~ i do my crying in the rain ~

i'll come with the flood and teach you to breathe underwater

for this to happen you need to go to the shore, stand on the edge in the storming weather

you have to be fearless, you get lost only if you fear drowning

1+1 = 1

mathematics of rain

our count

you know surface is for the easy, it reflects the sun beautifully

depths are for those who are ready to drown, if together

the sun is taken in

the greatest drama of the story of little mermaid is that she at all needed to go on land

walk in pain and mute

if a dive had come, there would have been sounds, music

a new kind of breath

~ i mean you ~

and each time i will come

each time i'll be another

a sinner, a saint

your enemy, brother

the rush of freedom when a perceived part of you, a deeply true one gets expressed for the very first time - a thrill from the depths of an ocean reaching the surface, rucking it up, revealing its inner movement, released with an unheard sound.

whatever the face, its expression is constantly beautiful as reflecting the deepest truth.

it's an ascending shiver.

the wodnica who has finally found her way out to the surface

through the channels of ritual photography

will she sing?

~ of patti and .w ~

why do they say he's mad? he has faith

- i've heard in a great movie contemplating the nature of madness, madonnas, light and rain. a relation that nurtured me for a long time and now i somehow lost my interest in things this relative. after all, i've never seen a person getting healthy only by hearing the diagnosis.
and after all, quoting the same motion picture, it is the so called healthy who brought this world to the verge of ruin.
still, so many miracles hiding in the cracks, like this photo that kind of leads me for a few months and that i've finally succeeded to paraphrase. so -

follow the piper of hamelin

~ through a lens, darkly~

when i light the candle and get into the water
they pull me out

on thursday night i joined a ritual of lenses led by a french adept of oddity who gives his heart away for a beauty of the most unique kind. looking into the lenses from 1920's, celebrating the birth of a single photography and presence of an antique eye - i touched the art of captured pictures in its most poignant essence.
singular. sounding. meditative. focused.
a concerto for percussion of time and camera parts.

they pull me out
they shout: "you are mad!"
understand?

no, and i never will. you won't either.
we walk in red, right into the dawn.