Things that make you go, "Hmmm?"

Looking around at the world we live in we easily see that more often than not what we are seeing is too strange or weird to be real but in fact it is. These scenes come in many forms from the outlandish to the mundane. During these moments of surreal realism I think of the popular saying, "Truth is often stranger than fiction." I used to brush off that odd observation with a huff or a puff; a long or short 'hmmm;' or a quick chuckle or raging cackle. But today I try and photograph it as much as possible.


The way it happens is as follow: I see the anomaly and I take out my trusty camera like rhinestone-cowboys would take out their trusty six-shooter and fire away at the target. I twist and turn that camera checking out all my angles. I zoom in for the kill and zoom out for a full blast. My agile fingers pumped with adrenaline move at the speed of sound bracketing the next shot and firing again. I keep at this until the moment is lost or the target is killed and I race off into the sunset looking for my next adventure or a place to download my photos.


I go softly into that good night and I look at the fruit of my labour before that last candle is blow out. My mind, which is slightly faster than the Intel Centrino tries to make heads or tails of all the non-sense before me.

Now-a-days most of us are aware that our minds work best when they're open and so we walk about and wander the earth with the message on our foreheads saying please come in, I'm open. But everynow and again the sign reads closed-do not enter-go away and the only thing that registers in my perplexed mind is 'syntax error.' I'm puzzled at what I see and marvel at the hows whats whens wheres whys and whos behind the photo. I begin to question, "What is it in this world that makes us do what we do or neglect the things we neglect?" I don't often ask this question but when I hear it I tend to think of one of three answers:

1 Customs or traditions are different.
2 It's because of lack of education or awareness or
3 Syntax Error!

Then with one last OM to the bubbly Buddha I blow out the candle and exit light-enter night.
(For more wacky and fun photos check out 'this.'

Welcome to the Axis of Evil

I was living in Santiago de Chile when the prospect of working in Syria arose. I was really comfortable in Santiago but irritated by how slow work starts up after the summer. I was also fed up with living next to the grandiose Andes mountains and not being able to see them because of all the smog that looms over the city; in turn this signalled a time for change.

I got the job in Syria after a lengthy application form and grueling telephone interview and was then destined to arrive in about a month. I knew next to nothing about Syria except for that it 'joined' the Axis of Evil in February of 2002 because the US State Department accuses it of harbouring Palestinian groups which it classifies as terrorists. Syria classifies these groups as freedom fighters but it appears that little room existed for debate over the nomenclature of the situation as Mr. President George W. Bush was quoted saying in a BBC article,

"Nations must choose, they are with us or with the terrorists."

So, it looks as if Mr. President George W. Bush viewed Syria in such a way despite the fact that it has shared information with the CIA and has been a useful partner in fighting Osama Bin Laden's al-Qaeda. This fact confused me as such co-operation hardly depicts a place that must ooze so much evil that it is added to the infamous Axis. I felt that further studies must be conducted and was therefore very enthusiastic that I would soon be there.


I am now writing this after living in Syria for over a year and I can't help but feel that all the hype about it being evil is just a farce. Upon my arrival I was greatly under whelmed with the amount of evilness across the land; people are outlandishly friendly and genuinely happy that you were there to see how un-evil they really are. I was instantly surprised to see how historic, religiously diverse and tolerante the country truly is. And before long I began visiting and seeing places such as the Barada River, where John the Baptist was baptised; crusader castles; Hama, where the Romans built massive water wheels to feed the aqua ducts; and Ma'loula, one of the few places on Earth where Aramaic, the native tongue of Jesus of Nazareth, is still spoken. As you may guess the list goes on and on.


Syria is not without its problems but this is the same for any country. At the moment, though, it is engaged in the initiation of peace talks with its greatest enemy; not exactly what you would expect from a nation classified as a part of the Axis of Evil. And it seems very keen on being a part of the new 'Club Med' that the French president is trying to create.

The United States of America also has a few of its own problems and we will all see what happens with its newly elected president. I merely hope that the issue of erroneous classification can soon be corrected.

For more photos pertaining to this story please look 'here'

Sorry I was out all year, but I moved to a country where blogger is banned!
Tune in October when we'll be back on the air!!!

Should old mates be forgotten
And never brought to mind,
Perhaps it's time to stop and think
before you chug your next drink.

platonic sex (part i)

