Hominina

September 26, 2011

Words are data. Laughter is proto-language. Laughter is stress balancing. What is humour? Recognize the tools of the species.

Billboard

August 14, 2011

This one spoke to me.

Crossing Over

August 12, 2011

The moment when they cross over. The final step, long foreseen and hesitated from. Taking it, they enter a new life. They had all done it before, and they watch them hesitating, knowing. Knowing that feeling of uncertainty. Knowing that regret and shame at a life shunted aside. Still, they step.

Dream Sight

August 9, 2011

I dreamed of a creature that crawls in buildings on long, spindled legs. It has a large base, shaped like a  pyramid, a square cut diagonally in half. It fits into corners like this, holding itself up in shadowed corners with it’s claws dug in. It watches the lives of those who live there. It is utterly alien and uncomprehending and incomprehensible.

It’s eyes are laid out in four, four large ones in the center of it’s head, and more scattering outwards from there. Gleaming, they never blink. In fact, they cannot blink. They must ingest the visual drama of life. It skitters inside windows, and then out, the occupants rarely even noticing it’s presence. It watches and moves on.

Becoming

August 3, 2011

“Where are the children?”

“I have never seen any young in the packs. Nor heard of any.”

“Then how do they become?”

“They just arrive old as if they had always been.”

Sunrise

July 26, 2011

A crisp morning and he steps away from the slumbering pack to stretch nakedly in the newborn light. The others begin to stir from their sleep, great forms in shadowed coolness beneath the overpass. Moving from their resting place, they peer and blink into the sun then away. Darkness cast by their lumbering figures stripe the pale grasses and stretch monstrously across the empty highway.

Elegiac

July 23, 2011

Am I correct in noting that there is also an unearthly silence that can be heard in many of your photographs?

Could be. Someone once said that my pictures have a distinctive elegiac tone, that they are pictures taken in a minor key. – John Yang

Hearsay

July 17, 2011

“I’ve never seen one, not seen seen, but I knew a guy who did. Weird guy; lonely kid. Used to tell me he would see them all lined up on the median watching the traffic flowing. I’ll believe it if I see it, but I believe he believed. Anyway, no one knows where he has gone off to now.” – truck driver, 49, Iowa

Groups

July 13, 2011

A Fathom of Decrepitude.

The Decrepit #1

July 11, 2011

The sun rises and the Decrepit are already awake. Dark eyes blink into the dawn light.

Instinctively, the pack-herd begins their daily travel. No words or glances are shared.

They form a ragged line, loping along with an awkward gait.

Looking about curiously, they group up against each other. A highway crosses their path.

Automobiles dart past in a fervour. The Decrepit regard them warily.

Spotting a gap in the traffic, they bound across and quickly disappear back into the brush. No one sees them.