning and ordering another round of fierce thoughts. Cracked ribs bring hostile movements to the interior of the body. Numbers play a powerful role in the crippling event of sleep. A strange authority has prevented these eyes from seeing beyond the dream of night. There is a territorial sound introducing a style of spiritual protection for the mind, as a trancelike state covers my vision.

The spine is numb and the heart beats recovering steps. Inspiration cradles itself within the womb of a stunned soul. The aftermath from touching that horizon, which is now in refuge, is a sunrise slowly maturing. Ripples along the water, that is without reflection, are moving at a serpents pace. There is a doomed wall facing my persistence rather than a collection of pure mountains. The demise of awareness may come sooner than one expected. Requiring that object of distorted vision to write cancels out a feeling of celebration and yet words of importance have been marked here to claim a symbol for the spirit.

Massive realizations have been thrown into that replaced construct of building a continuing conscience. Spoken minutes have somehow fallen along side silence and the result is traditional confusion. There are difficult conditions engulfed and entrenched within the mind, which has only recently accepted the occupation of Learning. The riddle of youth is a tale of exhausting and growing the senses so that they may adapt to this nomadic world. Rising from the east is the gray sea sky, ravaged from a winters wrath and once again those angelic voices have accepted a scattered applause from these native shadows.

Separating the limitation on gaining a depleted wealth of knowledge strains the mind. OH THE MIND. For it is there that these many words pay their respects under the pale light of the moon. Resistance to the divine Dawn is voiced and then seconds later blinded by those fleeing stars on the sky. Summer and Winter are names which occupy our lives and break that control we once had over our flesh. The seasons dictate that appropriate amount of time needed to really SEE LIFE! A mystic division in thinking will only stall the process of expanding thoughts and then finally concluding with an attached feeling of restlessness into that Pattern of Dreams.

ECHOES

Phantoms of a sacred dream creep in between the scenes. Drops of condensed sound echo inside the cube of reality. There is a thirst for the breaking point and the dam of consciousness bursts from the pressure of endless struggle in life. A vapor of mysterious calculations enters this untamed environment. Still the Echoes grow into a form of unseen aggression upon the mind and the wall comes down in a split crash. The pen delivers its answer on the page, so wait to be informed! Continuing on and on and on, until there is nothing. Quiet, for a calm movement is zeroing in and all is building to an unknown structure.

Animal screams are heard and then all is still. The silence becomes shattered with words struggling to find their way out. Howling winds and mock illusions of an intriguing sound pilots the horizon. Leave the intelligence behind and expect great moments to occur in random sights. RISING and resting on the wind the echo searches for its welcomed place and its home in listening. Stay with the sound, Don't look back along the corridors of roads already taken and explored! Time is conquering the ability to discover reason. Cancel the past and accept the Future.

CANALS OF LIGHT

Roaming wild among the trees, the gypsies are recovering from the sound. Then a crash is heard and the eyes stare towards the origin of that disturbance. This night hails the call of Brandenburg and all surroundings dim. A moonlit safari into the mystery of strange colors momentarily blinds the mind from the world. The curtain of night has dropped and consumed the land, so forget the suns creation and what that creation brings. Like a shotgun aimed at the imagination, the stars begin to scatter through space, out of reach and still unknown. Yet they have an impact similar to an elephants step.

Parallel voices search between the forest as fallen leaves lay forth a path. Canals of light curve through the trees to find a gathering of nocturnal spirits. Eyes, silent and hungry like a wolves, stare with a vision of clarity that reveal a puzzling trick. A philosophical breeze is felt that slips up the skin and settles on the face. Anger and calmness are experienced together. A map of the waiting world can be seen on the sky, with the colosseum and those waters of Venice echoing back in a way that is similar to ripples on an Arctic lake.

FACELESS CAVES

The faceless shapes formed by the ages peer into the scattered fire. Embers are caught by natures fury and attempt to burn the skull. Waves pound the hidden shore where we have gathered to let summer crawl inside. Constellations command the night sky as clouds dissolve to release that overwhelming sight of the stars. Close by there is a silent cave that leads beneath the shoreline road. Occasionally a vehicle of mysterious origins can be heard and momentarily seen over that curving road. However our voices become lost within the night and so there is no need to communicate by sound.

Only the crash of water onto earth illuminates our hearing and is soon added into the pattern of distraction. My breathing is steady and rises as the flames attempt to reach beyond the distant stars. Friends who were once strangers can be seen in the dim light, each thinking about ones place in this world. Broken wood is the fuel needed for our continued existence on this Pacific beach. Rebellious stars escape across the revealing horizon like single drops of ink falling fast from a cracked pen. The eyes follow the stars for only a flashing second and then return to the earth.

