The world by mov
mov51 Just as darkness fuels despair
A man lost is well aware
That he built his binding lair
And his chains are locked by lack of care
Fueled by fear of change
He built unyielding chains
Mentally barred by a willful stain
His life held back by thoughts so vain
Darkness bred to fight his life
To bring order to perceived strife
Choked his mind and sight
His fear warping wrong and right
Something that always amazes me about the world is the vast amount of circumstances that can surround any given event or object. As time moves the circumstances around you change, invoking a different reaction out of the life that they affect. A chilly spring dusk is enough to enhance the greens and blues of my neighborhood, to show the plants in their full glory as beings of changing light. Those who wait for the sun after torrential storms, they who bear the brunt of the elements and take their life from its power.
Shifting colors
As I set out for my daily walk,the color of the sky and fading daylight astounded me. When standing out in the open the world was struck in shaded blues and whites. The sky was coated in thick shifting clouds and it was as if they were projecting their chaotic blue light onto the land beneath. Every opposing color muted in favor of this perpetual blue.
As time moves
As the clouds released the sun my view was altered irrevocably, gone was the diminishing blue of the cloudy skies and hence came the golden light of an early sunset. Each muted color that was gone before came back in droves. The world glowed with water and gold, a testament to life’s will to forge itself through the force of time.
In an effort to respect the privacy of my neighbors I was limited in the pictures that I could take. I have plans to take a trip to a wooded stream nearby and have hopes to capture more full pictures.
I’ve decided to start posting my photos here rather than spamming the CapeCraft pics channel every day. I’ve always loved taking photos of the world around me, trying my best to capture the moments that hold my attention and sustain my perspective of it. , through the years I have fallen in and out of the practice so I’m still very new to it.
The sunset after a spring storm
As I was walking the light caught my attention through the branches. The color it gave the leaves around it gave evidence to a flowering spring soaking in the aftermath of a storm. A dull green lit by a shuttered sun.
The color of wet rot
I have passed this tree hundreds of time in the past year or so. It has been part of my daily commute to work and the store. However, during my walk today after the storm the bright colors of the wet rotting branch stood out like never before. It was set against a flat colored sky and darkened bark. A way that I have never had the chance to observe it.
The aging beauty
Tulips are short lived marvels. They flower so quickly in the early spring, weathering the last frosts of a long winter. As the spring storms wear on they fight time by filling themselves with water and sun as you only can in the months of spring. As seen here the ones in my yard and nearing their end, sacrificing their beauty so that they can regrow the next year.
Of all the views
Of everywhere to view the sunset in my small neighborhood there is one road that seems to always highlight the sun perfectly. Perfectly facing the west as to capture the sun while it’s wreathed in the clouds. A perfect way to highlight the glowing colors and shades of the fading light.
As time goes by it becomes harder and harder to trust my senses, to know exactly how and why my body reacts to the world. My interpretation changes by the second and some days it’s impossible to keep up. Each sense working on a scale that changes with every new piece of information I gleam from it, a drastically fast kaleidoscope of broken images and feelings. Brighter lights, clearer sounds, sharper temperatures, and a swaying scope of scale attack me constantly, wearing at my view of the world. Each shift defines a whole new set of actions and reactions to reinvent, a constant game of mix and match, find the value, adjust and prefix.
Check my vision, watch for space, rescope distance and speed. Always a broken game, a losing battle against a shattered brain. Skills that wain faster than their use, moments of clarity that set me free. Moments by which my motivation flys, a vision of broken skies and solid ground. The heavens lost, confounded in their great scope, with solid burning ground screaming it’s putrid truth.
Watch the scale
A distance around you
Measure the falling hail
Shattered parts in view
Leaving burning trails
Make your perspective true
Your center motion rail
Feel each push pass through
Moving you by sail
Shaking you broken and skewed
Counter actions or fail
Reaction and survival impromptu
A new sound prevails
The world coloured in blue
Cracking foundations hollow and frail
Prefix the action in due
Lest you end with an action designed to fail
A motion written in the best of truth
Hear your dreams
Become a master of seams
Find the open lost scenes
Hidden behind noise that screams
Hear the space
Watch it race
Rushing into place
Ending with a blasting face
Hear it’s words
Know what they hold
Waiting for time to scold
Teaching a lesson of life gone cold
Hear the shatter
A pattern of broken plaster
Each its own single splatter
Tearing through space and matter
Men define their world
With a mind short of pure design
A preemptive idea of hot and cold
Flying truth a feature undefined
Vision is but an image to hold
Ideas forming the world they find
A broken game for time to mold
Perception built to define the sane
Reflect the world my light
Show the feature rich world in sight
Shape it’s contours just right
Bleeding edges of colors fight
A diming future for all of life
Brighten to fight the waxing night
A future doomed with unbending might
My vision all but burning bright
Fighting the deadend fright
Colours burn the world alike
A feature rich landscape a colours flight
The first brothers had a certain synergy, largley held up by the tempurate actions of the younger. Always ensuring that his brothers actions would be fruitfull, watching from behind the curtain and pushing the world towards order. He loved his brothers messes and was enthralled by guiding them to their shared goal. Each new crux of disorder was a place their dreams could be born. He shadowed his brother, watching the proceses unfold in his wake, altering the laws they had laid in sequnce to fit their visions.
