Day 3072, shadows.

Black shadows creep up

while the sun rises

it must be me

sinking deeper


but why trust a shadow

Day 2886, memories II.

Daily picture, My thoughts

We were probably standing still here, not to give the kids a chance to pose for me, but still, they did. I was almost always in the last car, looking back at what came towards us and my camera was never far away. We were for those kids, probably what the police or firefighters were to us when we were that young. I was stationed in an area of Cambodia bordering Thailand. It was an erea that was abandoned for many years because the Kmehr Rouge was holding out there to the last moment. After the first UN soldiers arrived, the people living in the refugee camps in Thailand came slowly back. Most of them were born in refugee camps in Cambodia’s neighboring country and had no bond with the area aside from some sparse stories of the elders who survived the killings. These kids you see here are most likely not aware of what happened to the place they soon started calling home; by now, they probably know what they live there.

Day 2486, just enough.

Daily picture, Poetry

Through the early winter
into the long night

I survived by the grace
of the place I ended
hanging by a thread 
in just enough light
for my dying
conscious
rotten 
corps 

the coming spring will never
let me bloom again
but that is just a fact

Day 1918, still live.

Daily picture, Poetry

I went slowly

in one direction

till I suddenly

exploded

and froze

in all directions

Day 1842, tool.

Daily picture

At work

I have more tools to cut

trim or straighten

all the access I encounter

then I have in my life

~

how strange.

Day 1841, reaching to far.

Daily picture, Poetry

If you start building

make sure you have everything nearby

otherwise you might fall over

when you have to reach far

Day 1838, i freeze.

Daily picture, Poetry

When I fall

I sometimes freeze

not knowing that hardness

easily shatters

Day 1833, glass.

Daily picture, Poetry

It was gray outside today

but the light reflected the colors

that I imagined

or wished for

on this thin layer between me…

~

this thin layer of glass protects me

from the storm outside

and it keeps me

from the storm outside

~

I can only break it

once

Day 1827, a carved rhyme.

Daily picture, Poetry

Once you decided

to shoot for an other sun

~

and now you lie here defeated

the rings of your years displayed

telling a story of time

and now the end that you reached

Day 1826, hiding.

Daily picture, Poetry

I saw you standing

close to the crossing

but I was not looking

at you

~

its your likeness

I recognize

while I stare

at what’s hiding

me

~

I don’t move

away

hoping you

will

Day 1818, Daybreak II

Daily picture

Morgenröthe aka Daybreak

Book I

32. THE BRAKE.—To suffer morally, and then to learn afterwards that this kind of suffering was founded upon an error, shocks us. For there is a unique consolation in acknowledging, by our suffering, a “deeper world of truth” than any other world, and we would much rather suffer and feel ourselves above reality by doing so (through the feeling that, in this way, we approach nearer to that “deeper world of truth”), than live without suffering and hence without this feeling of the sublime. Thus it is pride, and the habitual fashion of satisfying it, which opposes this new interpretation of morality. What power, then, must we bring into operation to get rid of this brake? Greater pride? A new pride ?

Friedrich Nietzsche

Day 1817, Daybreak.

Daily picture

Morgenröthe aka Daybreak

Book I

6. THE JUGGLER AND HIS COUNTERPART.—That which is wonderful in science is contrary to that which is wonderful in the art of the juggler. For the latter would wish to make us believe that we see a very simple causality, where, in reality, an exceedingly complex causality is in operation.

Science, on the other hand, forces us to give up our belief in the simple causality exactly where everything looks so easily comprehensible and we are merely the victims of appearances. The simplest things are very “complicated”—we can never be sufficiently astonished at them !

Friedrich Nietzsche

Day 1813, i try.

Daily picture, Poetry

An island in a landscape

surrounded by the ebb and flow of time

a moon that gives and takes

~

the sun shines today

and the sea receded

but it is still to cold

to find my way

across the sand

marked

with silent waves

~

I hear them only

far away

Day 1787, projection.

Daily picture, Poetry

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 1783, exit?

Daily picture, Poetry

I know

whats normally behind a door like that

a dead end when I go in

~

but I still go

searching for a way out

on the other side

Day 1774, Stockholm syndrome.

Daily picture, Poetry

I think I never blamed my parents for the way they raised me. It was never really in my character to blame them, and now that I am older I realize that they where just kids when they gave life to me and my younger brother and sister. The way that you are raised has of course an influence on you, but I don’t think we should overestimate it. I was at least lucky enough that my parents wanted to steer me in the right direction, and didn’t blame me to much for their mistakes, but I have to admit that beauty for me cannot go without some flaws, and I like mine.

No matter what kind of parents you have, there is some kind of Stockholm syndrome going on when you think back, and tell your story. Parents get these random, scared little persons thrown into their laps, to take care of. They are not allowed to go, and are ensured by their hostage-takers that they will be fine, as long as they listen to them. After what seems to be ages, they are suddenly free to go, they smell the freedom, like they never smelled it before. And the people that kept you hostage for all these years, you thank them for their protection, and you visit them once a year in their jails.

I am not a parent, but I can imagine that a parent with a conscience is, without a choice, put on a trajectory that revolves around their kids, and no longer only around their own will. This is the kind of jail I was thinking of, but I am not sure that what I feel, is freedom.