Soon restless and wandering steps take my form over darkened boulders, which are set against shrouded hills. Each effort made to rise above the faceless caves is met by the nights resistance. Then suddenly sanctuary is reached and silence is all around. The silence engulfs every moment spent in that isolation. The wind stirs the sightless ground and that darkness invites this mind to a complete moment of peace. Times energy is forgotten as I listen to the conquering waves out in the distance and there seems to be no end in sight to this isolation. Though soon echoing and familiar voices reach the hill, calling for the fire to end. It is a long descend to the waiting shore where those flames are vanishing. As every flame leaves, one more vision of a burning star appears. Then all is quiet again as our eyes feast upon the sky with what seems to be endless shapes and images explaining a pure connection between nature and ourselves.

ATLANTIC CITY

Memory, cornered and given up as a sacrifice to thinking is becoming a developed tool used by the past. There is a gathering now in formation which will bring years of separation to an end with these eyes opening to a needed sight. The coldness of winter strips the trees of breathing life and wraps itself around my throat, which is yearning for that Pacific warmth. A city, claimed and named after the eastern ocean, is calling out to us so that we come and consume its temptations of money and alcoholic satisfaction. Comrades from a summer ritual will come together under that coastal night and remember when we were young and had hunger in our eyes. Complete calmness will be undone when the gathering is realized and this winter coldness transforms itself into a summer heat that is comprised of youthful movements.

NOMADIC AND RICH

Nomadic and rich in the ways of understanding that certain beauty in language, this wanderer is still sometimes limited with vision. A sacred necklace arms the mind with a weapon called bliss, which functions in order for me to exists. The dwelling impulse to break down that tradition of dealing with a marauding past reappears in comfortable form. However, allowing there to be a shortage in clear thinking could bring about an unsettling storm. Brutalized by the memory of her voice, a desired shadow now draws blood from my heart. Distractions, distractions, only there when the mind is occupied by a treacherous thought.

COMEDIC LIGHT

Burning embers, silenced maps and a skyline entered by a moon without shadow has cradled the right to question.

Horses are riding over lands built with divine distrust. Bourbon faces detect the strangeness of common pleasure, allowing for a comedic light to bleed through the darkness. The market for selling opposing choices has been closed and the skin must experience an environment that serves the continuous abduction of doubt.

DESTITUTION

Destitution becomes a locked expression on the eyes and the mind recoils at the thought of light's familiarity. Submitting to the wine becomes a likely profession for a man on the drift of a personal wasteland. Denounce the blind truth connected with the beginning of the evening's infinite arm and instead rejoice with the fusion of time's lingering sound and alternate currents. Isolated and left in need of a committed answer that can deliver this body from that industrious famine named Life. Honor the Sabbath, recite the Kaddish and follow the ritual of coordinated devotion to a garrisoned idea. Trying to cling to a long since faded notion on how to live through existence permits the mind to remain in a state of false grace.

SYMBOLIC MIND

The transformation of evolving knowledge gives light to the senses that are waiting to be ignited within the symbolic mind. A tyranny of experienced nights applies remorse for the loss of time and the decision to accept a new day. Civilizations roam free and yet are shackled by 21st century greed. The diplomacy of silence becomes concrete, worthy of a new collection.