Of course there were mistakes, and they teach temperate more and more each time. Showing the guiding hand where to go through unrecoverable disaster. Grand actions leading where they sometimes do, a destroyed world rotten with perfection or fear.
Of the two brothers one stood out. He was the louder and more enthusiastic one. As opposed to his counterpart who watched from the background, carefully planning each action. The grander brother rushed through ther plan and couldn’t sit still while the universe was defined. Facinated with every machination of their nature he did an uncountable number of expiriments that have altered the world they were building, so manny that even they could not predict their reprecusions.
But then, where is the fun in knowing everything? Grander just wanted to see his art work it’s way out of the chaos he made, to see everything fall into line by essetential and simple rules. Each action taken carelessly by the brother was intended to sow the chaotic energy of the early universe, making a mess bg enough it would clean itself. The end result of granders chaos formed only by his brothers temperate hand.
There was a time in the past, a time where location was nonsense and the allpowerfull had not yet been forged. In this abstract place when time never changed a spark hotter than any that will ever exist made itself. That spark had been on a quest to forge a world of beauty and free will, things that had been long lost in it’s home. From that spark grew two beings, entities of creation whose definitions did not yet exist, by today’s words they were the first brothers.
These eternal siblings had the whole of existence in their hands and a shared idea of perfection. To them perfection was not in defined calculations or exercising precision in all things, but they sought perfection from emergence. To see the world build itself with no goals in mind, balancing its own aspects through mistakes and catastrophe. Watching the wildfires rage themselves into fields of nourished flowers and letting consciousness war its way to peace.
Future defined in shock
Escaping it’s tiny case
Defile the world’s own flock
Energy caught mid race
A sweeping ripple
The true mass effect
Minds defined as simple
Finding a rhythms catch
Minds think alike
Marking time by light
The years an open mic
Devoured by motions fight
Minds all but lost
Defining their own shape
Man’s folly the final cost
Their will of patterns make
All a cascading filter
The made lost defect
Each their own trickster
Trapped by what they deflect
Energy moving mind
The fever pitch of life
A companion found in time
Defining futures strife
A burning maxim defined
The fire behind clouded eyes
Flowing forth in kind
A future of intersecting skies
Words spoken by kin
A rule made to bend
The burned idea in sin
Truth the masters lend
Define a man within
A seeker of life in flux
Broken by evils whim
A sleeper in rivers rush
Fire consumes the tool
Breaking an ashen wake
Mans broken rule
Fire for life’s stolen sake
My senses have been at war with me for as long as I can remember, always tricking me, forever showing me more than I need to know. My earliest memory that I have a date for is 9/11 on a military base, and in it I remember nothing but mechanical screams. I remember standing on my porch as the base rallied itself, sirens and flashing lights on every car, tearing at my body with monotonous pulses. I remember the jets overhead, the bone wrenching blast of movement that they left behind. I remember the cracks in the concrete, wavering in front of my tiny face as I trembled in the wake of the neverending onslaught. Just waiting, watching the world shatter in my mind.
Even now, 19 years later, I still fight with the world my body shows me. Always having to predict where my senses will fail, where and when they will alter reality. I’ve built my whole frame of mind around constantly predicting and verifying my own thoughts against the world as it should be. Always having to watch for context and verify what should be there before trusting what I see, forever watching my step in preparation for the world to run away. A knife edge between life and agony.
The world is a changing mass laid out before me, too large to grasp and overwhelming without context. Sound and motion holding stories too subtle to put to words. Stories of interactions between man and nature, of a never ending cyclic energy. The world is on fire while color and heat make shapes in the wind, marking scenes out in oily swirls. Each ray of light showing beauty in my pain and forging a vision of non reality that burns its way into my dreams.
I will never have a quiet moment, as long as I live. There will never be any form of stillness in my mind. The very vision I wish to define is broken and mismatched. A jigsaw puzzle smashed together in reaction to so many constraints. A machine running on false information, never able to produce the desired output. But as it is, this is who I am. The man who struggles to see, who values moments of clarity and vision beyond its worth. A faulty process by all standards, but one that nature has wrought out of it’s own jagged methods.