Brain dump in Berlin

I need to update this. Not really cause the audience (NUDGE NUDGE THAT’S YOU) needs to know about my travels, but more because I need a moment to step away from wandering around this spread-out and varied place and write.

So here are the fruits of that need. Hope they’re tasty?

I’ve visited six museums while I’ve been here. There are way more available than that. I’ve passed by dozens at least, only returning to those that seem convenient at the time. The Pergamon, the National Gallery, countless random official buildings. Germany is a nice place filled with green and fields and gorse and grass. Berlin’s flora are buildings, parks, markets.

I didn’t know what the Riechstag was when I passed it my first day here. I just knew there was a line, and I knew it was impressive. I didn’t go inside. The big rebuilt state building with a glass globe inside is not checked off the to do list. Not this visit.

When I passed the Brandenburg gate I passed in a rush. I had to find a place to place my baggage. My first even in Berlin was marked mostly with heavy breathin’ and being lost.

But I found a place with the help of ticket-counter people. God bless ticket-counter people. Even though there is surely a downside to Germany’s organization and businesslike efficiency they sure know how to help humans get places.

Public transport here is frankly amazing. The honeycomb of trains, above-ground and below, is impressive. It allows there to be a reasonable (read: low) amount of automobile traffic gumming up the city. It’s also damned convenient.

It comes with the businesslike faces of train ticketers hopping on after the last Person has boarded. The system knows how to deal with those who break society’s shallow trust. It’s best to stay out of their way.

Visiting the Typography of Terror I was confused. Where were the cruel images of forced famine? Where were the pictures of bodies and bloodless businesslike bloodletting that I had seen in a Holocaust remembrance museum in America?

I didn’t do any research into the free museum before going. I guess this expectation of seeing upsetting images wasn’t reasonable.

Instead there was a very clean, designed remembrance of those who created the Nazi regime and death machine. Also featured were those adversely affected by it, along with tasteful descriptions of the stories of individuals. Those that created this place did it to document the people of Germany. They probably made it mostly to highlight how normally successful systems and officials and highly productive people could become so maligned. How the path can be turned.

And it does this. And granted I didn’t give this place as much of my attention as I had been lending to photography exhibitions and sculptures and escavated stones in days before. But I walked away feeling strangely dissatisfied with the place. I think my expectations were a bit out of wack with the reality of the exhibit, but the fact that the terror which was shown was only explained via text rather than shown didn’t sit right.

I remember walking through a photo gallery on display in Thessaloniki while I was there. It was on some of the photographic voices in Greece in the period after WWII but before the civil war. There was famine. It was documented with pictures of desicated peoples smuggled out of hospitals. I wasn’t expecting to find it there, amidst villages and industrial images and the works of two photographers from that era.

I was expecting to find those cruel images in Germany. I haven’t yet.

And I’m leaving Germany actually. For a couple days at least, I’m headed to Prague in the morning. We’ll see how that goes.

My experience in Berlin has been a whole lot more solitary than Hamburg. I mostly wandered around, partially lost, partially not. I usually have a destination in mind, but I don’t always have a charged device to reference.

Every once in a while your phone needs to die. It makes you ask people questions. That or become content with eternal frustration.

I talked to this Romanian dude the other day under the huge television tower built by the communists before the wall fell. His name is Marius (or similar, it might have been Mariun), and he came to Berlin because he heard that there were jobs overflowing in Germany. And yes, there are jobs in Germany, but apparently they are quite difficult to obtain if one does not know how to speak German.

He was not so subtly hitting me up for money. He had this routine where if there was a pause in the conversation he would return to a refrain of ‘bad bad, no money, no jobs.’ And I believed him to an extent. I believe that he came to Germany to find something, and that what he found is not what he wanted, nor is it friendly. Back home he cooks apparently, and he was looking to do that in this mythical place called Central Europe, where the money trickles like rain.

