A Meeting of Minds

Samuel Pepys, wrote John Evelyn, was ‘universally beloved, hospitable, generous, learned in many things’ and ‘skilled in music’. John Evelyn, wrote Pepys, ‘must be allowed … for a little conceitedness; but he may well be so, being a man so much above others’. Pepys’s assessment of Evelyn was made early in their relationship, in 1665, and Evelyn’s assessment of Pepys was made on the day that his fellow diarist died, in 1703. So rest the reputations of our two great recorders of Restoration England: Pepys, the middle-class son of a tailor, was a man of the people; Evelyn, the heir of a country gentleman, was a notch or two above.


Source: Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn: a meeting of like minds | The Spectator


A Dadaist Fairy Tale


People notch Poppies on zero trees – spy silver buttercups;

He wrote a day’s miles like this.

There in the middle class … in six sieves was a fiance’s consciousness. The person I loved, slept and learned.


In each Lyndon recorder, a constantly yellow pasta man by the forest was written in prose.

He or she is a “universal need” in John’s generous ocean. There was a middle class … the heart of the groom was in six corners.


Our musical relationship with rust is ours to dance –

let time hammer out the edges of our days.


The reason why he wanted to make this work the strongest was the claim that this research was not a controversy, but actually a taboo.

The descent brings mystery,

So the dead apparition of Vermilion Motion is born –


This is an atmospheric aria of forgotten tranquility, that comes to us from a lost age of magic and wonder.

Why was there a yellow stick?

The remaining creatures move only one.

I want to rust.

A glittering and long shining jungle writes taboos in the palm of your hand, as I thank my friends.

A good gentleman,

In that, and quite deeply –

finds a comfortable experience of bread-lid bedrooms.


Erythrocyte pebbles light pyres at the feet in my sand. Who is in each area?

Those that say they love lovers, and the swamp.


This is an atmospheric aria of forgotten tranquility, that comes to us from a lost age of happenstance and enchantment.


Now Go – this is the search query corner class –


ask Other Eyes, the tailor threads fate in your pockets.



Uncertain Narrative: Post ob Q 1-4



As fluttering hands weep silently,

She relents on condition,

that he not travel unaccompanied –


shadows seen carving

the lines of the mountains with glaciers,

protected by a wooden box,

lay next to a smaller one of tin,

a package tied with faded ribbon

cut from some forgotten heart.

Forest smiles, useful for loneliness –
first of all,

He will lead this box of sleeping lyres

and do this –
this is four of seven,

the only protector,

feathers dancing with moonlight mist.



The stranger wanted to be left alone,

so he kept moving, moving,

moving unconsciously carrying

his first valentine

as the solitary farm-house,

filled with ravens

playing fiddles merrily,

recedes into memory .



That is his so so sewing,

don’t you think;

for if a rock-star falls

alone in the woods,

does anyone sing the blues ?



Free Verse Format


Often silent archaeology

wish forbidden bells’ secrets –

frosty pagan puppeteers.



Byzantine roundabout body

diffidently drains year –

trail calls bones again .


Pamphlet addition paints

illuminated STOP –

a field kitchen cockatoo denouement.



Defective foot fallacy- orange

denotation constructing emotional appeal –

at the bottom of the paper pool

the Weary Detective pens slogans.


In nearby Eindhoven,

Never miss………………. the movement

Cycle the Van Gogh


This  piece of Broken Folklore includes a Dadaist Fairy Tale Analysis, and accompanying Asemic Collage Illustrations. Any resemblance between the characters/events in this tale and any persons, living or likewise, is an archetypal synchronicity . Please refrain from leaving any significance & empty popcorn containers under your seat.


Future Fable: The City and The Ship of State


I spent half a century seeking an abandoned ship. There is a fog of forgetfulness here. It is used by those without names to wake another day. Snakes slide and shake smoothly along this point of the muddy bank. In the midst of a steep river, the sunset has long since gone, leaving but a hint of vermilion colouring rusted sky at the bleeding horizon. The wounded line darkens into dusk as an old barge chugs silently farther and farther into the muddy waters of the inlet.


It’s one thing to have the dogs chasing birds along the river bank, it is another to seek a rusting dream that hangs in time’s muddy currents. In winter’s eyes – pessimistic safety is a grey stone.


After that man arrives there, across from the landing, the aircraft lifts, seeking a new time zone. His beautiful country is in a state of a creative trance, shambling towards uncertain future – paved hopes turn to broken asphalt . Poorly dressed children sit, in a morning lit by the sun of sorrows, just waiting for a  glimpse of the barges moving towards their unattainable dreams – the towering buildings of the great city.



Miles and lifetimes away, the sunlight spreads a rich glow of entitlement across the water, painting with gold the mirrored windows of the haughty skyscrapers that look down on the river.


People of these towers were rising for the second time in the morning, one of the methods of The Long Dreamers. They never dream of barges and ragged children sitting along muddy banks.



Notations on Antique Paper Mystery Map16


Notations on Antique Paper Mystery Map16

See full online  data by clicking HEAR.


Cleave tosh tesh na wave rood –

Glean tesh raah na sky tang dolh .


Mesh raah na star tang yoahl –

Make maah tesh na raah tang dolh West Niegt.


Fahl tosh raah feather rood na –

Tang tesh hoal’g door na fang yawl.


Commentary Notes:


We walk to the West

seeking answers, unasked for

frost fills our footsteps.



Hills sweep away tears

with long sunsets, early dawn –

how can we make haste ?



Paper flowers wilt

with long reading, brittle light –

wind scrapes dry vellum.



Tomorrow’s words wend

over new tongues, old sounds fade –

were they ever here ?


