theysaid & david crowder said:
these fit appropriately respectively on saturday night,
the night of ice & calm.
Flash Photography
Eric Gamalinda
This could have been someone
who died of lightning long ago:
easy to imagine how the skies
broke and the fulguration
like a skull exploding. I know
only what I see with my eyes.
Think of it as a current
impervious to the ordinary run
of lives, a source of ancient mystery
but meaningless and inadvertent
now, a whole world spun
of rumor, of perplexity.
Chooses what it likes to recall.
Selects not with love,
but light. Does its harm
in darkness, in the thrall
of poisons. May be portraits of,
still lives with, soft porn.
Or more urgent: as though to say
all that we’ve lost
still persist in their absence,
and the photograph is a way
of not seeing, and the most
we can hope for is that the lens,
this indifferent apparatus,
somehow borrows the light
of those who gave meaning
to the darkness in us,
and the faculty of sight
dispels the terrifying
realization that we are alone,
that the world forgets.
All told, not absence but memory
takes what it can,
and we pay our debts
by remembering completely.
take my heart, i lay it down
at the feet of You whose crowned
take my life, i’m letting go
i lift it upto You who’s throned
& i will worship You, Lord
only You, Lord
& i will bow down before You
only You, Lord
take my fret, take my fear
all i have, i’m leaving here
be all my hopes, be all my dreams
You're my delight, be my everything
& it’s just You and me here now
only You and me here now
You should see the view
when it’s only You
the night of ice & calm.
Flash Photography
Eric Gamalinda
This could have been someone
who died of lightning long ago:
easy to imagine how the skies
broke and the fulguration
like a skull exploding. I know
only what I see with my eyes.
Think of it as a current
impervious to the ordinary run
of lives, a source of ancient mystery
but meaningless and inadvertent
now, a whole world spun
of rumor, of perplexity.
Chooses what it likes to recall.
Selects not with love,
but light. Does its harm
in darkness, in the thrall
of poisons. May be portraits of,
still lives with, soft porn.
Or more urgent: as though to say
all that we’ve lost
still persist in their absence,
and the photograph is a way
of not seeing, and the most
we can hope for is that the lens,
this indifferent apparatus,
somehow borrows the light
of those who gave meaning
to the darkness in us,
and the faculty of sight
dispels the terrifying
realization that we are alone,
that the world forgets.
All told, not absence but memory
takes what it can,
and we pay our debts
by remembering completely.
take my heart, i lay it down
at the feet of You whose crowned
take my life, i’m letting go
i lift it upto You who’s throned
& i will worship You, Lord
only You, Lord
& i will bow down before You
only You, Lord
take my fret, take my fear
all i have, i’m leaving here
be all my hopes, be all my dreams
You're my delight, be my everything
& it’s just You and me here now
only You and me here now
You should see the view
when it’s only You