I felt bad for him, maybe because I understood a bit of his frustration. I understood the language trouble at least. Many Germans know at least a bit of English, but there are some times where you really can’t use it. And the German I know is only the German that I’ve learned here, plus useful phrases like Hefeweisen and Gesundheit. And German is essentially English when compared to Greek, which has a whole ‘nother script and is phonetically written, let alone Chinese. My point is, not being able to communicate on a super-complex level with other humans is frustrating.

He didn’t even know that much English. I mean, he knew enough to have a simple conversation, and with some effort a more complex one. When he wanted to say something more in-depth he would switch to Spanish, which is at least familiar for me. Needless to say, there was a lot of dumb nodding on either side.

He walked up to me and sat by my bench because I didn’t seem to be doing anything and he sleeps in the patch of green next to where I was. At least, that’s what I assume. That’s what he said. He at first asked me about discotheques, and gradually brought the conversation to his own troubles. I think most of the reason the conversation even got that far is because I stayed to listen. I don’t think that’s very usual for this dude.

We talked a while. I tried to see if I could get him to show me some Romanian music and he pulled up some rapper on my phone. He also likes 50 Cent apparently. I ended up buying him some juice and leaving one of the small bags of change I had accumulated in Greece. There wasn’t much in there. What he needed is around 116 euro in order to book a ticket to return home to Romania. I wasn’t interested in giving him that, or any amount of money close to that really. I told him that. I even felt kind of cold, especially towards the end of our conversation. His face was not happy, and it was not filled with hope. Clearly he was dreading another night in the city he had taken off to so suddenly and ill-advisedly.

That was a really weird conversation. Kind of glad it took place though. I don’t know what’s been happening with him since. I hope he makes it back one of these days. He’s been in town for about a week, and doesn’t seem to be able to find a way to make money. I assume he’ll find something lucrative and illegal to do at some point or else pull some odd-job gig out of nowhere and make it back to Romania. That’s assuming he was telling the truth about his situation. But you know what, I don’t think that’s a bad assumption to make.

It’s rough for him. But at least he can go back to Romania, once he figures out the money needed to return. And he has family there. Many people don’t really have that sweet combination. It’s weird to think of him as well off, but he sort of is. It’s weird to think of a man looking that sad and lost being ‘comparitevely well off’ and even weirder to compare his situation with my own.

The fact is I’m on vacation without aim. I’m one of many in Europe it turns out. It’s sort of common here to be drifting. I just happen to be able to withdraw money when I need it. The money that I spend on tourist cafes I could be burning. The money I spend on fixing cameras and doing laundry in Athens is wasted. I pay more for these things because I’m a tourist, and I don’t have the knowledge or time needed to find the same things for cheap. This is the case at least some of the time. And paying more than locals do doesn’t effect me—not really. I’ll be returning home to a job soon anyway. I’ll spend so much less not traveling that the money lost abroad will seem insubstantial. It never really existed anyway. That’s false, but it’s difficult to think of things like the actual value of something when the trip over costs so much. When there are entire economies strutted with the excesses and vulturism of tourism, it can be difficult to separate meaningful from frivolous when it comes to expenses. It’s all frivolous really, but some receipts come with less meaning.

I should have spent some of this money I have access to on a book of photography. I visited a boatload of photography exhibitions over the last couple days. And I will remember them, but it’s a bit strange taking pictures of pictures, so I didn’t. I sort of wish I had. They were cool as all hell.

I walked into the Museum of Photography and was greeted by five giant portraits of naked women, courtesy of Helmut Newton. Over half the images on display in that building were referencing or using nakedness. It was a smut museum.

Don’t get me wrong, it was really interesting. It featured artistically valid pictures, and a lot of provocative things. But I was not really expecting so much nakedness on display.


Art I guess. I got used to it while walking around. On a later day I went through an exhibition of Juergen Teller’s work and the comparitively tiny volume of sexual organs on display was striking. There was still a bunch though. German photography likes the human form I guess.


