Candy-colored cars in a curve in the road somewhere out in the ever-rolling hills of West Virginia.
Tag Archives: PictureThis
August 24, 2014
Marilyn lives in a greasy repair shop on the East End of Charleston, W.Va.
August 24, 2014
A close encounter with an orange-robed, internationally known monk in the back hills of West Virginia.
July 27, 2013
The town where I live is not a big town. Neither is it a bump and a burp in the road. It is quite walkable, which I like to do whenever possible. You only ever get the true measure of a city by walking it all over.
May 17, 2013
Five photos from a life in the WestVirginiaVille hills — gold rims, where I don’t sit often enough, where I go to church, a Macintosh-face portrait of a native citizen of Digitalistan and a rusted angel overlooking the forgotten dead.
April 13, 2013
This is all I got. A big ole magnolia tree in a full-throated shout of Spring blossoming, a mile from my house in the village of Barboursville, W.Va. Four viewing variations, from real to less-real.
March 23, 2013
Just returned from a family trip to New York, a city with which I have a little history. We created some more. Here’s the first part of a mixed-media accounting of some past and present New York states of mind.
March 19, 2013
When I cannot figure out my life, or don’t wish to try, I turn to pictures. This is soothing, as if capturing a single resonant moment in the frozen amber of a photograph will somehow explain life to itself.
February 20, 2013
It is hazardous to write poetry when you are tired, horny, disgruntled, lonely, in need of a lover’s ministrations or even just a session of kisses. This may be, of course, the only time, even the best, to write poetry.
January 26, 2013
I get tired of words. When my head gets weary of trying to make sense with them, I turn to pictures. Photographs activate a different neighborhood in the cerebral cortex.
January 5, 2013
Fragments stop me in my tracks — Charles Wright, Taiga’s Zen, T.S Elliot. Wait, one more check, there is the number (2) atop my Facebook page. One more fragment of attention before bed.
January 1, 2013
I think if I did not have the woods to get off to I might be a madman. I know that sounds an exaggeration. But there comes a time when nothing else will do and if nothing else would do, could I do without?
December 28, 2012
Alleys are curious places. It is where you witness a city or town in a state of deshabile. They are where a town’s careful pose to visitors droops. Trash spills out. Graffiti grows. I kind of love alleys.
December 10, 2012
When you’re awake at 3:44 a.m., not willingly, and even all three cats are sleeping, and you’re having one of those insomniacal moments in the pre-wee hours of the morning, you decide instead to share some pictures.
October 21, 2012
It serves no fruitful purpose to wax melancholic in your late middle years as rust-colored leaves drop, one by one by one by one, from the sycamores, the oaks and maples, and whatnot trees on this cold October morning.
May 16, 2012
A picture of the day — or of the night — from downtown Huntington, several hours after an evening on stage of dueling funny singer-songwriters.
December 22, 2011
Dammit Dammit Dammit. I say to myself, rounding the corner of a building on the Marshall University campus this morning espying my Honda. The sign of a hassle, flying its flag upon my windshield, a ticket.
December 19, 2011
I have spent my adult life rounding curves in the road here in West by god or so they say Virginia. There are curves around most every curve here.