.401 if these veins could talk...

.396 black america

i've known his mother for twelve years. za, one of the moms i recall in memory as i raise my own child, is still amazing to me. from her i learned that, even if your child has mainstream education, what they learn at home sticks best. she, turning her dining room into a classroom, alphabets and numbers lining the walls, desks and crayons coloring it's space. it's no surprise that her first born, marquis, now the oldest of five, turned out to be such a creatively dope and quietly respectful young soul. i've known him since his voice was squeaky and his pajamas were fashioned with cartoon characters. and now, him, fourteen years old with a fly penchant for drawing and a collection of skateboards that he calls his trophies. he absolutely refused to take pictures until i agreed to getting only his outfit, but i couldn't resist one shot of his face. it's amazing to look at a teenager you've seen as a little person, and still see them exactly as they were. i think i'm going to be one of those elders who pinches the cheeks of fifty year old adults who's diapers i once changed.

.355 in the spirit of being

and this is the reason i've been slacking on my blog posts. 

about 65% done with my photo entries, only 25% done with the literary part.

(slow motion is better than no motion)

.341 day 318

awesome day at our favorite playground. 

on the days i actually bring my camera, my focus is normally on the children (who are still some of my favorite human subjects to shoot. older men, with lived in skin, being my fav). however, today, i found inspiration and common connections in just about everyone. truthfully, this is only a small fragment of the 100+ photos i shot in the two hours we spent there, and i'm much to drained to edit or upload any more than what you see.

(these drugs, that are supposed to be sustaining me, tend to feel like they're doing the opposite on my bad days).

because of the literary, photo book that i'm working on, i have even more reason to approach and engage random strangers, mostly elders, in even more random conversations. while there, i talked to elders who praised their age and cursed their youth, a rebellious, hindu teen who morbidly teased that she hated walking around with a target on her forehead ("i mean, it's like someone is pointing their gun at me, 24/7"), a comment that made me a bit uncomfortable and forged a friendship with an aging brown woman and her twenty-something year old grandson, who took a familiar liking to my toddler. i sat in sand boxes with rambunctious, ten year old, little people who playfully competed for me to take their picture and doubled pushed toots and a new toddler friend on the swings while her mother took rest on a near-by bench. on our way out, we ran into our new neighbors and i let toots play just a little while longer with 4 year old kevin (she rarely plays with other toddlers, oddly enough) before heading home to fix dinner. all in all, t'was a beautiful day to be alive and loving...(despite me throwing up behind a tree on the way out).

.339 day 316

there's a randomly amazing story behind meeting this stranger/friend,
but you'll have to buy my book "in the spirit of being" (august) to find out.

(unless you're anwar. cause...i kinda, sorta tell him most things...first)

.327 day 304

her name is 'fendi'. 

(the pooch, not the person)

.333 day 300

.329 day 296

shane christopher. pisces/aries cuspian.
singer i met, today, with an über funky style and open, artsy spirit.

.033 day 23

meet lamont. libra born. philly raised. spanish, black and caucasian mixed. drunk off cheap beer, sitting in corner store, charging up busted phone...alone. asked me for my number, i declined. asked me for a light, i had none. asked me for 'just a moment of my time', and that i freely shared. 

spoke of his recent divorce, the loss of his home and of the justice system dictating his right to parent. of his sons, nine and eleven, getting caught between the cross-fire, of how without them in his life, his world meaning nothing, and cheap beer and stale smokes, now everything. professed his unwavering faith in the power of love and how deeply saddened he was when he found his wife to be a non-believer. of wanting nothing more than to abandon his high and get lifted off of love again. 

asked me did i believe (i do), have i ever felt it (i have) and would i do anything in my power to keep it (i will). the last of his beer, gone, he thanked me for listening and i thanked him for talking, as he stumbled up to the window to elevate his low-lying high...