T. Wendell Peek ~ meditations

Have you heard that rumour that’s a going around
You got it made, way across town
It’s the same old story, tell me where does it end
Yes, I heard the news, it’s the same old blues again

When I wrote you a letter, you must have read it wrong
I stood at your doorway, but you were gone
I took a lot of courage and let the telephone ring
It’s the same old blues, same old blues again

When you give me the business, you know I get a mind
‘Cause I’ve got a lot of patience and I’ve got a lot of time
It’s the same old story, tell me where does it end
It’s the same old blues, same old blues again

I’m gonna find me a mountain, I’m gonna hide out
I ain’t talking to you and I ain’t coming out
Yeah, I heard that rumour, tell me where does it end
It’s the same old blues, same old blues again

Adam Mead ~ Knowledge of Self

Still don’t know what I was waitin’ for
And my time was runnin’ wild
A million dead end streets and
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
How the others must see the faker
I’m much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Don’t want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
There’s gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time

Mmm, yeah

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They’re quite aware of what they’re goin’ through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Don’t tell them to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Where’s your shame?
You’ve left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can’t trace time

Strange fascinations fascinate me
Ah, changes are taking
The pace I’m goin’ through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Ooh, look out, you rock ‘n’ rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-ch-changes
Pretty soon now you’re gonna get older
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can’t trace time

Barbara duBois ~ Untitled

This is an incredibly complex piece of music (see below). Just goes to show that awful people can have a very talented child like Willow Smith.

The craziest pop song of the 21st Century.

{sunday} Petyr Campos ~ K.Flay No.8 – Giver

EACH BON MOT HAS COST ME A PURSE OF GOLD.
ERASE THE LINES OF THE NIGHT FROM THE COUCH OF THE
 DAY.
COOL TURQUOISE CRYSTAL FEATHER — WOLF PROTON GYRE.
SCROLLED FERN SHADOW SPORE — BREAST SALT MOON.
Wheel of the galaxy turning in tumbleweed.
Faces of antelope staring from ice cream.
Watches ticking on the backs of turtles.
Tambourines tinkling in apple trees.
Flames full of creatures arising from the mouths of worms.
Bearded men pondering in dreams.
Bees and moths darting on the fields of purple asters.
Odor of hummingbird mint crunched under boot heel.
Maya.
Spirit.
Matter.
River.
Creek.
River.
Matter.
Spirit.
Maya.
Odor of hummingbird mint crunched under boot heel.
Bees and moths darting on the fields of purple asters.
Bearded men pondering in dreams.
Flames full of creatures arising from the mouths of worms.
Tambourines tinkling in apple trees.
Watches ticking on the backs of turtles.
Faces of antelope staring from ice cream.
Wheel of the galaxy turning in tumbleweed.
SCROLLED FERN SHADOW SPORE — BREAST SALT MOON.
COOL TURQUOISE CRYSTAL FEATHER — WOLF PROTON GYRE.
ERASE THE LINES OF THE NIGHT FROM THE COUCH OF THE
  DAY.
EACH BON MOT HAS COST ME A PURSE OF GOLD.
—Michael McClure

Happy Sunday.

I had my doubts about this at the start, but I’m glad I listened all the way through.

T. Wendell Peek ~ Assemblage Variation

Looking forward to seeing Mike at the Newport Folk Festival in July. I love this version with Damian Marley. Both of them rhyming with a decidedly spiritual bent, to my ears, anyway.

Now greetings to the world
Live by the King of Zion, I and I, but you know
Sounds brought to you courtesy of the man called Killer Mike
Alongside yours truly, Big Gong Zilla

Yes rude bwoy!

Run like the Spirited folks
Run like you got Holy Ghost
Run like you know that God love you the most
Run me my flowers. While living at dinner, just run me my toast
I used to run wit a gun
Mommy would pray night and day for her devilish son
She would say, “Lucifer’s using your women and money
And drugs and you too blind to see.”
And I’d retort, “Mommy, and now we got money
Have pills in our tummy, not just rice and peas.”
And I told her, “Mama, the trap is abundant
And really it feel like a blessing to me.”
She looked at me spiteful and said to me
“Michael, don’t perish. For greed is the Devil’s disease.”

God don’t like ugly, I ain’t one to judge
Whole, whole lotta gold Cubans, wear a ton
Say I kept it solid, when it’s all said and done
All I know is keep going. Run, better run
Mama told me never fold. Run, better run
Like Jenny told Forrest Gump. Run, better run
The race for freedom ain’t won. Run, better run
Had to make it out the red clay. Run, better run

Some run of the mill MC’s
Weh no bad like Run DMC
And cyaa kill a mic like Killer Mike
Killer Mike, them can’t run next to me
Real revolution, every’dy’s an opinionphile
Run off your mouth and see
Decipher the truth from the lies
Cause we still advise run back the maths and pree
Politician run like thief
Thief haffi run from police
Blood still a run like water
Cause gangsta no run from beef
But water will run you a fee
Even though water should be free
Still there is no running water pipeline
In enough third world country
Yet them run them Ponzi scheme
And them run all under the sea
Meanwhile be running risk and run red light
To feed me family
And if money run like joke
“Nobody could know rich like we”
Run we own prep school and own college
And university
Cause we’re running to be free
So whether long distance or sprinting, nobody can run fast like we
Everybody done know the runnings, seh we run things
And memba things nuh run we
Everybody done know the runnings, we don’t run alone
Cause we run with the Almighty!

God don’t like ugly, I ain’t one to judge
Whole, whole lotta gold Cubans, wear a ton
Say I kept it solid, when it’s all said and done
All I know is keep going. Run, better run
Mama told me never fold. Run, better run
Like Jenny told Forrest Gump. Run, better run
The race for freedom ain’t won. Run, better run
Had to make it out the red clay. Run, better run

Lordy, you know
How I stay high, but I’m low
I do not know where to go
Calling on you
I do not know what to do
How do I get back to you?

I got a story of glory to tell
I was like Jonah in belly of whale
God had to get me and sick me in
Dirtiest, filthy, and grimiest, slimiest jail
I had to pray on bent knee and repent
Lost every dollar, but got me some sense
Woke up cold sweating, I’m shaking at night
Woke up and realized that Mama was right
I had to run from the wrong to the right
I had to run to the sun and the light
For if I should perish, my kids would have nothing inherited
And that’d be the Devil’s delight
See I want the wisdom of Solomon, kingdom of David
My bloodline, the birthplace of Christ

God don’t like ugly, I ain’t one to judge
Whole, whole lotta gold Cubans, wear a ton
Say I kept it solid, when it’s all said and done
All I know is keep going. Run, better run
Mama told me never fold. Run, better run
Like Jenny told Forrest Gump. Run, better run
The race for freedom ain’t won. Run, better run
Had to make it out the red clay. Run, better run

Much of the beauty that arises in art comes from the artist’s struggle with his limited medium.—Henri Matisse

This site celebrates images mostly shot and always processed on iPhones or other iOS devices. Occasionally, source images from DSLRs or other cameras are processed on iOS devices. 

No laptop or desktop computers are used for image manipulation.

Aim well, shoot fast, and scram.—Henri Cartier-Bresson.

Aim well, shoot fast, and app that bitch until it sings.—Knox Bronson.

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