Day 1843, beating.

When you walk alone

in a city

~

listening to your heart

beating

~

the buildings fading

away

~

your thoughts follow

along

~

wondering whats behind

the next corner

~

hoping its

the same

Day 1837, something to read.

 

“Imagination enters into the taking of the photograph, if only by the choice of a point of view, which then becomes the point of view of those who look at the photograph. But imagination can enter into the photograph more deeply than it can into the map making. It is true that maps of the same area can differ precisely according to the purposes for which they are drawn – land use maps and geological maps for instance -but the business of the map maker is nonetheless to record information in a neutral way. The photographer by contrast can choose a point of view precisely in order to give the landscape a particular focus of interest. Furthermore, the more imaginative a photographer is, the more he or she is likely to select a point of view which, left to our own devices, we would not have chosen. In this way the photographer gets us to see what we would not otherwise have seen. Imagination chooses a point of view and the photograph directs our perception accordingly. It is not fanciful to speak of a photograph’s revealing new, and hitherto unimagined aspects of a landscape. All this of course is to be contrasted with doctoring the photograph. A photograph of a landscape, however imaginative, is to be distinguished from the celebrated ‘photograph’ of fairies at the bottom of the garden. It is at one and the same time a work of imagination and concerned with what is really there.”

From Philosophy of the arts. An introduction to aesthetics by Gordon Graham (ISBN o-415-16687-X ISBN)

Chapter 3, art and understanding Page 51 (E-book 2001)

Day 1797, open up.

It seems that I can only open up

these windows

all at once

and let the fresh air in

~

maybe I have to break

just one of them

to only let you in

Day 1796, between.

I saw through the ice

a shape emerging

~

I don’t know if it was you

that let me see

or me

~

but we know

it’s something between us

and the ice

Day 1795, I forget.

I see a lot of tracks

leading away

and towards

~

I know I made some

when I wandered around

~

but I forget

if I don’t see a pattern

Day 1794, model number.

I shine with my light

on the model number I am

~

besides the number

I see no warning lights

but my hour counter

is stuck

~

do I want to upgrade

or just live on without counting

Day 1793, tools.

My tools

are not as old as I am

~

they are part of me

but not unique

~

they can be passed along

when I am gone

~

if someone wants them

Day 1788, windows.

I wander

in my head

~

searching for a view

through a window in the rooms

facing the side

where the sun goes down

~

as if beauty

or the hope of a next day

beholds an answer

Day 1787, projection.

A light shines behind me

so I see

my shadow at the wall

~

it moves

and I guess

I do to

~

my shadow seems to know

before me

where I go

~

maybe I am the shadow

and turned on

this light

in front of me

Day 1786, bloom.

I landed with my face down

In a cold reality

of dead weeds and earth

~

when I looked up

just in front of me

I saw a gray flower

unopened

~

I wondered

when is the right time to bloom

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