Our dreams, scattered
amidst our memory, last night
or the one before.
The dream, the day
the music that plays
in the coffee shop.
It is all noise
cluttering the silence
we think we want to hear.
original content and images ©j.g. lewis
A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .
I seem to spend more time reviewing the camera manual than I do shooting with the damn camera.
With my new camera, about six months ago, I have already enjoyed many hours capturing the sights and my surroundings at all hours of the day. There are several images I’ve created over the months, of both people and places, that I’m especially proud of.
I make an attempt, as often as I can, to practice a craft I have spent much of my life studying.
But I want to learn more.
I continue to establish what has often been trial-and-error proficiency in the craft, and art, of photography. It is what I do, and have done.
It is about finding value in what you do and how you live.
Involve yourself in what you can, find the lessons or the learning as you go, in everyday experiences. It becomes a rewarding challenge as you broaden your interests with a new topic, or focus deeply on what gives you pleasure
Not everything is immediately enjoyable, but with a concrete focus you might see greater possibilities.
There are a handful of albums that signified a change in music in the late ‘70s. Many of those albums were British, but you could hear an immediate response — even revolution — from a select few American bands.
Television was one of those bands, and Marquee Moon was one of those definitive records.
You didn’t hear the music on the radio, not in the middle of the Canadian prairies, so I listened to it intently on the stereo at home.
In the years that followed, I could hear the influence of Television’s singer, guitarist and principal songwriter Tom Verlaine on other bands of the time; even on the radio. I still hear it now.
Tom Verlaine passed away yesterday at age 73.
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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It has been, or remains to be, a season of waiting.
Deep frost has only arrived and only enough to remind us what is to come.
November is tomorrow.
For weeks now the leaves on the trees have ever so slowly been shifting from green to yellow, occasionally reddish-orange (with a hint or brown), but for the most part the canopy of colour remains overhead in the park I choose to wander through daily.
Yes, I have noticed the scattered leaves on the pavement – as I do each autumn – but this year it seems I keep waiting for that change.
We need the seasons to remind us what is to come and what was there, or where we were. Each period of the year is incremental.
If our life is not measured by days, it is marked by the seasons.
It becomes personal.
I feel, this year, like I am not undergoing any sort of obvious transformation.
It is not for lack of trying.
It is not that I am unmotivated.
It is, perhaps, that I need to feel where I am before stepping forward.
It is not progress but it is required to mark my place and hold it, just a little while longer.
Maybe I am not ready for change?