ripe with i thought so

i am the rustlove harmonica
in the temporary river
of misfortunate circumstance
tributarized by melon-balling spritzers
of haircut microphones
singing alleyway triggers
of ass-i-kiss-tic ballads
for the best, never committed

now that's the truth
you heard me

winning

I am starting to win.
I have a job... working in video editing and other media.
I may get to do some photography and documentary for the Ann Arbor Street Art Fair.
I've moved to a comfortable new house.
I am finding the desire to be creative once again.
And it snowed.. a lot.. and I'm happy about that.

Now, if I could only get paid.



PS.. I added a ONE page element on the right. They're about fighting poverty. It's worth checking out.

losing

I've lost all motivation to continue posting here
as few people actually read what I write.

Until further notice,
I am taking a break from this...
"accounting"
of the events of my mind.

Besides,
until further notice,
I am losing all battles with the world .. .

Did I tell you that I biked 17 miles from Westland to Ann Arbor last Wednesday?

I did.
Seventeen (17) miles.
Half of it down a dirt road.
(Often the gears would lock up. I walked the bike up five hills.)
The ride was a difficult, up-(and sporadically down)-hill, two hour fight.
But I made it.

I stopped for ten minutes on the dirt roadside to eat an apple and stretch.
I took a short nap on the grass when I made it.
I stretched again.
I took a cowboy shower.
Then I worked for seven more hours... on my feet.

Needless to say, I did not bike home.
I was tired, but surprisingly not sore.
I felt good,,, healthy,,, and accomplished.

My Theme Song

This is my theme song.
I didn't choose it; it chose me.
Sometimes I hear it playing, but there is no radio around. I could be anywhere, and the right thought just pops into my head, and this song plays, and I can actually hear it... in my ears. Of course, this happens with a number of songs. It is like they're recorded in my head... but never so often as with this song.

Jason Kendall Ray

It took me an hour and a half to read this article...

____Ray of Hope____
about Jason Kendall Ray
aka Rameses, the UNC mascot,
aka youth leader,
aka front man for Nine PM Traffic,
aka etc, etc, etc...

Recently,
as we were discussing how I believe some people I am close to look to me expecting to see pride or strength or success,
a friend asked me who it is that I look up to.

While one may expect some obvious well-known professionals,
directors or artists or writers,
I had never deeply considered the individuals that inspire me to be who I am.

I have never truly kept track of the people and their stories whom,
when I hear of or read of or meet or get to know them,
I am affected, moved, shaped, changed.

I think this record begins today
with Jason Kendall Ray.

Stranger > Familiar > Neighbor

I went to the Matthaei Botanical Gardens on Saturday.
(Keep in mind: it is Autumn. So, the colors? Grand.)
U-M A&D professor Nick Tobier was hosting a performance
in their perennial garden.
I was the video documenteer.

While the performance was warm, musical, and comedic,
it was not the gesture that lightened my heart the most.
Rather
as I spent the few hours
beforehand and afterhand
roaming the grounds, the gardens, and the Flora & Fauna art fair,
I passed a myriad of patrons,
each of which (young, old, native, migrant, short, shorter...)
greeted me with a smile, a hello, or both.

It was this contact,
even the simple gesture of acknowledgment in eye contact,
that made my day.
It made my day. It made my week.
It renewed my appreciation
in the value of living in a community
where people are happy and they care,
"where everybody knows your name,"
or where
regardless of whether you are a stranger, someone familiar, or a neighbor,
you are always welcome.

This is the most welcome amongst strangers I've ever felt.
And now,
even though I still don't know their names,
they do not seem so strange any more.

