The Pursuit of Light

There’s something quite enchanting about darkness,

The mystical facets of childhood fairytales seem to tie endless lengths of string around breathless moments and pull them into a continuum of wondrous nostalgia. Those moments will never be the same—frozen, pulsing with resonant light. Perhaps it’s the lack of words which desperately yearn to escape from the confines of the speaker’s lips or the boundless concept of life pouring into the lower part of the hour glass, like the ever-evolving sands of time that causes a moment to stay perfectly imperfect. Maybe it isn’t.

Either way, as soon as something is spoken it dissipates into the air around it; it taints the energy it lives in.

When a moment is lived, it no longer exists and all that remains is the dance of vague moving images to inaudible, non existant music.



A Sentiment For Those In Need Of A Smile.

When the pressure of bloodied fingers press upon my shoulders,

When the tiny slither of metal sinks into my gut and fills my circulatory system with anticoagulant,

When my torso has the stiffness of a steel girder and my nooks and crannies have been stretched by men in scrubs,

When the doctor’s mouth opens like a vortex into the unknown and ambiguous swirls of colour surround me,

When strange fingers bath unseen flesh,

When my limbs ache with stiff inactivity,

When my mind spins all the worrisome thoughts known to man,

When my flesh is poked and prodded to it’s absolute limit,

I shall smile and know that blood samples, mountains of paper and promises need not cause me sleepless nights anymore.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Make It Anywhere.”

If all the world were monochrome and I had to choose a colour to paint across the globe, I’d choose the ever-changing hue of the vast sky so I could watch ancient clouds wend through the atmosphere—endlessly and aimlessly. There is something about the omnipresence of the sky as it gazes upon the worm’s meat of humanity—as it gazes upon it’s orgasms and it’s suffering—which gives the impression that it knows of the human existence but wisely chooses to ignore our perpetual state of anxiety and need for control; it’s almost as through it sits above us and smiles—just like the Tibetan Buddhist monk who looks upon their pupil with knowledgeable eyes and old laughter and says “the purpose of our lives is to be happy.” As the man, drowning in paper and expensive fabric, mindlessly trudges alongside the artistic dreamer—who has a heart full of paint and a paintbrush for a brain. There’s something quite magical about the dust of time’s remains and how it seems to scatter itself across the sky—sprinkling humanity with it’s past mistakes and heartache. A universe of mystery lies beyond the marlin blue blanket. So, as the man and his conquests continue to tread the concrete floor, the sky will wink and smile, in all it’s glory.

An Epiphany of Time and Bright Lights

There’s something in the air this morning.

A kind of glittering hope that only lives among the bright, moving images and opaque air of New York City;

the slither of silver, on grey, rain-ridden clouds.

There’s something quite magical about the sound of moving life against the azure blue sky.

‘Tis a reminder of why one must believe in one’s illusions, despite the eb and flow of mundane life—even though life is anything but mundane.

There’s something in the air this morning and I’m not quite sure what it is.

The Old Man and the Skaters

I love this 🙂


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 young men on skateboards

the exuberance of youth

old man stands his ground

 I remember this moment well. I could hear the boys on skateboards coming, but I couldn’t see them. The old man in front of me was caught by surprise as well. A group of five or six teenage boys were kicking and pushing and coasting in an aggressive manner. They roared through the crowd on the mall.  Clickety-clack, clickety-clak! It was the unspoken language of “Get Out of the Way or Get Rolled Over!”  The old man stood his ground though, he didn’t budge and the group was forced to divert their path around him. It was a classic battle of youthful exuberance  vs. elderly stubbornness (and perhaps a touch of the old age making it slightly more difficult to jump out of the way of anything at all.)

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The Blue City – From the Archives

nomadruss in words and photos

Beneath Mehrangarh Fort, which rests on the high point of Jodhpur, lies a city painted in blue. Blue was once a symbol of belonging to the Brahmin cast, the color now appropriated by all city dwellers. Today blue can be found throughout the meandering narrow alleyways. From high atop Mehrangarh Fort, or looking towards it, one sees a city awash in blue.

Several photos from the blue city have long since been posted in my India gallery, and these few images were found while culling through the archives. It’s a blend of a few city views, and scenes that I took in while departing one of my favorite cities in all of India.

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