Lost Lonely and Lethal
I could never accept life as it was,
i could never gobble down all its
but there were parts, tenous magic parts open for the
I re formulated I don’t know when,
date, time, all that but the change
something in me relaxed, smoothed out.
i no longer had to prove that i was a man,
I didn’t have to prove
― Charles Bukowski
Time is an embroiderers’ thread,
Weaving words like a web,
Fraying the fabric of me,
Fragments sewn to my mind,
Dont let go,
Of the red.
Born in Calabria, Italy in 1929. Married at age 22. He spent 28 days aboard the Achille Lauro to arrive in Australia in November of 1968. Meet my nonno - Luigi.
The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.
You’re on your own,
and you know what you know.
And you are the guy
who’ll decide where to go.
Through the Looking Glass.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream—
Lingering in the golden gleam—
Life, what is it but a dream?
He looked in through the looking glass, not recognising his own reflection. What stared back at him through the mirror was blank, a man of stone stripped of all he once was, or so he thought.
Giuseppe was a barber once, back home, in a town nestled at the foothills of the Gran Sasso. That was another world, another life… it was like time stood still there - nothing could break you… this place reminded him a little of that… a time when he was young, and well again…
(Edit by artist David @mypaintinglife, go see his light-filled & wonderfully created colour images, words + image by G)