I saw the work of William Klein as well. Would recommend. It doesn’t cast life in a very light light, but it’s quite visceral and pretty genuine. There’s also an out of focus picture of a woman accidentally blocking the camera that is brilliant. I liked it.

Alright it’s time for sleep. There’s a ton more to put down into the interwebs but I leave for Prague in the morning. Cheers.









“It is not a crime to steal a book,”

said the man hovering by the book-selling table. He was clearly at least half-way to having a laugh, or telling a good story. Something about the eyes and twinkling. Very Dumbledore-y in that way.

The only image of Milos Bicanski I captured. Here he is looking comically concerned.

I was in the process of buying a book. Specifically, The Itinerary, during its release party on June 7. And the man was one of the creators of that book. His name was Milos Bicanski. Apparently his wife would have been there too, but she was busy accepting an award in Washington D.C.

The man behind the counter. Fotis Plegas, busy writing the receipts and taking the money.

Now I found this a funny thing to say. So I continued the conversation with him for a bit, and it was entertaining. Photojournalists are interesting people. He even told me a story. I’ll get to that later.

Mike Beaudet gesticulating and talking to Nick Paleologos.

I talked to a number of the other creators of this collection of photojournalist accounts of the refugee crisis and the peoples going through the migrant pathways. Of the 11 contributors, I believe I talked to 6. I got my book signed by 3. And I got pictures of a couple.

It was a fun release party. They had the best mango juice, and also large quantities of free wine. And Mike and Theo were my American company. I felt like I was adulting.

Theo Malreas and Mike Beaudet, in front of some of the seating left open after the presentation.

The party was held in an art gallery (the Trii Art Hub) and we arrived late, catching only the end of the oral presentations. As part of our speaker schedule, our Northeastern class had actually already heard from Dimitrios Bouras and Nick Paleologos as well as Menelaos Myrillas.

Audience members watching the presentation.


Those of us from Northeastern stuck around and chatted for quite a while. It was pleasant. And the art of the exhibit was fun to appreciate.

A horse head lit and in blue.

When Dimitrios Bouras talked to our class a couple days before this party, he quite memorably called people out on their blogs. He quoted a question of mine in response to Olivia’s post about poverty tourism as well as the thoughts and errors of several other people. It was terrifying to think that people actually read these blogs.

Dimitrios showing off the book to some German guy I think is important.


This event is now in the past. But the book and its images are very much still relevant. The people that you see while flipping through its pages are just like you or me. But they’re often in situations which are far from ideal.

The refugee crisis is not over. People are still left bereft and option-less. People still see the hope that lies in Europe. They still leave their war-torn or (for whatever reason) unfriendly countries to seek out a better life. Now there are regulations and rules in place meant to control the flood, but the flow will not be stopping anytime soon.

Pictured is a close up of a face made of twine, one of the pieces of art on display.

This flow is made up of humans, not water. Every flood-gate that is put up, every barrier in place has an effect. The pressure is increased for those stuck behind the barrier and lives are lost. People hire smugglers to traffick them to refuge. Some of them are reliable, and others are not. Unaccompanied minors especially disappear into the sex trade, often to help pay their way.

These images are the faces and the footsteps of this crisis—this migrant phenomenon. The Itinerary is a book that is worth the buy, because you wouldn’t see these faces otherwise.

This post was getting rather dark. Here’s a picture of a man drinking wine and holding a dog.

The story that Milos Bicanski told was one from his youth. When he was 12 or so, he stole a book and someone caught him. They saw him steal it and they stopped him, but then they let him go, with book in hand. The exact details escape me as I’m writing this account a week later. But what was important was his moral. It is not a crime to steal a book. One cannot steal knowledge. One can only learn.

Dimitrios in the midst of presenting some photographs from the book.

It is not a crime to steal a book. Especially this one. I have it from one of the authors.