ENDLESS HIGHWAY/SERVANTS TO THE CLOCK

Tired and in translation, the limits of this mind are being explored. Endless highways create pleasure of the open road. Left without purpose, this existence is becoming questioned by unforeseen events. Smells and tastes from previous experiences permit these eyes to look over a crippled past. The tune is familiar and the song appears to have been written for it to stay continuous. Energy flashes like a universal hurricane, breaking down those chained thoughts. The dark beer enters this form with willing signs of intoxication. The city is half alive as the night burns through those lingering clouds and surrounds our beach that is still seen from ancient times. Lost and off track, only my personal humility can survive another dawn dressed in the influence of depression. Loud sirens crusade down streets littered with palm trees and one asks where the accident occurred. Minutes produce false hope, encouraging the propaganda that we are servants to the clock. The truth is that the propaganda is reversed and that freedom from traditional thinking is only hidden from a confused sense of view. Echoes race up towards the mountain and shatter the silence known as Makiki. Need a flight out and destined for nowhere. Alarms from stolen cars again bring rebirth to that orgy of sound, which is in its darkest hour. The fire pours out its eternal smoke into the cup of a troubled soul. Solomon’s Temple reflects modern day chaos, teaching the present that only in the past correctable answers are found. Traveling on, into the deep whisper of emptiness. Rings of commitment consume my friends mind and his decision is held tightly within the elements. What comes next? Life is zeroing down upon this tiny island and radical motions are being felt. Sand digs its way in between these toes, leaving the noticeable feeling of oneness with nature. There are no companions who have seen what I have seen, which separates an intellectual connection from a myth turned true. Lost and in a medical daze, the blood rushes into a restricted channel. I beg the morning to soon roll the dice and allow there to be another chance to collect. Honolulu tries to bury its forgotten on the sides of streets for all visitors to smile at with cameras. The ocean moves without explanation or sympathy for those who cannot enter its depth. The tide approaches our feast of the flesh as Halloween too begins revealing its hidden tricks. A New Direction is required for a man who has replaced all confidence in living with a feeling of desired sleep. Though the Renaissance age is long dead, the bright rumor of a dejavu image slipping into these ascending years could somehow allow for optimism to conquer all. Distractions from the inevitable deter the persistence of truth from releasing its poem of a failed youth. Paid by a ruined self-peace, the mind must now find a ticket to ride. The moon seems jailed and locked within a permanent choice, does it reflect light or admit to being only a dead rock? No more can be said on this dying night, so remember to adjust that spoken thought to the grip of natural light and hold securely on for that mysterious movement into the dawn.

A GENERATION'S BURDEN

Empty and misguided by events unknown, words flee from this broken voice. There are no answers waiting for the mind and no signs of a sunrise. Advice that should be echoing throughout the night falls silent into the fire. Pills are not the required cure and yet there is little resistance. PAIN resumes its constant knocking on flesh and bone. No escape inside the waters depth. The Pacific holds only regret. Paradise becomes shattered beneath the weight of dying memories. Where to go when all vision is canceled and returned to birth? Art is questioned by the critic who knows nothing of true art. Times mirror appears to be revealing a self-reflection of a generation's burden. Doubt, hatred and liquid abuse consumes all thoughts and failed actions. The hour is young, the minutes are toxic and the air is under control. Technology moves without restriction, giving off a future sense of ignorance. A tired soul asks for a helping hand, receiving only the cold breath and dark intention from a strange reception. The Cold War is still in play between the Sun and the Moon. Hazy and disoriented have become these days of late, giving no credit to fate. Stolen moments are left out in the darkening street and these static eyes continue to see clear and far.

CONSCIENCE SALVATION

Faceless names drag along the surface of conversation without any physical notice. Checkmated by Times pawns results in the surrender of a conscience salvation. Silent photos inside the mind project all the seasons and their many qualities. Patterns and illusionary puzzles cross the daylight's threshold and strangers begin to react in different ways. To unravel a mystery that has been set free from an unrelenting force is to enter a cycle with no exit in sight. Deja vu becomes a whispering echo that lingers on the borderline between a simple question and a simple answer. Knowledge corrupts and cleanses the process of thinking and both acts occur only seconds apart from each other. Visual meditation fulfills its limited purpose by distracting these eyes long enough for a momentary separation from constant sorrow. Faithful and giving, the sky continues to emulate a discovering dream. Creation of ones thoughts and the restriction of ones beliefs cannot coexist on the same living chessboard. The altitude rises and breathing rips away the barrier blocking that higher potency of oxygen. Forgetting to review the quintessential outlook on a symmetry of minutes allows Time to continuously escape. Sampling various interpretations of confirmed thoughts is getting nowhere in its efforts. The sphere of madness and eternal understanding from youth to old age becomes splintered by numerous pieces of a complex reality.

BREAKING ACROSS THE SURFACE

Time is the great tormentor, which reveals all when the light of a chaotic sun routinely appears. Shrouded and persuaded to confess sorrow, this mind breaks across the surface of an emotionless night. Constant mockery of my consumed pain produces a feeling of dark intentions. Money, the object of jealousy and awe has become a taste of lust for the masses. Show a passion for life, or else creation will fall without permission. Sample the gifts that were presented in the halls of confusion and try to reach the climax to this nightmare. Folk sounds are on a path of rebirth and high beliefs, which in an optimistic state could be the answer one individual searches for. The stone from that lost day in the ocean remains still and motionless on this aging and crowed desk. Recharge the batteries and reboot the system in order to achieve satisfaction and a sense of questioning. Isolation profits off the fear to connect with a pure recognition of transpiring harmony. Images of experienced history are etched on the back of traveling coins. Strange yet familiar, these scattering thoughts project the truth that the past is unforgiving and merciless. No room for pity and remorse. Doubts on the future and where this conflicted road will turn is laying siege to the mind. The waves lose their appeal and the day becomes less desirable.