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December 31st, 2010

Women In At Of IAH

8 October 2010 | Before I Knew | At Of In IAH | Written (Mostly) On A Tuesday After I Knew

14 May 2010 | Here Before

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I made a portrait of that woman waiting to fly on my left at IAH because she reminded me of a woman, or maybe in some place in my mind or real life – it’s the same actual woman, I made a portrait of 147 days ago that was to my right, also waiting. She was waiting for the red light! to become green light!, a specific time I often photograph people, when they are waiting, sometimes in their cars, sometimes not. I have too many, I’ve shared too many, which means, I wish I had more, from all these many years. Complete strangers to me. I make note of what time and time between these points quite often as well, I find it important. You know this if you’ve seen a story of mine before, if you know me at all or if you are one of the few that have known me better than others with the true sense of the word know. Neither of these likely two different beautiful women do I know or have known. Nor do they know they appeared, disappeared and reappeared for me to cherish. To be shared here, forever in my time, seconds apart or days. This is why time gets noted, this is the only way I can stop it when I cannot otherwise and so fucking desperately want to. It goes too fast, it is running out every damn day as I get closer to dying and I am exhausted by all that feels lost I cannot feel ever again. So I mark and keep this time as best I can because it is futile, because I know this and because I find the attempt itself full of a grace I do not always live with, when I wish I could.

Every second.

Your Unkind Line Was Just That, If You’re Known

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There were once so many little things I once loved to create, I won’t know how to anymore.

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There Is Nothing I Can Do, My Tongue Is Tied

a poem of sorts i once read that had words that read like your words, by an author i overlapped with my tied tongue, so closely, i can almost taste him. i was at a party once where i thought maybe i saw him, it occurred to me, maybe i should walk over and try to taste you:

about me, hyperme, the simulectra pivoted about my face occupying my identity? facial expressions and a dialect of gesture would do more to describe me than words can, but i suppose that this inactual reality which broadens communication while confusing the term communication adequately allows us to meet. how are you? that’s nice. i wouldn’t have listened anyway, so perhaps this resembles truth, somewhat. i am self absorbed, though not into myself, into my imagination, which is not myself, but exists within a body of thought i think to control (failure of language), therefore i am self absorbed but not self important. i watch my thoughts– which are not agrandized– like shadows of whirls in a summer pool. i enjoy these things, and […name of woman…] practices patience daily in my enjoyment of these things. she enjoys a different distraction which brings her into presence. i am absence, at times.

– mein cristof

I Believed In Something That Was Not Real, Too Much, This Is How I Learned Myths Are Real, Not Long Ago

On The Very Day It Could Have Happen

True Story