But I’m sure they would appreciate payment. Photojournalism isn’t exactly a lucrative field for most.

The book, set up in front of a now empty seat with a microphone (hint: the book speaks for itself).

Germany is picturesque as all hell

Seriously. I don’t even understand what just happened. I got on a plane in Athens, which has this urban grime aesthetic that permeates every public space, to Munich. Munich is not like that. Munich as I saw it reminded me of the placid beginning of many a World War Two movie. Specifically Inglorious Bastards. It looks like cinematic rural France. At least the part of Munich that is visible from my route on the S-Bahn, their train system.

This was practically the first thing I saw upon setting foot off the plane.

Some of the same graffiti is on the walls of course. I saw “denk” painted a couple times in Athens. Come to think of it that is pretty strange, as it means “think” in German. It must be a thing though, because I’ve already seen it once or twice here. Might’ve even been the same artist—who knows.

Anyway, I flew with our group to Munich and have since made my goodbyes. I’m in Germany for the week, and I’m excited. I dropped off my luggage in an airport storage locker (limited at 20 kg to get those cheaper rates) and carried off everything else I have with me.

I headed straight to an information/ticket booth man who explained my options vis a vis train travel pretty succinctly. I had some idea that I would take buses around Germany to get places and planned to buy tickets. Instead I bought a 5 day nonconsecutive day German Rail pass and the possibilities therein are endless. I can go to Copenhagen and Prague and basically every big German city, and even into Austria if I wanted. I can use the rail on 5 different days. And seeing as I have no definite plan as of yet besides a wish to visit a couple cities and see some friends while I can, this seemed the best option.

Some people in front of a bunch of ICE trains in Munich Central Station (aka Haumbaflogenyogenfaufner {sic}).

First on my list is Hamburg. The friendly man behind the train-station counter printed out an itinerary and I boarded the S-Bahn.

Of course I had half-an-hour to kill and I was hungry so I found a random Turkish place and bought a donner-kebab and a beer. Then I walked around for all of five minutes before getting on an Inter City Express (ICE) train north. These are ridiculously nice and smooth and air-conditioned and reasonably fast. I’ll arrive in Hamburg a little before 2 a.m. (around 800 km away according to a bewildered Christoph Waltz sound-alike manning the desk of an airport information desk). They also have free WiFi, which is a huge win.

A meh image, shot from my table at the donner place.

It’s very different from Greece. And don’t get me wrong I love Greece. But the German public transport system and scenery leads me to believe that the German stereotypes are real. They’re clean. Their voices sound ridiculous (I literally choked back laughter when the train announcer came on the loudspeaker. That’s sort of a sad reflection on me as a human, but it was still extremely comical). And they’re organized (a random ticketer printed me out a schedule for crissakes).

Seen out the train window. ‘S got some greenery to rival anyone’s conception of a European village.


That’s about all I got for Germany right now. Will get back to you later. Also stay on the lookout for my five bajillion incoming Greece blogs and stories. They’re a comin’.

I met a version of me from next week

Calm down. I don’t mean that literally. No time travel here folks.

Just now I was talking to my friend Isabelle while going up an escalator and a man asked us for directions because we were speaking English.

His name is Roy. He’s Lebanese. And a student.

He’s doing a beer tour of some stretch of lands. Today is his first day in Athens and he’s had a bit of an adventure asking random people on the street for directions. I had him look at the map saved on my phone, but when we got outside the subway station he got reoriented.

He invited us to a bar nearby with a wide selection of Greek beers called Beer Time. He’ll be there at around 4:00. I said I might swing by. I probably won’t—I have things to do.

But that’ll be me in a week. A man sort of aimlessly traveling through some part of Europe.

I’ll be in Germany of course, but I have more a set of guidelines than an itinerary.

He looked a little lost, a little frustrated, a little on edge, a little tired. But he looked like he was living.

