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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Hourly we see the signs and statistics, daily and nightly, more than we need to and not as often as we should.
We only see pieces, but never the complete picture.
In an article a few months ago, the Toronto Star reported “an unrelenting increase in homelessness.” In one year, as of August, the number of actively homeless people in Toronto went from 8,479 to 9,724.
More or less, at last count, give or take. The numbers are an underestimation of the crisis. Shocking and convenient, but how accurate can the assessment of an impermanent and transient population be?
We see the problems daily, but not solutions. The politics of poverty hold much of the blame, but not the sole responsibility, and we see only pieces of the puzzle that don’t fit.
There are social agencies, non-profit charities and church groups doing their damndest to stuff a finger in the dike. Lack of social housing, mental health issues some of us will never know (but we will know of), drug and alcohol addiction, and violence, all contribute to the flood they are facing.
Our government, provincially, has confused homelessness with housing and its plans and promises going forward contain no real hope for unhoused, the unhealthy or the unholy, all out of luck, out of time, but never out of eyesight.
On top of everything, inflation is climbing and the COVID-19 pandemic aftermath continues, as certain as it exists.
Toronto’s shelter system, emergency or otherwise, is stretched to capacity. Nightly, as winter continues to come, the wicked winds leave little room for even the brave inside. Outside of overflowing shelters, the bold struggle to find a place in all-night coffee shops, cardboard upon cold concrete of tenement steps, or in tent cities that continue in city parks..
It is a puzzle indeed, and not a pretty picture.
Charity is a start, but it is never enough.
Humanity hinders as often as it heals.
How can we care for each other?
Most of us have something to give, many of us have more than we ask for, while some of us can only ask because there is nothing left to give and even less to live for.
This is the emotional ground that we walk on: daily, nightly, hourly.
An incomplete puzzle, do we only see the pieces we want to see?
Do we shield our eyes from that which makes us uncomfortable?
Can we not consider the comfort of others?
© 2022 j.g. lewis