Monday, November 7, 2011

The forest is my throne

Yet another metal reference lost on you heathens.


















We'll be seeing this guy again.
































More apocalyptic sustenance, you bet.



















Blood of the earth.



















Walking here, I remembered there, where that other she held a cane, he held her hand, her eyes coming to a stop along with her body & his, convex glazes darting as if seated on a drunken gyroscope. He pointed a craggy digit up as if to the top of a distant mountain; at what, I wondered. The bland, skyward corner of the Justice center was all that was there. But she smiled even though it was a strain to do so & they walked on, so slow that it seemed the Wheelie Bus stop was passing them by. Salve for crises, or aftermath of crises long solved, or witnessing a telepathy that develops in rare couples. I didn't ask which.
























Tangled webs.



















Distant early warning.
























Bleached.




















Doomed.

During city darkthroning the other day, the Peonage, along with a gaggle of more professionally-dressed yokels who dared invade the corona of our personal space, strolled past Clevelandia's Own® & ever-diminishing #OccupyThis where we were told, in a voice earnest yet with just a tangy hint of snarky disdain faux-cleverly cloaked in a smile you ain't fooling me campus film student I've seen your mug before, that "we're occupying for you."

If only I had worn my Blaze In the Northern Sky tee over my shorts & sneakers in lieu of a shirt with buttons.

Employed in a concrete burg that is the center of nothing (though we are the 63rd busiest US port go Clevelandia it's your birthday), & where shlubs like us simply wish to get away from the drone for a few dozen minutes, we're merely cogs in the machine preferring to take pictures of leaves instead of sitting on the 2 a.m. floor of a concrete burg that is the center of nothing. 

Would I be more willing to get down n' anarchy if this was Oaktown where, amidst more than eight bodies, such a glassy beatdown & taking rubber bullets to 99% flesh that's 1% to vast swaths of overseas Others supposedly means a damn thing in a world that can't be saved?

Or would I be satisfied to continue silently bitching about having to work an extra hour on the desk because yet another coworker called off yet the one that always does didn't for once but is doing her typical Speakerphone shtick of disappearing to bullshit with other fuckers & fuck is the usual band of weirdos less weird/more annoying in this sufficiently climate controlled dump that means nothing like the center in which it sits, but paycheck-to-paycheck gives me street cred, or something, so how about we agree to not call each other out for not doing much of anything but subverting the system from within of course that will play in Peoria trying to get by in this toxic event called existence until the grave calls us home to feed the worms?




















Metaphor.
























Anti-metaphor.



















Anti-anti-metaphor.
























Escape.
























Capture.




















With each flick of the breeze, I ran beneath the trees like a kid to the strains of the sometimes-better-half's half-laugh, trying to snare with my lens a falling leaf, genius that I am, forgetting about the burst function, so all you get is a blur.



















Vertigo.
























Over the ridge.
























Fools.



















The hard place.



















Still being followed.



















Up a creek.



















Secret stash.



















Nesting.
























The thing from another world.



















Mellow yellow.



















In the shadow of the horns.



















Poor composition keeps the branch from droopy sadness.



















Gotcha.
























Hey, I know you.



















I think I'm blind, & I didn't even have to masturbate or eat sixty-four slices of American cheese.






















































Duck, duck, duck, no geese.

18 comments:

okjimm said...

// the forest is my throne//????

Well... I knew Bears shit in the woods....but you? oh, my.

Tom Harper said...

Number 63! Yowzah! You go Cleveland!

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

R.G. forgot the link, okjimm.

Probably something to do with his auntie-politicks kick.
~

Laura said...

Okay maybe I'm getting soft or maybe it's just my pms talking but, this post brought a tear to my eye!
It was beautiful. Except for that bastardo.

((Hugs))
Laura

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

Possibly. Relevant.
~

Randal Graves said...

okjimm, why do you think they put all those leaves there?

tom, maybe you all will cut back on the burning river jokes for once, huh.

if, certainly not, I merely expect you all to be versed in the black metal classics.

The Towering Slab needs a hammock.

laura, you *are* Canadian, and thus, a giant wuss. Don't hit me with a hockey stick, please.

thatgirl said...

It was funny because Weird Hippie Squirrel Lady said that all that Parmastani dudes want to do is watch sports and not be out among nature with the squirrels, which is funny because you do both, but you are also already taken, and also she was crazy.

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

Why didnt you tell us that you are in the movies.

Regards,

Tengrain

Randal Graves said...

thatgirl, appreciate you not directing Weird Hippie Squirrel Lady towards my house. I am in your debt.

tengrain, I was perfectly happy in my miserable mood & you had to remind me about those soul eaters? Save the shivs for the politicos.

S.W. Anderson said...

More nice but cold scenic shots. Anti-metaphor (didn't she teach grade school at one time?) is my favorite; beautifully composed and exposed. Squirrel shots are always pleasers, so that's a bonus.

However, the back-of-the-head shot is further evidence you either have really bad timing or really camera shy companions. This follows on the back-of-the-crowd shots of a few weeks ago. Maybe you have a thing about photographing people.

It's OK, Randal. People rarely sue or confiscate a camera, especially if they're fully clothed and not involved with someone who's not their spouse. ;)

Pearl said...

Hmmm. That would be Satiricon and some other band that slips my mind.

Insert devil horns here.

Pearl

p.s. Enjoyed this.

susan said...

Your darkthroned woodland adventures are strangely personal in a very impersonal way. You've almost outdone yourself this time.

As for the occupiers, if they accomplish nothing else it's still been good to hear them complain.

Beach Bum said...

I think that squirrel was following you, he looks like a government narc.

Randal Graves said...

SWA, going to be in the high 60s today, so hope you're happy, you disturbed sir.

Hey man, hard to fight crime without secret identities.

pearl, METAL! See kids, that's how you comment. If I had prizes to give away, I would.

susan, oh no, does that mean I take the same kind of shots all the time?

Believe me, I'm a hardcore supporter of complaining. As long as they expect the other jackboot to drop at some point, and watch out for Monty Burns-style motorists who surely aren't The Man's plants, nope.

BB, so I shouldn't stash my black market weapons in the park?

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

It's supposed to hit 70 down here in the tropics.

Time to go vote to repeal SB-5.

;-)

Demeur said...

Careful where you walk there Sparky. That's either some type of guano or a river of Clevelandias' best industrial waste what little they have left. Best throw on the Wellingtons before haz mat does its' thing. Not a pretty picture my friend not a pretty picture indeed.

thatgirl said...

Demeur,
I spent a good amount of childhood mucking it up in that creek and look at how well I turned out! Oh wait, nevermind.

Randal Graves said...

if, but rejoice! Snow on Friday!

demeur, as with iocane powder, we've built up a tolerance.

Yeah, nevermind times two.