here. now.

I haven't told a story in quite a while. This is because observing the self, my self, has become tedious, repetitious, unfruitful, grainy and ultimately cold. Sad. But not sad in the romantic sad man this is your life in all its beautiful stress sort of a way but simply short sighted. This is what is. So now today listening to the gunfire from the Bayram celebrations and inhaling the smoke from the wood burning stove, alone in my room above the cafeteria, out on the edge of this filthy city I thought to perhaps again try to tell a story. The story has a point but will often not lead to redemption. No victory at death here. Movement for certain but very little else, loneliness, and a large table at times to join. You are invited, you always have been, though through this you see that your table is just as big with less stuff and less stress. Your table has stronger legs and silverware. I will wait and eventually, in one way or other, you will invite me to it as a guest. At first you will be thinking as a guest of some honor though later thinking best to simply offer a place because perhaps something I have written or spoken or projected or buried years ago for you. I will be grateful to sit with you. I will be grateful to be together. This will likely be the way it will go and I will probably let on at some point just how long I have been waiting for this and for you to invite me.

A new project has started. Photographing the landscape with the big camera. A shift to focus on others, away from self and its painful traps. Stay tuned...