That’s good I think. I wish him luck.

We’ll see how I like it.

Header Photo: Two cats seen eating food someone left out.

Thessaloniki is BAE guys, seriously BAE (your headlines ain’t got nothin’ on my clickbait); also Greek culture I guess

The culture of Greece is something new to me. Before embarking on this journey, I thought I had an idea of what Greeks were like, and how the country is run. I sort of don’t remember what exactly that idea was, but I have a different idea now.

Thessaloniki as seen through a fence in the old city (i.e. ancient fortified area up a hill)

Greece is all about trust. About social connections, and a between-friends mentality. The place is run by people who enjoy going out to a taverna with friends and drinking and listening to music and dancing. I’m positive this can be overstated in its importance, but the phenomenon of relaxing through life exists here in a big way. And that’s different. That’s cool.

Not to toot my own horn or anything but I like this picture.

A lot of my insights into the culture of this place I gained by talking to Theo or Maria or Kristina or Kostis or whomever Greek person was nearby (huge shout-outs to every one of them). And I think this culture is special. Not the most suited towards running an efficient and accountable economy perhaps, but extremely good for the people within the community. There’s always an exception to the rule. There’s usually something you can do. You just have to know someone.

A Taxi.

And that is corruption in its purist form. Having a rule that can be broken at will by the watchers is undeniably hypocritical. But on the other hand, if corruption is the rule, then how can you be offended at corruption? It so often works that it’s just part of the society. People don’t have to pretend to not care about things which they might not care about.

It’s a different mentality, and I don’t think that this system is all that bad. It means that to have success in business or life or whatever work might be desired, one simply has to ask, in just the right way, to just the right person. And suddenly life is easy.

Oh Canada!

It sounds like I’m hyping up corruption and nepotism, and to an extent I am. It did work for the Greeks for a long time to operate in this way. It was only after they became a part of the European Union and became only a part of a larger game run by financial wizards in Germany and France that everything went to hell.

Dusty trains = disorganization?

But everything did go to hell, that’s the thing. After the government books fell apart in 2008, the economy hasn’t recovered. Only around now is there any hope of major economic growth for Greece for the near future. For perspective, most people have lost a little less than half their income from when the crisis started.

This sad vibe in street art is pretty common in Greece. But so is every vibe in street art. There’s so much of it.

But it’s not so visible as I expected. Carlene, our teacher and editor, she sent me and a couple others out on a story to capture the protest culture in Thessaloniki. She said something about writing about the drumbeat, and the constant schedule of protest and how its alive and well in this city, and to be honest that description didn’t ring true. Sure, there is a constant schedule of protests, but nobody in the streets every day is seriously expecting change because they’re out there stopping traffic for two minutes and yelling things. No, they’re hoping to make their cause or organization or party a little more visible and attract attention. This is not a bad thing, but it doesn’t call to mind any one drumbeat.

This is a pretty cool vibe too.

Rather a more festive type of drumming came when the whole of Thessaloniki went on strike on a Wednesday. The only people working were a couple cops, the street musicians and the food service people, but this too didn’t seem quite right to me. I mean I’ve seen protest before. People would gather and march in the streets of Ferguson in north county within the St. Louis area when I was in high school. Highways would be stopped by protestors and I’d turn on the television to see people throwing tear gas capsules back at the police. With Ferguson there was some chaos to be sure, but there was also focus. An expectation, a need for some sort of change, some response.


I just don’t see that here. Mostly the strike on Wednesday seemed like a citywide celebration or a parade. People chanted in Greek, which I don’t understand, and obviously, the vibe of the marches depended on who you were walking alongside, but they were marching in solidarity mostly. To be fair, I was by the communists, and a big thing with them is solidarity within social classes. But the teacher’s union felt the same way, and even the dogs running in the street looked excited.

Graffiti is really all over the place.