Refer to Codex Twelve for co-ordinates.


Photographer Prepares for Epic Battle – Broken Folklore

Snarl Two Cameras

~ a broken ballad~



Snarl two cameras

on the military model

to overthrow all time …

Truth how it hammers !

Oh Truth how it hammers !


Battle cable, dear friends,

is my song on the subject.

With but my sting,

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing, oh-ho !


No man, I am,

but if you do not advertise,

You see not the marrow of the soul……

camera lens in the bag, in the bag .

Oh Truth how it hammers !



Look to the game not fit to sling,

a very old cable plea …

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing oh-ho !


I’m not sure that I am not forced!

Street Smart, examples of graffiti walls,

dancers’ Flash Mob to tango rhythms

captured in natural light

from a moving car. …

Oh Truth how it hammers !



Pavement dancers, portrait prancers,

you need to recover.

Oh a very old cable plea …

The dark lens sing !

Oh how the dark lens sing, oh-ho !


Tripod stand … borrowed at any time.

You will not be able to cry out loud.

Morning friend , father of aperture ,

half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras.

Oh, half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras !



Composition of painted walls –

Confetti Chef conveys social commentary,

Pavement dancers, portrait prancers

captured in natural light –

Town fathers whitewash walls.

Oh, half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras !


The weapons here in the bag…

Oh, secondary motivation,

Compose the shot.

Captured in natural light –

Oh Truth how it hammers !


Pavement dancers, portrait prancers.

Capture the truth in the fading light !

Be brave my friends.

Get likes directed

to the page of cultural justice.

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing, oh-ho !

And Truth, Oh how it hammers !



Street Portraiture: Rapport Tips

# 1

Wild her eyes could see their features,

feeding her condolences,

white eyebrows

above weeping.

Hold that Pose


# 2


And, in his mind – deep centre,

a solemn vow. He came to this country

from the dust in the world,

weary, called soft dreamer. . ….Gotcha !




# 3

This fight is my friend,

Savage and sharp forest wolves, as well as,

His Excellency, the dead who had

Walked down for hot cocoa – auto focus off. 


# 4

The fight, this is my friend,

As if those forests of winged tigers,

bright and sharp,

Reach’d the dead house,

his government,

to find them checked ,

White washed,

On the town shelf.

Just breath,….

Load film app now!



Interview with a Revolutionary Photographer

about Framing Randomness



Tell me about how the role was pitched to you.

As my own, it was clean, all of this, simply.


How was Charlotte (as Memory comes to be known) first described?

The photographer, although in this sad world, was pure. Then entered into one of the small movements, a plot direction defined by spectral spoor fragments of sunlight. The subject is framed by Van tins of breath, but with the same computer and camera angle, so that you can not see the middle of the beach. As the forest grows, so does she.  I do not even think of the past, just the photograph.


She didn’t arrive with fire and brimstone and talons ?

Innocent. I asked. Only,……. a new time. To enhance the multi-operation ….. and not feel like you’re afraid … I am the light in the studio.


Were you like, “Guys, can we dial it down” ?

To enhance the multi-operation … … and not feel like you’re afraid … I am always the light in the studio. I fight with my friends, this is my song on the subject. Always consider what the subject is going to be, and how the viewer responds to random light.


What were you more interested in?

The wizard’s head … and wait,…..in his mind’s deep centre, it is a solemn vow. Photography is a type of magical manipulation of light and truth.

What was that experience like, going on the road and having this intense bonding experience with everyone?


No man, I’m on stage with the wild eyes of her features, her pale eyebrows that compassion feeds and balances in white negative space. That is, when the time comes … wait for it … you register your camera.


Was it intimidating to take on this huge role?

As the photographer, you have to work a digital network. Woods said,

Bring your load. Just Look at the cow.” Is it not convinced that he was forced to sing ? It was there.

Is it a question of technique, or do you just sort of absorb who this person is and try to represent it?

He came to this country from the dust in the world. So weary, it has been called a soft dreaming, but really it is a matter of flux and camera distance.  Look again at at that cow. It was there. That is it, when the time comes, growling, roads, and firmware. The user again needs context or more devices slowly choke the passersby. The photographer, you have to work a digital network.

I …


All at sea, did you intend for it to be public ?

Maybe, it was a beautiful thing. All sand track, not only all this sad world, but inner rhythms like jazz . That was what makes it pure. It went into one of the small movements, a plot of substance called bad Kirukamu. I just heard something in the neck of my psyche. I’ve been clean all this time. Just, all these shadows and walls, and that was the purpose for referencing Caxton and alternative photo processes in a digital environment. It went into one of the small plot movements of dust, having been called into mind. Professional strength, calm … the only waterfall of consciousness can be state of photography.

Blackness, so the photographers spent on research (not shown) … it was his birthday at the time of that shot. The word so few people heard. It narrowed their shame, then entered the lion wings of love. From there, being tired, this land is the substance in the world, the bladder.

To see the hot cocoa across the street. Capturing the light in that one moment. Cobble stones under your feet remind you of a tiger in a painted pail. Just remember to close the window when you go.



Notes on the backs of photographs.

1. It was clean. All of this, simply this, sadness- wisdom gorld. All that was purification – grandmother laughed. ABX3

2. The cost of the secondary devices …? T-Even back-channel is much farther .

3. I have the sound you received. Can not throw more. The wild eye function kills more of the lines. Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

4. Stern and pale, white hair. Thoughtful forehead. LlalaLaLaLa111-3

5. Called poor chocolate carousel . No answer.

6. Me and my dad … every doorway a home of sand.