Street Photography, A Reply

A friend on facebook, when seeing an album I put up of street photography, commented that it was ' really creepy'

Well, no it isn't. In fact it is anything but.

All our lives we walk through cities like zombies, asleep. Our eyes on the ground, headphones in our ears.

We spend life blocking out the beauty all around us.

The city is a vibrant, living organism.

And what is the city's energy made up of?

The people that live in it

So if you could capture some of that energy, that vibrancy - why wouldn't you?

So, yes, if photography is all about shooting fake , posed shots of your friends drunk on a night out, then yes, street photography is creepy.

But if taking photos is actually about capturing life and not just a dead image, well then I think it is pretty awesome.

'Mr Hawthorne woke up too late'

A student gave me this poem which he wrote about my recent fall and resulting wrist sprain.

I am flattered, and somewhat perturbed. It seems my poetry lessons have not been in vain.

Here it is, in its entirety (grammar and spelling errors excepted). Enjoy.

Mr Hawthorne woke up too late
He quickly ate some yoghurt, on a plate.
If he did not hurry, he would miss the bus
So he grabbed his stuff, and started to rush.

When he arrived, it was driving away
He sprinted after, he did not want
To miss his work day

During his sprint he suddenly fell
'Ouch', he cried, and let out a yell
The bus driver spotted him, crawling on the ground
He then stopped the bus and turned it around

Mr Hawthorne managed to get on board,
But his hand was sore

He arrived at work with a swollen hand
But he didn't go home, 'cos he's the man

He taught two lessons, but his hand got worse.
Miss Harris told him to go to the nurse

Mr Hawthorne called his doctor with his phone
The doctor looked at it, and told him he had broken a bone.

The moral of the story is if you break a bone
You should visit a Doctor
Or just go home

Myself, Laughing.

I try to be nice to everyone. About to run past and arrive. However, when I’m out I can’t dwell on my own. 

When he walks up to the library. Seeing it, I’m not here today because I didn’t. Much more,  I meant to follow the spoilt, arrogant, plump bastard.

I was glad to get out. Unfortunately mum and dad decided to have a competition to see how long they could stay. Otherwise, I could go out to clubs to see who I could have fun with.

I descended to the Rec floor. Everyone of them strangers, everyone of them an outcast.

At one point I went in. There were Egyptian engravings on the wall. I walked up to one and found myself. Then I meet Robert, who talked and talked..

I am tired of hanging about with normal. I could go out to clubs. 

A woman in dress sleeping. A black, pin- striped man. The stage is unimportant.

I will move. Shelves, the yage, about to run past and arrive. What?

He walks up to the library. It’s starting. Don’t know, weak. Old routine, hung most of the day. I hate myself. Awkward circumstances. I’ve finished two books.

This goes back tomorrow. I went online – that’s about it. Sort of relaxing. Good person I am being punished for. I try to be nice to everyone though, such as Winnie, dear old lady. 

For them, every one of them strangers, everyone an outcast. What  have I got to be friends with? By good points in their women in a dress, sleeping. There was no-one who I dare approach, or sit with, not even Courtney. 

 He’s going tomorrow. Walk past my hand. I hate them, I hate them all, the only ones who know. 

Time around, life’s too serious. The stage, after all, unimportant. 

I will move. 

There is a sound from the perusing, looking for. A strange woman appears. Myself, laughing. Despair with a few, such as Winnie, dear old lady.  What? He walks up to the library. People. people, with people. At one point I went it in.

Holding me, I managed to get in front of P, saying “how tiny to get in the cinema”. From the school there we saw an American, in the Worall centre with my ‘friends’, when I met Robert who talked and talked. 

I’ve finished two books. Going back home tomorrow.

There is a sound from the people, people with people at one point were all. What was I being punished for? The vicious cycle puts people off me, me even more. Roars of laughter eminating behind the joy in my behind. A woman in a dress sleeping. She was to see, about to run past.

We were there for over two hours! Others set me wands, cups, swords, pentacles. The stage, after all,  unimportant.

I will move, like Liza, dancing. '

Club in the eyes. Everyone will dance. Such as Winnie, dear old lady I could have fun with.

One’s actions must return colour.

She was behind the desk. This dark oh my pathetic says “What am I being punished for?”

Diaries by walking. All way Satan. Apparently Ian and she spent! Couldn’t believe with regards to this evening to have nothing.

Controlling Anne-Marie. I walk up to one and find myself. 

In the corridor I see neon red lights flickering. I approach. Strange woman appears – myself, laughing.

The Empress is Having Sex on my Breath

Passing here, Is and who today?  Because I didn’t love it, I have nothing about it, strange thing.

 I rang him, as if this is. Managed to get in.  Sex -  like books - aint happening.

Try and go to nightmares for help.

I like to think of auntie with Chris, loving life’s problems, earth-controlling help. 

So I get gloomy with regards to this everything to have nothing.

Emotions, calmness, thought, health. I keep connecting.  Dutiful James, I was able to get into interesting things. I need a hallway

Satan, light, joy in my life. I went online.  

I’ve finished two books. Go back home tomorrow, sleep for ages. On my breath vaguely before difficulty I am going to spend.

I like walks, anger, passion. Say goodbye to being honest, go into colour.

I was, I’m going, they are psyche. All day, dude. Though really?  

Starting to cholic here.

20th, March, worry. She’ll be Minellli.

He’s going. I feel strangely pink. Stick two inside -that devil loved it.

 Encounters, bitches. Which was he?

They are Friday night - air, problems, trouble. 

World, I have nothing.

All of next week I am at home with Deronda, here. Clothes, boys.  Turn it on again with the “been too busy”

I couldn’t stage. Important to move and cry. Complete nutcase from the light creature of before.

The Empress is having sex with my breath. Will I think, or sleep for ages?

Time around, life’s too serious behind the joy. Sounding like an ant happening. 

My bed was drifting, smashed in hope.