The story that we ended up turning in is one that I’m happy with, and I think it accurately represents the protests as they are. But honestly, I’ve come to appreciate the street art much more than the protests in this place. That’s what’s truly interesting to me—what people write on walls, and how common and quality it is.

Stylish as downright heck.

I’m getting off track. Here’s a new train of thought.

Not a train, though I have plenty of pictures of them (the old train station was a good photo shoot).

A visit to Greece is usually made nicer by friendly people who happen to make a lot of their money off tourism. It’s no accident that they specifically are friendly to strangers, perhaps more than the average citizen, but Greeks are also just friendly. It reminds me of the Midwest more than I expected. When I buy souvlaki from the Kantina truck, I get smiles. When I go to the Municipal Library I see people studying, so maybe not that expressive, but the receptionist is nice, even without knowing too much English. My experience here is not like Boston, where people are cold and there’s a huge difference between strangers and friends. Greece, or at least Thessaloniki, is warm and personal.

Some dude.

While gathering background info from people in Thessaloniki I’ve heard from a random assortment of voices. A North African man from Ghana named Ferris who makes a living half-selling (giving and then asking for money) colored wristbands to tourists (he had a lot to say about the experience of the refugees or migrants who don’t have papers from back home, yet still live in Greece). I talked to two motorcyclists from Turkey who were stopping by in Thessaloniki and happened to grab some tea at the same place I was at (they commented on the Greek view of the Turkish and the similarities of the cultures). I met and made friends with this journalism student named Kostis who has his own radio show on a volunteer internet radio station (Radio Nowhere). I saw a cool old dude smirking at a passing protest and interviewed him, and it turned out he is an anarchist himself, but from an Italian school of thought more based in peacefulness and words. I even met two Greek Jehovah’s Witnesses who helped me with my Turkey story by mentioning the sporting and television rivalries between Greece and Turkey.

Throwin shade on some dude.

Those people are the people I want to talk about when I talk about Greek culture. They weren’t busy, or maybe they were, but they didn’t seem worried about it. They took the time to tell stories and fill me in, and that is very Greek.


In talking with Kristina, until recently my RA and now a friend, I’ve gotten a bit of a feel for what young people are interested in here. They aren’t concerned necessarily with politics. They go about their business and worry about their lives and their studies and leave it at that. Obviously everyone has knowledge and keeps in the loop with current events somewhat, but the political activism of the Greek people can be overstated.

The close up of a proud statue in a park.
The vertical photo, adding some inappropriate context.

Mostly, Greeks seem to want to chat, relax and drink (coffee or ouzo, either way). They find pride in being Greek, sometimes more so than is historically accurate, but not so much that they can’t admit to a little nationalistic silliness.

Cats are cool as all heck.

And that historical tick comes as no surprise, what with all the random ancient buildings everywhere, sticking out from under roads and in the middle of squares. There’s clearly so much to call back to; it’s no surprise that referring to history to affirm oneself is popular here. You don’t need to look that hard for evidence of past glory.

Sort of speaks for itself don’t it?

And that’s as close to an ending as I can come up with. The past is on display here, but it’s also visibly sticking out from under roads. There’s too much of it to comprehend, let alone put in one piece. But having too much material to write about it is what I refer to as a good problem.DSC_3817.jpg


To good problems

and a wonderful city.

The last few days have been not so good; now is better

I’m not sure why exactly. I think it’s the impending feeling. One of my stories (on Turkey and Greece) is in the editing room (after being shut in the writing room for far too long) and one of the other two things I’m working on (the Athens and Epidaurus festival video) had a frustrating day of shooting. The third thing I’m working on I don’t even plan on pitching for this dialogue because I don’t think I’ll have the time to write it fully while I’m here, but I plan to write something about the music that I’m finding in Greece. It’s way too much for one blog post, so I think I’ll make a series of them aiming to walk the reader (and listener) through some of the cool stuff that I’ve found. I have a bit of video that I want to use for that, and as a very peripheral part of that whole shindig I will finish and submit the street musician video for this dialogue. I aim to interview some artists while in Athens as a bit of reporting to stick into the blog series. Or who knows, maybe I’ll have enough for a whole ‘nuther video. <Throws up hands in the air>

Rumored houseboy-owner Isaac Feldberg taking a phone call outside Hades’ waiting room.

