locked in

We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it
― Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore

This post was inspired by a few things.

For starters, I’ve been working too hard and neglecting almost everything, and everyone, else. Apart from the obvious social clues, my Fitbit sits on my wrist admonishing me with a digital iciness of tone, pointing out that I am not exercising enough, and it has facts, and they are not Spicerian alternative facts, but hard, cold evidence. And, not so long ago, whilst walking in the street, I felt decidedly odd, numb fingers, a sense of unreality, dizziness and a general feeling of fading vision. Trust me, that is the universe speaking to me. I think.

Also, I have been using the theft of my beloved X100T as an excuse for not shooting enough, or writing about it.

In conversation today, someone made some kind remarks about my photography. I took this as a challenge, and so set about capturing my environment. This in turn was an act of rebellion about an environment that feels like it has captured me. Shielded from the world outside by double locked gates, security guards, razor wire and faithful drivers.

I’m not complaining. I’m lucky. I’m just rebelling, a little.

These shots were captured (there’s that meme again) with my iPhone. I used Analog Efex Pro 2 (Toy Camera 3) because the effect seemed to capture the way reality bends when in a certain frame of mind.

As for my camera, at least my Nikon is safe at home, and there’s always the X100F to look forward to.

A glass half full?

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How would it be, if everybody did that?

How would it be,” the police officer asked him severely, “if everybody did that?”
– Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

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Douglas Adams may not be an established literary giant, but for me (at least) he has long been an inspiration. His original The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy series, first broadcast on BBC Radio 4, captured my heart and mind many years ago. Captured my mind as I was figuring out who I was, what I wanted to be. Gave me an early insight into alternative perspectives.

Made me think.

Last week, I (or at least my business alter ego) was privileged to be invited to speak at the Baltic Project Management Forum 2016. The subject of my presentation Cultural Diversity: Making the Project Fit the Culture.

In the lead up to the Forum, I was invited to give an interview to Simas Čelutka at IQ magazine, a Baltic publication affiliated with The Economist.

The questions posed to me, the contributions of my fellow speakers, the warmth of the welcome extended to me by the organisers of the Forum reminded me of those days long ago when the world stretched out ahead of me, waiting to be discovered. And so, again, I realised that no matter how rich one’s experience, there is so much more to be learned.
The interview I gave to IQ, transcribed below, reminded me of how lucky I have been, of the opportunities I have had, to learn more about our world, about how much more there is to learn.

Always.

For we can never stop learning.

Or sharing.
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poetry | 101 | rehab | red

No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories
― Haruki Murakami

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voices, filled (the air)
have, one more
don’t despair

(warm) fingers, tracing, searching
did they (who watched) care
have, one more

more, and more
no one (really) saw
or so, it seemed

blue eyes
yes (they cared, oh how so much)
told, no lies

feelings rising
choices, stretching
(out)

don’t be scared
choose, the blue
ride, the red

you’ll soon
be

dead


red

This week, my poetry prompt is red

poetry | 101 | rehab | whisper

There’s no need to raise your voice here. You don’t have to convince anybody of anything, and you don’t have to attract anyone’s attention
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

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I hear you,

whisper

in the long grass

and in, the reeds

along, the banks.

I hear you,

whisper

in the leaves, of the

trees

and (in) the beards of those

who ride long,

and hard.

I hear you,

whisper

in the (endless) night,

when the stars,

fall,

and (yes)

I hear you, whisper

when you, are

gone.


whisper

This week, my poetry prompt is only a whisper

poetry | 101 | rehab | smile

There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure
― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

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blue eyes
that
hold, no
lies

sparkling smile
that
holds, no
wile
(nor guile)

words
softly, spoken
not, just
words

what lay,
inside

all
those
years

it is clear,
to me

now


smile

This week, my poetry prompt is simple, it’s smile. Why not?

out in the midday sun | 4

To the complaint, ‘There are no people in these photographs,’ I respond, There are always two people: the photographer and the viewer
― Ansel Adams

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This post is about my passion for photography.

It is also about the process of learning. In a recent post in this (rather sporadic) series, I featured a photo which I believe was the first that I ever shot.  It was of a hovercraft, a futuristic vehicle that like others, including the Concorde, has disappeared into the history books.

That camera was a Kodak Instamatic 25. It was (almost) idiot proof (if not Andy proof). A cassette was inserted in the rear of the camera, a single click captured (most of) what could be seen through the offset viewfinder, the cassette was wound on by a large black plastic wheel and that was it. The cassette was then dropped off at the developers and then the waiting began.
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