imagination meta

I keep saying to myself that I need to write more, and yet I don’t.
An event happened this week, a sizable personal life event occurred, for now, it’s not important as to its nature, because I think it would cloud thoughts going forward, so bear with me.
I’m thinking as I’m writing this, a stream of consciousness as it were…

I can’t, unfortunately, type as fast as the narrative goes, in my mind.

Seattle Viaduct

Last day of public access to the Alaskan Way Viaduct in Seattle
The Alaskan Way Viaduct is a defunct elevated freeway in Seattle, Washington, United States, that carried a section of State Route 99 (SR 99). The double-decked freeway ran north–south along the city’s waterfront for 2.2 miles (3.5 km), east of Alaskan Way and Elliott Bay, and traveled between the West Seattle Freeway in SoDo and the Battery Street Tunnel in Belltown. The viaduct was built in three phases from 1949 through 1959, with the first section opening on April 4, 1953. It was the smaller of the two major north–south traffic corridors through Seattle (the other being Interstate 5), carrying up to 91,000 vehicles per day in 2016.[1] The viaduct ran above Alaskan Way, a surface street, from S. Nevada Street in the south to the entrance of Belltown’s Battery Street Tunnel in the north, following previously existing railroad lines. The viaduct had long been viewed as a barrier between downtown and the city’s waterfront, with proposals to replace it as early as the 1960s. Questions of the structure’s seismic vulnerability were raised after several earthquakes damaged similar freeways in other cities, including some with the same design as the viaduct. During the 2001 Nisqually earthquake, the Alaskan Way Viaduct suffered minor damage but later inspections found it to be vulnerable to total collapse in the event of another major earthquake, necessitating its replacement. from- en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alaskan_Way_Viaduct

Being There

Last coherent conversation with my Father
I never lived in this apartment, apart from one month in 2015 where I came back to Ireland with the intention of trying to get to know him again and to remind myself of who he was and where I came from.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin, My father had fallen about 6 months previously and damaged some bones. He was checked on by a friend who determined quite rightly, that he was in trouble. Between my Sister and my oldest brother, John, and their friends that were still living in Ireland, helped get him situated in a new place.
In the meantime, he had been hospitalized and then sent to ‘Our Lady’s Manor’ which is a care home administered by an order of nuns. This is literally moments after I saw him for the first time in 3 years. I was gutted when I saw him, so physically diminished, yet bright and coherent despite the crumbling infrastructure.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. My oldest brother, John, dealing with immediate arrangements for Dad, a Taxi, and his job back in the UK.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Waiting by the elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home. My thoughts during this time were to apply the same psychology through my camera that would help determine the best images to get in the moment. As I was looking at my father, I could see his demeanour, indicating that he wasn’t really sure about what was going on in that moment. The following image carries on this psychology and is manifested on my brother, as he amply reflects my own thoughts in that moment.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Waiting by the elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home. My thoughts during this time were to apply the same psychology through my camera that would help determine the best images to get in the moment. As I was looking at my father, my brother, John, came to my focus attention. This is hard for all of us.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. In the tiny elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home.
It became clear that it was very difficult for me to figure out which emotion was calling me the most. I made the picture to solidify the moment.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
I remember my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. This is my brother, John, saying goodbye for now to our dad. Me giving him that hug, would look just the same as this, and it would be the following day. The last time I would talk with him.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
I remember my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
I have vague memories of being a child holding his big warm hand, and he would turn back to me like this, and say something.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. I literally got off the plane got in a taxi and came straight out to see him at the Manor. The trip back to my friend’s house where I was staying, was a real-time tableaux of images from the window of the train, segments of my past life in Ireland, chunks of memory, good and bad times, little vignettes of thought and memory synchronized and dispatched with the rhythm of the tracks.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
I remember once my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father
The last look.
I had a deadline, my part in a charade. I got one day with my father.
The window frame tells me that I have no control, I include it in the frame, to convey a sense of constraint. Other things going on outside the window, are reinforcements on this concept.

VIOLENCE

20180627

VIOLENCE

 

Puzzling and unexpected.
Two boys. Brothers. Formative years.  

 

Horseplay in the waiting room, I’m not paying attention.

I heard a sound. I don’t know what it was.

My mind does.

 

That puzzle piece is a root trigger. Deep and legacy.

 

A localized, cool breeze forms over thoracic. Cold. Instant.

Muscles ripple.

Lockdown.

Pain.

 

Waiting for the event. Waiting for the ambush. Waiting for the violence.

V is for violence. It is purple on my right and navy on my left.

 

not a strict portfolio, but a portfolio nontheless

2017-11-24


I’ve been using the internet since 1991. I’m not the generation that built it, but I am the generation that took it from obscurity to fruition.

In 2014 I cut back on my use of social media, primarily because I felt that the very fabric of the internet was starting to ‘guide’ me in a direction, whatever that direction was I didn’t know, but I didn’t like it. I actually really don’t come here that often now. I create and stock, or post, I contribute but don’t partake, I have too many other things on my mind to pay attention.

Twitter, to me, was always a bullshit platform, I still think it is. In the beginning, it was people talking about what they were doing at that moment, just rubbish, typing to be heard. Now, it’s that and more of it in cumulative voluminous chorus of pure unmitigated liquid shit.

Anyone who thinks Twitter is a powerful news media platform is off their rocker, simply and plainly, we are not journalists.

Pick a minstrel, and they will play to, or for their audience. You put a hundred people in a room and the dynamics will form eponymous groups

 

The first thing you learn in a conflict zone is there is no truth, that goes out well before boots hit the ground or even the first fist is raised, let alone bullets or Molotov’s. Truth was shoved out the door before the show even started.

Regionalized information delivery is 100% against what the internet was raised to be.

Proper news information delivery is journalism, and that comes with context, perspective and contrast; two or more sides of a situation delivered within the parameters of context and with ethics, backstory and overview. Yes the journalist is skewed, intrinsically, but the journalist is the brightest computer fueled by conviction, compassion, empathy and had human experience, which as yet, has not been emulated by machine, but is in danger of being swallowed by the tsunami of white noise, grey noise, black noise, brown noise, noise, or, as Navy personnel call interference, which all comes with agenda and skew.

 

What is real? Where is the middle ground?

Where are we?

 

Remember who you are.

Who are you?