"green"

the power of suggestion


you see green because
you are led to believe that you are seeing green because
the green that you think you see
is the green that you see
is green because
it is

This short intends to play with the mind's perception of what one is told and led to believe that one sees. Through the power of suggestion, what one sees is green. So ask yourself: Do you see green? Do you believe what you see is green?
I believe it because I shot it. I am telling you that what is shown here is green because it is, but don't take my word for it. Watch it again... more closely.

music: "De Usuahia A La Quiaca" by Gustavo Santaolalla

Dream 9.28.07

I am eating "lunch" with a child actor - in my dream.
(I quote "lunch" because everyone basically eats whatever they feel like during a midday lunch-sized break from shooting this strange scary movie, which had, in part, preceded this moment in my dream.)
He eats some freshly prepared Caesar Salsa...

Take a moment to imagine what this dish looks, smells, tastes like.
A white florray with hints of earthly green and red garnishing each scoop of the dusty rainbow tortilla slices. Bountifully chunky, and not too saucy, the bulks of his bites grab the chip preferring to be stomached by the young man rather than grace the forbidden ground of this gas station parking lot, even tented from the sun as it is. The air is warm and almost dry, but when child actor cracks the lid it radiates a conditioning into the air as a crisply-opened refrigerator door. The aroma and the breeze of Caesar Salsa wrap around my nose, my mouth, my face. I inhale and profess, "If I could have whatever I wanted for lunch every day, I guess that's what I'd eat too."

And of course, because this is my dream, everyone chuckles,,,
including the pretty girl sitting on my left
with an apple red lunch
meeting her apple red lips...

but that's another story.

Save Joey

Like most people, I am motivated when what I do is seen and encouraged.
Unlike most people , I need this motivation.
For some recent time, I (namely, my imagination, which is more important to my survival and personality than my brain and heart) has felt like a dead puppy.

Your mission - whether you choose to accept it or not - is to help bring me puppy back from the dead.
This is not a one person job; it is a community effort...
for all those who care about me, I challenge you to tell me what I could/should/(hell, what you would) do.

Joey needs your help.

cold air + sun sky = autumn

I like wearing long sleeves on days like this. It keeps you warm, but not too warm, and not too cool. It is almost - I wish every day was like this (but maybe with a few more clouds/sq.in.

ps. word math is fun

ps.ps. every day. like this.

I Feel Autumn

I can smell it coming soon.
The sky is perfectly overcast.
It's rained in September.
A leaf fell of a bush today.
I'm wearing long sleeves.

I want to work on an apple orchard this season.
I wonder if they hire...

Perfect from Far Away

I just spent eight days with two of the coolest nieces this side of the moon. It's been the most fun I've had all summer. It's a shame I'll have to go home tomorrow.

Also. I just fell in love with this Sam character in Garden State.


I'm afraid to make a big change because... what if I fuck it up again.
(don't tell me there's no reason to be afraid because I am.

I am.)

Me and Me from This to That

Marla...
the little scratch on the roof of your mouth
that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it,
but you can't.
-Ed Norton, Fight Club, 1999

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a schizophrenic
And so am I
-Bill Murray, What About Bob?, 1991

From that day on,
we was always together.
Jenny and me was like peas and carrots.
-Tom Hanks, Forrest Gump, 1994

New Bio Brief

This is the short artist biography/statement that I am offering online galleries and networking sites that I am joining:

:::
A photographer raised, corrupted, and redefined in Southeast Michigan, Joey has always had an eye for the uncanny, peculiar, and extraordinary characteristics of the typically ordinary. He deconstructs the stories narrated by his imagination, and reconstructs them in the eyes of his camera. The ultimate image paints a perspective one would often never have otherwise seen.

In my own words, I am a pathological observer of my environment and my mind who carefully chooses the moments he shares with the world.
:::

What do you think?

By the way, so far I can be found at...
Saatchi Gallery
Fine Art America
Art Gallery Worldwide
... with more to come soon.

GOrGEOUS!

Resilience

I've been feeling knocked down a lot lately,
but I get back up.
I always get back up.
It has been difficult.. recently.

Not knowing how many times
I'll be knocked down this hard
before it gets easier:
that is difficult.

Getting up is what to do though.
I'll keep it up,
getting up,
hopefully long enough.