Oh yeah, and I am working on a refugee video story starting the 7th with Hsiang Wu that I’m alternating between feeling comfortable with and totally unprepared for. I’ll know more about that whole project soon.

My mental image of what the story will be like. Also some BAOK graffiti. Honestly I’m a fan. I’m also an APHS fan. Not so much with Olympiacos.

All in all, there’s just too much stuff. There’s not enough time. And I took today (a Sunday) just to unwind a little.

I don’t like being somewhere awesome and staying inside a hotel. But today it was necessary. Saturday was spent on a ferry and a beach, and it felt like travel to me.

Pictured: Me hating travel.

I hate travel.

But I love being abroad.

Pictured: Me, in a constant state of figuring stuff out. A positive image.

So now that I’m here—there’s no more transition feeling as I’ve arrived mentally—I can be productive.

I’ve slept.

Now it’s time to get stuff done.

Let’s go.



please note the massive paragraph followed by extremely short sentences. I’m so artful I know. Look at me, writing pretty and all that. Self-congratulations are in order for that meaningful formatting.

<Pats self on the back>

<Looks intently at audience, waiting for the claps>

<Never gets the claps>

Header Photo: Spotted on a building in Athens I believe? Symbolizes my never-ending half-hearted quest to see a modern rendition of Repediko. Street musicians are the closest I’ve gotten. Still waiting on the full experience in a taverna.

A-Teaser; my attempt at free-form poetry

Dirt moundThis is only the beginning.

The Beginning.

of a vast repository of thoughts, deeds, inclinations and facetious oddities.

That limps out of my mind.DSC_0150.jpg

I write this to post.


Post Content.

Post-Content content.

Contextualized in a dearth of content.

To reveal meaning.

The meaning is that I’ve been putting off posting.

Putting off completion.

Putting on the mull.DSC_0264.jpg


The mull isn’t straightforward, but

Rather like chili post-preparation, needs a day or two to leave the best taste.

Let the mull have you, or the chili, and your mouth becomes thick, your fingers


It’s hard to throw out chili.

But food does go bad.

But the meals I’ve made, the meals that others have given me lately.

They’re preserved.

And the meat is about cooked.

Slow cooked to be sure.

And there was many a Kodak moment (what a phrase, what a reflection of this society, this capitalist place, this time defined by incorporation and organization and did you know that a drunk Greek kid talked to me on the bus tonight? and he asked me where I was from and I said Ameriki like a person from America would say and he laughed a pained laugh that was truly funny and wheezed and said the word businessman and that made me sad and I tried to tell him no no not a business, man its personal and that I am a thimiosografia or somesuch a writer of well-repute, a teller of truths and an english lady had to act as relay, and then he and his friends wobbled off the bus into the city after one stop or maybe two and you know they didn’t pay for a ticket. They shouldn’t have. And I got a handshake and a laugh, and so did he.)



A food picture never rots.

A picture never rots.

And if it hasn’t rotted, and it won’t soon.

Well, that’s some useful food for thought.DSC_0185.jpg





<Life’s crazy yaknoe, what with the t33n hip slang and uage (that’s a slang sandwich) for hips and lang and uage (that’s a lang sandwich). Think of these both as lame sand witches.>DSC_0246.jpg




(Ewe can interpret this as a part of this poem or apart from that verse or whichever or whoever you think is appropriate to appropriate. But not lamb. Lamb cannot.DSC_0199.jpg

There is more to come. Of a more traditional addition to the risen prison of word. Now this is just self-indulgent.)