I went out with a camera. This might not strike you as much. Even better, this might not strike you at all. Worry not though, I’m here to tell you that it’s a badass achievement.
You must consider that I go out rarely and that I go out with the camera about as often as the leap year occurs. If not less frequently.
What I found out outside is that it is autumn. Whatever. I shot to kill and here is what I brought home. Which is, again, not much. It’s my recurrent theme.
My first awkward attempts at shooting in other mode than auto.
Milky-water effect, maybe
Weirdly exposed, whatever
I’m obsessively taking photos, on which I toss them in the archives and forget about them. So, I’m thinking, what the fuck, let’s post some of that old stuff on the blog. Extremely topical (not), here goes last year’s autumn.
In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Out of This World.
I’m not a frequent traveller, less so a frequent flyer, so the night-lit landscape as seen from the plane on my recent enforced business trip was quite otherworldly to me. I mean, it is lovely, but I do hope to avoid travelling in the future, as it’s on the list of top things I hate the most.
In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Variations.
Ben Huberman of WordPress says variations, thinking of music (and cheese). I hear variations, and think of poetry (and permutations). Poetry shall be the easier of the two.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
I don’t entirely share the poet’s fascination (bordering on intoxication) but the drunkenness of things being various stuck with me for reasons unknown and unimportant.
Also, it’s clear that the poet is a poet: he can’t even eat a tangerine! Normal people don’t spit the pips but swallow. It’s easier that way. And smart people don’t buy tangerines with pips.
Anyway, here’s a picture of variations on clouds.
In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Silence.
The prompt of this week’s challenge is inspiring me to multiple responses. Which is probably counter-intuitive because the prompt ask literally for silence. Here you go.
In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Serene.
There is no such thing as serenity. There’s always a sense of threat looming in the quiet, a calm before the storm. Sunsets are particularly scary this way.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
I repeat to myself this D. H. Lawrence quote often. Several times a day, whenever a new sky falls. And skies don’t fall in a good way. Which reminds me of my grandmother, who had a peculiar saying. She probably didn’t invent it, but I never heard anyone else say it. It translates poorly, but it roughly says He who craps himself will have the crapper falling on his head. It means that when you’re in bad luck, you can expect more bad luck. My grandmother wasn’t very encouraging. Here’s a picture of a sky falling.
In response to Cardinal’s Changing Seasons challenge.
I thought I’d never go out in November. And I didn’t go out. I rode a bike. That was my third attempt at the bike after fifteen years. It went poorly, and I don’t get farther than two kilometres. Then I collapse, catching for breath and fending off a heart attack. Obviously, yoga doesn’t prepare you for aerobic activities.
I deeply regretted venturing out. I nearly killed myself. I’m suicidal, perfectly normal, but dying while biking isn’t my preferred way to go. I also had the bad idea of revisiting my childhood woods. Apparently, they’ve been abandoned ages ago, so I was drowning in swamps and fighting through wild vegetation. Next time I’ll bring my machete.
Except there will be no next time. Even if I’m alive to see December, I’m not fucking crazy enough to go bike riding in December. And since I live in the middle of nowhere with little to no public transport, and since I’m not a car owner, and since I hate walking (apart from everything else), I don’t think there will be an opportunity to shoot changing seasons. Maybe from the window. As I said in October, I’m not going out the next month.
That’s my bitter tears
Old and wrinkly and dead, like me
That’s when I ran out of ideas
You could tell this is near a nuclear plant
Is it lichen? Does it eat trees?