Here's some 'poetry' I wrote to go with a picture I took. This shot, out of the 800 shots I have on my site, has been named as friend favorite the most. And for the first time, I'm going to reveal the secret of how the image came about.
It's not like Jesus came back from the dead, or Taco Bell, and drew it on my wall. Its also not as interesting as if Christopher Walken's car broke down near my apartment, and he needed to use a phone (he lost his cell phone at a dog fight the night before), and while waiting for a taxi and tow truck he decided to make some pancakes and the image is what showed up on the towel he wiped the syrup off his face with.
Here's what really happened: I was matting and framing a few of my pictures, and was using photo mounting spray for the first time (I love scotch tape now). The label on the side (of the $15 can!) said to do a test spray on a newspaper or something to get used to the nozzle before spraying it on something that could be ruined with too much glue. I grabbed a paper shopping bag and did one quick spray. The result of that test appeared in the shape of a person yelling. I recognized this pretty much right off, and set it aside on a flat surface to let it dry in that exact shape (no shelf space, had to put it on the floor). I took a picture of it, futzed with the color is PS, and oil.
Later that night I happened to start writing what I guess would be considered a poem, or as I see it, something that I wrote that could be a song but I'm horrible at putting my own words to music. I needed 2 last lines to make my (clich) rhyming pattern work out. That 'glue spray bag face' was sitting next to me on the floor, and I almost stepped on it on my way to have a cigarette outside and think about the last two lines, and then I sat back down and finished what I had started.
'Ulcer medication/Veronica's stranglehold'
Are stories that much different now
From frantically re-writing scenes?
A different pair of throwback glasses
Someone elses misery.
Two more dreaded birthdays passed
And one less New Years Day
A time will come
When I will hear
All the screams Ive had to say.
A killer song I didnt write
A picture forced to take
Mistaken with false identity
And the people that it maims.
That crowd once gathered
Near the street
A lovely show with no applause.
It now points fingers, and pointy knives
Diagnosing and dropping jaws.
So with slightly different tattered clothes
Im still running while in place.
Seeing many different blackened eyes
But Im still making the same face.
It's not like Jesus came back from the dead, or Taco Bell, and drew it on my wall. Its also not as interesting as if Christopher Walken's car broke down near my apartment, and he needed to use a phone (he lost his cell phone at a dog fight the night before), and while waiting for a taxi and tow truck he decided to make some pancakes and the image is what showed up on the towel he wiped the syrup off his face with.
Here's what really happened: I was matting and framing a few of my pictures, and was using photo mounting spray for the first time (I love scotch tape now). The label on the side (of the $15 can!) said to do a test spray on a newspaper or something to get used to the nozzle before spraying it on something that could be ruined with too much glue. I grabbed a paper shopping bag and did one quick spray. The result of that test appeared in the shape of a person yelling. I recognized this pretty much right off, and set it aside on a flat surface to let it dry in that exact shape (no shelf space, had to put it on the floor). I took a picture of it, futzed with the color is PS, and oil.
Later that night I happened to start writing what I guess would be considered a poem, or as I see it, something that I wrote that could be a song but I'm horrible at putting my own words to music. I needed 2 last lines to make my (clich) rhyming pattern work out. That 'glue spray bag face' was sitting next to me on the floor, and I almost stepped on it on my way to have a cigarette outside and think about the last two lines, and then I sat back down and finished what I had started.
'Ulcer medication/Veronica's stranglehold'
Are stories that much different now
From frantically re-writing scenes?
A different pair of throwback glasses
Someone elses misery.
Two more dreaded birthdays passed
And one less New Years Day
A time will come
When I will hear
All the screams Ive had to say.
A killer song I didnt write
A picture forced to take
Mistaken with false identity
And the people that it maims.
That crowd once gathered
Near the street
A lovely show with no applause.
It now points fingers, and pointy knives
Diagnosing and dropping jaws.
So with slightly different tattered clothes
Im still running while in place.
Seeing many different blackened eyes
But Im still making the same face.