Before having actually discovered the fact, I knew that one of my flat mates was pro-drugs. She went about the flat with an eccentric air wearing purple an orange hand-knitted scarf, smelling of sandal wood. When she introduced herself to me, I’m the new-comer to the flat, she quickly began making incoherent conversation. As it turned out she and I were practically neighbours before I had moved in yet we had never met till this day. I met the flat’s landlady a couple of hours prior to this engagementand the landlady and I are not neighbours by any means, but I feel that this needs to explained to continue on with the story.
The landlady was actually quite elderly and real uneasy around me, so I had to give her the good ol’sales pitch to win her over and have her rent the room out to me. Having studied marketing and working in sales, I devised a small yet systematic oral presentation. This contained actual facts of my life along with the reasons as to why I should be rented out this room and many humorist anecdotes that flew directly over her head. I sold my story to the landlady for about a hour, and only then was she convinced that I should rented out the room in the flat where three very cool looking ladies were living. I have to confess that she really didn’t care about my story. I only managed to convince her by submitting to traditional ass kissing, and if you’ll excuse me I need to thoroughly wash my mouth out.
Before I had gotten on all fours to give the landlady’s fairly wrinkled anus the tongue lashing of a life time, I attempted to explain that I was leaving the village where I had been living for a short period. I had obtained a job working as the official translator for a well known clothing business and a very prestigious lawyer, so it was necessary to more to the city. And she liked those two facts a great deal for they relieved her suspicions that I would be a dead beat tenant. I also delicately explained that I was an unofficial quazi-legal alien, and although this only confused her it also made her feel pity; in saying this final bit I really played it up watering my eyes and releasing one strong and dignified tear down my cheek. After that I proceeded in paiding her first’s and last’s months rent and she began showing me around the flat carrying on with trivial conversation. She showed all the signs of being a noisy busy-body, she asked me about my village, its whereabouts, my parents, my family history, and what colour my shit was. Once the tour was over I left, keys in hand, to collect my belongings that were left behind in the hostel and returned just before half pasted the hour.
I unloaded the rucksack from my back and began to unpack when the landlady burst into my room an introduced me to my new flat mates. The first one was a language teacher who was the utmost authoritive figure of teaching a language that was only taught in these parts for it was virtually unknown everywhere else, and she was most proud of this. In her slow monotone voice she began to unfold the beautiful tale of the language’s history, with all its hardships and struggles to maintain itself from perishing into extinction when miraculously my pro-drugs flat mate cut in and quickly introduced herself. She seemingly bounced off the walls like a rubber ball as the language teacher cowered away into the depths of her bedroom.
“Hola!” she began, “I’m from Distriz. You’re from Ferreira. They’re only ten kilometres apart. You wouldn’t happen to have gone clubbing in Monforte, would ya?”
“Uuuh,” I was slow to responded and in shock after being blitzkigged, but once I had realised what she had said I readyed an attack, “Yeah, of course. All the time. It’s the only town in the region with a night life.”
“I worked in the club called the Acropolis,” she said testing, “know it?”
And just as cocky I replied, “Know it? It was my second home.” I no longer had control of my mouth, for although I did know the place I loathed it, but continued, “How come I never saw you? Which nights did you work?”
Mostly just weekends. Funny I never saw you there. I’ve been working there since it opened.”
“Really?” snappy come back number one. “Do you the dudes from Cangas?”
“Yup. Older crowd, really don’t come in too much,” and that came as no surprise for we had mutual feeling towards the place. But I needed to persist in winning this battle not even knowing why nor when it had become such. I needed to strike a common cord with her.
“How bout the Pirate? Know him?” Everyone knew the Pirate. He was and still holds the title for been the biggest loser in three counties. A scrawny pot pusher who got beat up for selling oregano.
“Oh God, that loser,” ladies and gentlemen we have a winner. “He got beat up by some high school kids for selling them oregano instead of weed.” Cords, melodies, and intricate fingering of a guitar all sounding in unison just like only Steve Vai could (and the good Lord said “Dance! And let there be music!”)
And now feeling surer of myself I calmly agreed with her, and let the conversation continue to unravel itself. It went on effortlessly and seemingly went on for ever.
I like people who can carry a good conversation. The art of small talk is one that is slowly fading away. Not just anyone could just talk for endless hours, telling one story after another and the listener plays just as an important role, adding anecdotes to match the mood rather than just nodding and saying mmm. This girl could talk. She caressed the conversation. She gave it a life of its own and charged up like a light bulb. The air was electric thanks to her. And she was electric, and I felt a fire burn deep within me.
We continued talking about people who may have been mutual friends as she danced with all the words around the room. She flailed her arms about like a mad conductor having me believe that these flamboyent arm movements may have something to do with the village’s water supply (would I too be affected?) Talking about all the people in my village we eventual spoke about my next door neighbour, the typical sweet and sexy girl next door with one foot in the nunnery.

To be Continued

goths and greeks

I haven't been myself of late, I haven't slept for several days...
You know you drive me up the wall...
The streets are full of Goths and Greeks, I haven't seen my mum for weeks...

(elbow)

I have been publishing my observations, thoughts and ideas on this blog for a relatively short period of time. Since the time I began doing so I have read and viewed an uncountable number of blog and fotoblog sites. I haven’t done any real research on the matter so the figures that are quoted here are rough estimates and are perhaps inflated and biased, but with that said and acknowledged I am trying to not embellish all too much. What I’m really getting at is how blogs have opened yet another gateway to the world of porn. In some regards it has empowered those who pose or perform in this variety of entertainment by giving them total control over all aspects involved. But unfortunately it has also spurred on a whole new assortment porn associated crime which I don’t wish to get into right now. At the moment it should sufice to say that it's sick!

Instead of continuing on that thread I rather focus on a positive feature of blogs which to me signifies a virtual space where people of all ages and nationalities can publish their beliefs, their hopes, and ideas though artwork, blog-literature, and photo-blogs. In some situations people in repressed societies are later sought out by authorities, but they still feel inclined to share their views and I say thank you. Thank you for being brave and opening our eyes to a bigger reality. On a lighter hearted note I would like to give props to a simple goth I once met that impressed me with her artwork and fotoblog. Although she rarely attended class and never managed to learn the rules of ‘shit head’ she still manages to get top grades. I could tell you more about her site but it’s best to check it out… even if it’s not all that good!

GothicFender