Soon I expect the falls won't feel so heavy.
Eventually every hit won't knock me down.
Someday soon I will be as strong again as I was not long ago.
You'll see.
I hope you'll see.. because I know I will.

If I Had a Jet

If I had a jet, I could live in it.
I could sleep in a jet bed. (Maybe a round one on a rotating frame.)
I could shower 30,000 feet in the air.
I could host jet parties miles up.
I could fly anywhere in the world,
  and wake up in a different city every morning
    ...if I wanted to, that is.
Because I could also wake up in one spot every morning,
  and then take off after breakfast.
I could go to the beach on any coast.
I could go to a photo shoot in Iceland and in Aruba in the same day.
I could stop for lunch in Tokyo on my way to Hong Kong.
I could pick up a date in my jet. That could be impressive.
I could take many friends on vacation,
or just get away, fly away, by myself when I need a break from the world.
I could go up in the sky just to find a moment of peace
  and think for a while about...
    whatever I felt like.
I could do a lot of things if I had a jet.
But I do not. Yet.
So until I do I will have to use my imagination.







(also if i had a jet i might want a space ship...)

Accidental Hero Vs. Accidental Villian

Today I did some yard work at my friend's house. (When you are poor and struggling for work, friends hire you to help out a bit... and this helps you out a bit.) So I did quite a bit of magifying some bushes and grasses.

Among the taller-than-me bushes I found grapevines abundant. They were covering - no, blanketing the brush, which was fighting just to earn some light. Oh, but the grapes were young and not quite ripe. This posed a dilemma. I did not have trouble deciding... the baby grapes and choking vines must go. So I cut them away - most of them - and tore them from their deadly grasp on the branches. I saved the bushes, but..!!

While I was recklessly and aggressively tearing away vines, I failed to recognize a bird's nest in the tall branches... until I had gone and knocked two infant barely-feathered sparrows from the nest. I noticed them lying on the ground after they began chirping. They could not fly. Their eyes barely opened. They could only but thrust their legs about and cry for help.

I was afraid to touch them, but had to return to them to their nest or they would die. I went to the garage. I gloved my hands up, and found a small nest-sized garden shovel. The birds were lying in some pile of dead leaves. Hopefully this broke their fall and not their fragility. I delicately scooped each up sliding one then the other into their crib overhead.I hope my non-skin interference in the rescue didn't taint their motherbird away from them.

I think I saved these birdlings today, though I also almost killed them. I hope I did not. This could make me a bad person... a little bit.... or at least careless.

Why Measure Age in Years? ...and who's counting?

It seems that the harder I try to forget my birthday - and how young I am each year - the more people remember it, and try to remember it, and make it a bigger deal than it needs to be. I feel like my birthday's become about the number.

I have a strange fascination in claiming to be 23 years old (or young.) After all, it was a great age to be. While it's all in good fun, some I know are put off by this as if I were playing a game reserved for older women,,, or somehow, staying young.

I do retain immature features -- a "baby face," clumsiness, a youthful sense of humor... and for those who know me well, often enough a sense of behavior close to half my actual age. Yet I can be a growed up when I so chose. Hell, I can often volunteer to play the selfless leader. (shameless plug of pride) See. Maturity at work, right?

I want all of you to know: while I am a man with fears - some of which I can admit and others I hide - I am not afraid to age. In fact, I relish in earning wrinkles, gaining wisdom, and counting days until something else happens. I cannot wait to turn 50. I cannot wait to tell grandchildren stories. I enjoy living, growing, aging...

To be quite honest, I think it's the waiting that seems to bother me. When life is moving slow, when there is little going on - eventlessness - I tend to notice that I'm getting older.. and without doing something, or being productive, or earning the life I've been offered.
Because, after all, time is not money, it's priceless.
And I feel I need to make the most of it all.
I ought to earn my hours and my breaths. Oughtn't I?

Who's counting years anyway? I'd rather my age be counted in good deeds,, in which case, I'm relatively old.
Maybe in the thousands of deeds... perhaps a million deeds old.